Theology

The authors of this volume have taken contextual theologising to a new
level. While each essay is rooted in its own particular context – South Africa,
Costa Rica, northern Finland, India, parts of Europe – each is also rooted
in a World Christianity, postcolonial, and postmodern context as well.
They demonstrate that contextual theologising needs to be and is indeed an
integral, guiding perspective of any theologising today.
–Stephen Bevans, SVD, Louis J. Luzbetak, SVD Professor
of Mission and Culture, Emeritus, Catholic Theological
Union, Chicago, United States
By focusing “on those modes of doing theology that place and celebrate
the context at the centre of the praxis of theology”, this book dares to call
everyone who is preoccupied by God-talk to be able to put into words their
daily encounters with the divine. It acknowledges what people of faith from all
walks of life, especially the indigenous people with their rich experiences of
the Divine, have always known and lived as theologians of life – even when
the so-called classical Christian dogmatic theologies ignored or undermined
their existence. In this age of the Anthropocene, this book calls us once
again to listen to the heartbeat of the Creator. This heartbeat is indeed
experienced by humanity and creation as a whole in their situatedness. S/He
calls us to live in respect of compassionate service to our interconnectedness
and interdependence. The theologies contained in this book espouse the
importance of our diverse identities living, reflecting, and engaging in praxis
for justice, dignity and peace so that all the inhabited earth can live in a
kinship of diverse species in a living cycle orchestrated by the communion of
the Creator, Sustainer, and Redeemer, Three in One. This book is a must and
timely read, especially since 2020 has provided another level of situatedness
in response to the Covid-19 [pandemic]. Wherever we find ourselves, we
have an encounter with God that is contextual as well as universal as we fight
for life and new normalcy.
–Fulata L. Moyo, Circle of Concerned African Women
Theologians, Executive Director, STREAM, United States
“Contextual Theology”, the editors hold, is “that theology which explicitly

places the recognition of the contextual nature of theology at the forefront
of the theological process”. With this volume, they push the agenda of
contextual theology beyond methodological considerations and offer
a rich resource for exploring how such situated theologies take place in
practice. Well-selected contributions from different geographical, cultural,
and confessional contexts take a wide range of thematic approaches to
demonstrate what it means to do theology in the face of contemporary
challenges. Together, they allow for a deeper understanding of the significance
of a contextual model for theology: what emerges is a theological practice
that proceeds in collaborative, critical and engaged ways.
–Judith Gruber, Research Professor, Research Unit Systematic
Theology and the Study of Religions, Faculty of Theology
and Religious Studies, Katholieke Universiteit Leuven, Belgium
Apartheid theology understood itself as a return to the “old paths”
of reformed orthodoxy – but was subsequently recognised as a deeply
contextual theological legitimation of settler colonialism. As this volume
recognises, it is therefore important to place the recognition of the
contextual nature of theology “at the forefront of the theological process”.
Would this recognition suffice for a “liberating faith”? Not by itself, since
doing theology requires the kind of skills, practices and virtues illustrated by
the contributing authors. This does require imagination and a constructive
approach – but also some vulnerability – perhaps to be deconstructed and
reconstructed by a liberating God making this world a home for all.
–Ernst Conradie, Senior Professor, University of the
Western Cape, South Africa
Contextual Theology
The notion of “contextual theology” has a long and rich history, stretching
back to the 1970s.
This book advances that history by exploring stories, images, and dis-
courses across a worldwide range of geographical, cultural, and confes-
sional contexts. Its 12 authors not only enrich our understanding of the
significance of the contextual method, but also produce a new range of
original ways of doing theology in contemporary situations.
The authors discuss some prioritised thematic perspectives with an
emphasis on liberating paths, and expand the ongoing discussion on the
methodology of theology into new areas. Themes such as interreligious
plurality, global capitalism, ecumenical liberation theology, eco-anxiety
and the Anthropocene, postcolonialism, gender, neo-Pentecostalism, world
theology, and reconciliation are examined in situated depth. Additionally,
voices from indigenous lands, Latin America, Asia, Africa, Australia, and
Europe and North America enter into a dialogue on what it means to
contextualise theology in an increasingly globalised and ever-changing world.
Such a comprehensive discussion of new ways of thinking about and doing
contextual theology will be of great use to scholars in theology, religious
studies, cultural studies, political science, gender studies, environmental
humanities, and global studies.
Sigurd Bergmann is Emeritus Professor of Religious Studies at the Norwegian

University of Science and Technology, Trondheim; Visiting Researcher at
the Faculty of Theology, Uppsala University; and Fellow at the Rachel
Carson Center at Munich University. His research covers religion and the
environment, and religion, arts, and architecture, and among his multiple
books and articles are Weather, Religion and Climate Change (2020),
Religion, Space and the Environment (2014), In the Beginning Is the Icon
(2009), and God in Context (2003).
Mika Vähäkangas is Professor of Mission Studies and Ecumenics at Lund

University, Sweden. He is Research Fellow at the Faculty of Theology of
Stellenbosch University, South Africa, and Adjunct Professor (docent) of
Dogmatics, Helsinki University, Finland. His research covers Christianity
in Africa, intercultural and interreligious relations in World Christianity,
and bridging empirical studies and systematic theology. He is the author of
multiple publications in Theology and Religious Studies including Context,
Plurality, and Truth (2020), and Between Ghambageu and Jesus (2008).
Routledge New Critical Thinking in Religion,
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Racism and the Weakness of Christian Identity

Religious Autoimmunity
David Kline
Past and Present Political Theology

Expanding the Canon
Edited by Dennis Vanden Auweele and Miklos Vassányi
Schleiermacher’s Theology of Sin and Nature

Agency, Value, and Modern Theology
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religion/series/RCRITREL
Contextual Theology
Skills and Practices of
Liberating Faith
Edited by
Sigurd Bergmann and
Mika Vähäkangas
First published 2021
by Routledge
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Contents
List of figuresix
List of contributorsx
Forewordxiii
ROBERT J. SCHREITER
Acknowledgementsxv
1 Doing situated theology: introductory remarks about the

history, method, and diversity of contextual theology 1
SIGURD BERGMANN AND MIKA VÄHÄKANGAS
2 Can contextual theology bridge the divide? South Africa’s

politics of forgiveness as an example of a contextual
public theology 15
DION A. FORSTER
3 Contextual theology on trial? African neo-Pentecostalism,

sacred authority, gendered constructions, and violent enactions 34
CHAMMAH J. KAUNDA
4 Gender, ethnicity, and lived religion: challenges to

contextual and liberation theologies 56
ELINA VUOLA
5 Ecumenical liberation theology: how I experienced its

arrival in Germany and Europe after 1968 70
ULRICH DUCHROW
6 Economy, greed, and liberation theology: a critique from

a border location in India 91
ATOLA LONGKUMER
viii Contents
7 The dissemination of Vikings: postcolonial contexts and
economic meltdown 112
SIGRÍÐUR GUÐMARSDÓTTIR
8 Reclaiming tradition as critique of oppression 126

TERESA CALLEWAERT
9 “Speaking from experience”: comparing Mahdawi and

Pentecostal approaches to equipment for outreach 138
DAVID EMMANUEL SINGH
10 Theology in the Anthropocene – and beyond? 160

SIGURD BERGMANN
11 Theology of “eco-anxiety” as liberating contextual theology 181

PANU PIHKALA
12 Contextualisation through the arts 205

VOLKER KÜSTER
13 World Christianity as post-colonialising of theology 221

MIKA VÄHÄKANGAS
Index238
Figures
10.1 Key markers of anthropogenic change161

10.2 Vertebrate species extinction162
10.3 Change in temperature and precipitation163
10.4 Clouds over Kattegatt164
10.5 J. M. W. Turner, The Deluge, 1805, oil paint on canvas,
142.9 × 235.6 cm165
10.6 Friedrich Georg Weitsch, Humboldt and Aime Bonpland
in the valley of Tapia on the foot of the volcano
Chimborazo, 1810, oil on canvas, 100 × 71 cm167
10.7 Wassily Kandinsky, Composition VII, 1913, oil on canvas,
200 × 300 cm169
10.8 Giovanni Bellini, Saint Jerome Reading in the Wilderness
(detail), 1505, oil174
10.9 Giovanni Bellini, Sacred Allegory, circa 1490, oil175
12.1 The hermeneutical circle207
12.2 Hermeneutics of suspicion208
12.3 The hermeneutical prism208
12.4 Nyoman Darsane, Rain of Blood, 2004, acrylic on canvas,
76 × 66 cm212
12.5 Ketut Lasia, Crucifixion, ca. 2000, traditional paint on
canvas, ca. 70 × 50 cm 213
12.6 Solomon Raj, Jesus, the Teacher, 1980s, linocut 214
12.7 Azariah Mbatha, Black and White, 1970s, linocut 215
12.8 Julia Chavarría, The Massacre of the Innocent, ca. 1981/82,
watercolour216
12.9 F. Sigit Santoso, Namaku Isa, 2005, oil on canvas,
140 × 110 cm217
Contributors
Sigurd Bergmann is Emeritus Professor in Religious Studies at the Nor-

wegian University of Science and Technology in Trondheim; Visiting
Researcher at the Faculty of Theology, Uppsala University; Docent in
Systematic Theology at Lund University; and Fellow at the Rachel Car-
son Center for Environment and Society, Munich University. He initiated
the European Forum for the Study of Religion and the Environment,
and among his many publications are God in Context (2003), Creation
Set Free (2005), In the Beginning Is the Icon (2009), Raum und Geist
(2010), Religion, Space and the Environment (2014), Weather, Religion
and Climate Change (2020), Theology in Built Environments (2009),
Religion in Global Environmental and Climate Change (2011), Religion
in the Anthropocene (2017), and Arts, Religion and the Environment:
Exploring Nature’s Texture (2018).
Teresa Callewaert received her PhD in theological ethics from Uppsala Uni-
versity. She has written on Islamic and Christian social ethics, dealing
with questions of justice, secularity, and the political role of theology
in Theologies Speak of Justice (Uppsala: ACTA, 2017). She has recently
published “Return to Our Own: Revolution, Religion and Culture in
Amilcar Cabral and Ali Shariati”, in Future(s) of the Revolution and
the Reformation, edited by Elena Namli (London: Palgrave Macmillan,
2019), 211–236.
Ulrich Duchrow is Professor of Systematic Theology at the University of Hei-
delberg, Germany, specialising in ecumenical theology and interreligious
theology-economy issues. He is the co-founder and honorary chair of
Kairos Europa. Among his many publications are Transcending Greedy
Money: Interreligious Solidarity for Just Relations (New York: Palgrave
MacMillan, 2012, with F. J. Hinkelammert), “Overcoming Capitalism
with Luther, Marx and Pope,” People’s Reporter, special issue 2018,
1–11 (http://ulrich-duchrow.de/downloads/), and Property for People,
Not for Profit: Alternatives to the Global Tyranny of Capital (London:
Zed Books, 2004, with F. J. Hinkelammert); he is the editor of Radicalis-
ing Reformation, 7 volumes, 2015–2017 (www.radicalizingreformation.
Contributors xi
com/index.php/en/publications.html), including Vol 7: Interreligious Sol-
idarity for Justice in Palestine-Israel – Transcending Luther’s Negation of
the Other, 2017 (www.reformation-radical.com/files/RR-vol-7-Eng.pdf).
Dion A. Forster is Professor of Systematic Theology and Ethics, Chair of the
Department of Systematic Theology and Ecclesiology, and the Director
of the Beyers Naudé Centre for Public Theology, at the University of Stel-
lenbosch, South Africa. Among his recent publications are The (Im)pos-
sibility of Forgiveness? (Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock, 2019), and Between
Capital and Cathedral: Essays on Church-State Relationships (with W.
Bentley, Pretoria: University of South Africa Press, 2013).
Sigríður Guðmarsdóttir is Associate Professor in Systematic Theology at the
Faculty of Theology, Diaconia and Leadership Studies at the VID Spe-
cialized University in Tromsø, Norway. Among her recent publications
are the monograph Tillich and the Abyss: Foundations, Feminism and
Theology of Praxis (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2016), the chap-
ter “Ultimate Ecological Concern: Transporting Tillich to the Arctic,”
in Paul Tillich’s Political Theology, edited by Rachel S. Baard (Lanham:
Lexington 2020), and the articles “Water as Sacrament: Tillich, Gender
and Liturgical Eco-Justice,” Dialog: A Journal of Theology 53.2 (2014),
and “Trinh Min-ha and Inbetween Religious Language Painted with
Gray and Red Colors,” The Journal of European Women in Theological
Research 20 (2013).
Chammah J. Kaunda is Professor of World Christianity and Theology in the
Global Institute of Theology, College of Theology, at the United Gradu-
ate School of Theology, Yonsei University, South Korea. His recent books
include (as editor) Genders, Sexualities, and Spiritualities in African Pen-
tecostalism: “Your Body is a Temple of the Holy Spirit” (Cham, Swit-
zerland: Palgrave Macmillan, 2020); (as co-editor) Who Is an African?
Race, Identity, and Destiny in Post-Apartheid South Africa (Minneapo-
lis: Lexington/Fortress, 2018); and his recent monograph “The Nation
that Fears God Prospers”: Zambian Pentecostalism and Politics (Min-
neapolis: Fortress, 2018).
Volker Küster is Professor of Comparative Religion and Missiology at the
Johannes Gutenberg-Universität, Mainz, Germany. Among his publi-
cations are The Many Faces of Jesus Christ: Intercultural Christology
(London: SCM Press and Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 2001), “Christian Art
in Asia: Yesterday and Today,” in The Christian Story: Five Asian Art-
ists Today, edited by John Wesley Cook, Patricia Pongracz, and Volker
Küster (New York and London: Museum of Biblical Art, 2007), 28–43,
Gott/Terror: Ein Diptychon (Frankfurt a/M.: Kohlhammer, 2009),
A Protestant Theology of Passion: Minjung Theology Revisited (Lei-
den: Brill, 2010), Einführung in die Interkulturelle Theologie (Göttin-
gen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2011), and Zwischen Pancasila und
xii Contributors
Fundamentalismus: Christliche Kunst in Indonesien (Leipzig: Evangelis-
che Verlagsanstalt, 2016).
Atola Longkumer, D.Th., is a Baptist from Nagaland, India, currently serv-
ing as a visiting professor of religions and mission at the South Asia
Institute of Advanced Christian Studies (SAIACS), Bangalore, India.
Longkumer serves as the book review editor of Missions Studies. Her
most recent work is “Faith and Culture” in Edinburgh Companions to
Global Christianity: Christianity in South and Central Asia, edited by
Kenneth R. Ross, Daniel Jeyaraj, and Todd M. Johnson (Edinburgh:
Edinburgh University Press, 2019).
Panu Pihkala is an adjunct professor (docent) in environmental theology in
the Faculty of Theology at the University of Helsinki, Finland. Pihkala’s
two popular science books in Finnish about eco-anxiety and hope have
shaped the Finnish national discussion on the matter. He was awarded
the National Prize for Adult Education (Sivistyspalkinto) in 2018 by The
Finnish Lifelong Learning Foundation (Kansanvalistusseura). Among his
publications are “Eco-Anxiety, Tragedy, and Hope: Psychological and
Spiritual Dimensions of Climate Change,” Zygon 53.2 (2018), “Environ-
mental Education After Sustainability: Hope in the Midst of Tragedy,”
Global Discourse 7.1 (2017), and Early Ecotheology and Joseph Sittler
(Berlin: LIT, 2017).
David Emmanuel Singh, Dr., is Research Tutor and PhD Stage Leader at the
Oxford Centre for Mission Studies, United Kingdom. Singh is the author
of many articles, edited volumes and two research monographs: Saint-
hood and Revelatory Discourse (Oxford: Regnum and ISPCK, 2003) and
Islamization in Modern South Asia (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2012).
Elina Vuola is Professor of Global Christianity and Dialogue of Religions at
the Faculty of Theology, University of Helsinki, Finland. Her most recent
publication is The Virgin Mary across Cultures: Devotion among Costa
Rican Catholic and Finnish Orthodox Women (New York: Routledge,
2019).
Mika Vähäkangas is Professor of Mission Studies and Ecumenics at Lund
University, Sweden. His research covers Christianity in Africa, intercul-
tural and interreligious relations in World Christianity, and bridging
empirical studies and systematic theology. He is the author of multiple
publications in Theology and Religious Studies including Context, Plu-
rality, and Truth (2020), and Between Ghambageu and Jesus (2008).
Foreword
Context has never been a completely absent consideration in the development

of Christian theology. The fact that so many of the canonical writings of
the New Testament were letters, addressed to specific early communities of
believers, attests to that. Even theological works that claimed to rise above
contexts nonetheless mirrored their contextual origins in their attempts to
escape more limited frameworks and purposes. But it has been times when
the Christian message seemed most disconnected from the situations in
which it was being articulated that have brought attention to context most
to the fore.
The years of the mid-20th century were such a time. The decolonialising
of much of Africa and Asia prompted quests for a new sense of identity
among newly independent nations. The Christianity that colonisation had
brought to them was less than a good fit for moving into a different future.
At the same time, events such as the Second Vatican Council for Roman
Catholics, and the meetings of the World Council of Churches for Protes-
tants and Orthodox, foregrounded that urgent local concerns were not being
addressed in the given readings of the Gospel. For example, bishops from
Latin America at the Second Vatican Council felt that the “universal” focus
on atheism and secularisation that pervaded the agenda did not address
the poverty and oppression that was foremost in their own experiences.
The CELAM meeting in Medellín a few years later gave sharper contour
to that – now understood as the birth of the theologies of liberation. In the
early meetings of the Ecumenical Association of Third World Theologians
in the mid-1970s, these two approaches were referred to as “ethnographic”
(focused on identities) and “liberative” (focused on social change).
Fifty years on, what is meant by “context” has become increasingly com-
plex to define. It has led to a deepened awareness of just how many voices
need to be attended to in presenting and living out the Christian message.
Those multiple voices – arising out of greater recognitions of distinctions
of race, class, gender, and other dimensions of human difference – give a
much more complex picture of what happens at the intersections of these
alterities. The experience of globalisation in all of its positive and negative
repercussions has heightened the sense of how the local configures itself
xiv Foreword
toward any proposal of a universal. Interreligious encounter puts the whole
self-perception of the Christian in another, contextualising light. Climate
change and health pandemics put the European Enlightenment narratives
of progress and universal improvement severely to the test. An awareness of
context in theology can no longer be one option among many for interpret-
ing the Christian message at any given time or in any given place. Rather,
it both unveils for us the immense complexity which must be addressed in
doing theology today, and uncovers dramatically deep fault lines in human
society of injustice, oppression, and other forms of violence that stalk and
threaten human community.
This collection of chapters on contextual theologies today gives a good
overview of these complexities, offering insightful studies of specific locales
and the issues shaping them, as well as more general reflections on what
might be learned from them for other settings. They open up new vistas
on responding to crises, on partnering with other belief traditions, and on
drawing us into new horizons which cannot be ignored, such as the ecologi-
cal plight that all peoples now face. They remind us to attend to dimensions
beyond the social and political to include the aesthetic and the artistic as
giving voice to the human cries of suffering and hope. The whole collection
is well framed by an opening chapter that provides an excellent overview of
what is now an immensely complex interplay of factors that can all claim a
place in the “contextual” and concludes with a chapter showing how con-
cepts of “World Christianity” can offer a new framework for envisioning
Christian theology beyond older ones such as missiology or intercultural
theology. All in all, this book makes a good reference point to where Chris-
tian theologians have reached in understanding and articulating better how
the Christian message is presented and enacted in our world today. At a
time when prevailing narratives of where the world believes itself to be are
facing a severe challenge from the fracturing of political, economic, and social
orders that is now so evident, and when the growing ecological crisis along
with health pandemics is upending all social arrangements to reveal profound
social fractures, the message of the Reign of God needs to be heard in ways
especially attentive to the current human plight. This collection on contextual
theology will help all of us find the way forward.
Robert J. Schreiter
Acknowledgements
We would like to thank our co-authors for a rich, intense and fruitful com-
munication, in a process that unfortunately could not take place collabora-
tively face to face but was carried out in a constant flow of messages and
texts back and forth. Nonetheless, we are happy that our exchange of expe-
riences, considerations, and reflections could lead to a work to be handed
over to the curious reader. Hopefully it will catalyse a dynamic development
of the discourse on context and theology, and empower others to shape our
common future and earth with the tools of doing contextual theology.
We would also like to thank Dr. Marilyn Burton in Edinburgh for her
skilled and dedicated work of language editing. We are furthermore grateful
for subsidies from the Faculty of Arts at the NTNU in Trondheim, the Lund
Mission Society, and the Centre for Theology and Religious Studies of Lund
University, who supported the edition, and to Joshua Wells and R. Yuga
Harini for their professional and smooth assistance with and production of
the work. Finally, we want to thank the Board of the Institute of Contextual
Theology in Lund for encouraging and lively discussions throughout the
process.
Sigurd Bergmann and Mika Vähäkangas
1 Doing situated theology
Introductory remarks about
the history, method, and
diversity of contextual theology
Sigurd Bergmann and Mika Vähäkangas
The contextual nature of the theological process

The notion of “contextual theology” has a long history, beginning with its
gradual introduction in the “Fund for Theological Education”.1 The term
gained prominence through both the World Council of Churches and the
Lausanne Movement adopting it in the 1970s.2 Theologians in Africa and
Asia were already interested in how cultural contexts affected the interpre-
tation of Christianity, and the term “contextuality” was deemed a fitting
metaphor for that enterprise.3 The practice of contextualising theology has
much older roots; for example, theologians in India in the early 20th cen-
tury developed in their projects a specific awareness of the significance of
culture. There has of course for a long time, one might say from the begin-
ning, been an awareness that Christian faith must be expressed in ways
intelligible to specific contexts, as Robert J. Schreiter states in his extensive
historical mapping.4 In general, most of the history of mission is character-
ised by an intense awareness of how Christian beliefs, ethics, and practices
interact with non-Christian cultures. In the past decades, contextual theol-
ogy has developed significantly in both depth and scope, and the term is, as
Angie Pears aptly states, “an evasive and fluid term to which a number of
meanings, some contrasting, could and do attach themselves”.5
While some regard contextual theology as a paradigm for theology in
general, others prefer to regard it as a more particular mode of contextualis-
ing God-talk with regard to different themes. While theologians nowadays
seem to agree to an unproblematic consensus that “all theology is contex-
tual”,6 at least to some degree, it seems to be highly controversial to dis-
cuss in what sense and to what extent this is the case. A clear definition
of contextual theology is still lacking, while at the same time we can find
several operational clarifications. Conceivably, this undetermined and open
situation of a diversity of understandings might also play a central role in
stimulating and developing further thinking about doing situated theology.
One of Schreiter’s pioneering works creatively investigated how what he
called “local theologies” are constructed,7 but as “local” has more and more
turned into a contrasting term to “global”, it might be more obvious to talk
2 Sigurd Bergmann and Mika Vähäkangas
about different modes of situatedness. Our intention here is neither to strive
for a crystal-clear definition on the one hand nor to defog the approach
on the other. Pears’ definition will serve in this work as a solid basis: she
regards contextual theology as referring to “that theology which explicitly
places the recognition of the contextual nature of theology at the forefront
of the theological process”.8 The impact of the context on the understanding
of and reflection on who God is, and how he/she acts, is a given in such an
approach, even if one accepts that not all theologies explicitly signify this.
Again following Pears, the editors and authors of this book do not simply
regard all theology as contextual in an epistemological way, but focus on
those modes of doing theology that place and celebrate the context at the
centre of the praxis of theology.
Of course, the emergence of contextual theology also has its own his-
torical context. It is closely interwoven with globalisation in general and
Christian theology’s globalisation in particular, and the geographical shift
of Christians from the so-called West to the South that has taken place
since the late 19th century and led to a majority of Christians being in
the Global South since the 1980s. Contextual theology’s own context
of emergence is characterised by ecumenical, trans-confessional and
translocal social and cultural processes, and in comparison with earlier
approaches such as liberation theology and political theology – of course
likewise contextually aware – explicit contextual theology is not only nur-
tured by an intense exchange with theories from philosophy and social
sciences, but includes a constructive and self-critical awareness of theo-
ries of culture. The difference between political and liberation theologies
on the one hand and contextual theology on the other is, of course, a
matter of definition. While the former are characterised by a high level
of awareness of the political contexts of doing theology, later processes
of contextualising theology have developed a broader interaction with
cultural studies and, to some degree, also with geography. In particular, a
high degree of awareness of the significance of gender, postcolonial, and
environmental dimensions deepens earlier approaches to political theol-
ogy. Schreiter aptly describes two different types of contextual theology:
a) that which is driven by the search for identity (such as Asian, African,
Korean, and other approaches), and b) that which is related to demands
for social change (such as Latin American liberation theology).9 Cultural
contexts and interpretations of how God acts affect each other in a vari-
ety of ways that one can describe using the model of a reciprocal “circle
of function”.10 While contexts affect the theological process in one way,
expressions of faith affect the context in another qualitative way. One
of the intentions behind this book is to explore how the “tradition” of
political liberation theology can meet and enrich younger approaches of
contextual theology.
While classical Christian dogmatic thinking served as a rational system of
order for separate, distinct “loci”, contextual theology represents a shift in
Doing situated theology 3
which reflection on God and experience with him/her is directly and indis-
solubly linked with praxis. Theology takes place as doing theology within
contexts. God acts in the Here and Now. Even if, as promised previously,
we will not expend energy here on deepening the epistemological contro-
versy about what theology “is”, the reader should keep in mind that the
older classical paradigm for systematic theology is still at work and wields a
rather dominant influence that should not be underestimated.
More recently, both the challenge to interact as a Christian believer with
other religious traditions11 and the challenge to respond to the inter- and
transcultural processes of globalisation12 have offered significant impulses
towards deepening and developing contextual theologies further. Here
we should especially emphasise the processes of increasing migration and
global mobility,13 and the climate-and-environmental-change related trans-
formation14 of both local and nomadic theologies from people on the move.
Both appear as central driving forces that will accelerate the change of theol-
ogy today and tomorrow. Contextual theology seems to be becoming more
transcultural, transreligious, green, and mobile.
In spite of all the creative developments in the field of contextual theol-
ogy, many still seem to limit it exclusively to the field of missiology. In
this way, contextual theology is regarded only as a method of dialoguing
with theories about culture. Thus, for example, the Oxford Handbook in
Systematic Theology defines theology as Christian teaching and Christian
claims about God and reality, and the explication of Christian doctrine.15
The editors of this influential work sadly examine the significance of cul-
tural contexts only in their section on “Conversations”, wherein they con-
sider important theoretical interlocutors for theology, such as, for example,
natural science. Theology thus still remains primarily a kind of scholastic
practice wherein enlightened theologians serve as interpreters of God’s rev-
elation, which at best they can debate with others in different conversations.
The explicit profession of the theologian appears as more important than
the perception and interpretation of God him/herself in context. Dogmatic
theology remains profoundly apologetic, while contextual theology oper-
ates in a less apologetic, more constructive manner.16 Contextual theology,
by contrast, encounters the living God in the diversity of the Here and Now,
and approaches experiences of him/her with open senses, minds, and bodies.
All who are experiencing God at work are potential theologians. Tradition
is, on this view, a tool that offers a large deposit of words, images, and prac-
tices, but it is not an end in itself.
Contextual, constructive, or world theology?

Recently, it has also been possible to follow the development of different
interrelated approaches such as “constructive theology”, “global Christian-
ity”, or “World Christianity”, and “lived theology”,17 which mainly emerge
in the fields of missiology, systematic theology, and ecumenical theology.
Sometimes, these concepts overlap and converge with the approach of con-
textual theology; sometimes, they tend to drain its provocative power.
A significant criterion for differentiating between, for example, contex-
tual and constructive theology seems to lie in the valuation of how suffering,
violence, and the struggle for social and environmental justice affects the
interpretation of God’s work. While representatives of constructive theol-
ogy underline the significance of both tradition and the context, they tend
to lend an intrinsic value to tradition, such that the expression of faith is
made dependent on the understanding of some kind of internal doctrinal
nucleus of truth. The expression of this truth must take place in context, but
it remains entirely unclear to what degree the context, wherein God acts, is
affecting and also transforming tradition.
Veli-Matti Kärkkäinen, for example, characterises constructive theol-
ogy as “an integrative discipline that continuously searches for a coherent,
balanced understanding of Christian truth and faith in light of Christian
tradition (biblical and historical) and in the context of historical and con-
temporary thought, cultures, and living faiths”.18 It is hereby obvious how
one gives tradition the superior position over the situation in which God
acts. To regard the activity of deliberate constructive imagination as a sig-
nificant human skill and a necessary element of doing theology, as Gordon
Kaufman does,19 is a very different thing from accepting how deeply God’s
work might be entangled with the worldly, material and bodily dimensions
of the Here and Now. If the context is only something wherein God appears
as Creator and Liberator, one runs the risk of undervaluing the significance
of the created world and thereby of the Creator him/herself. Constructive
theology in this sense makes us aware of the necessary human condition in
the process of doing theology. But it does not do justice to the significance
of the cultural and material dimension of the Here and Now wherein God
has chosen to act.
Constructive theologians are constantly afraid of becoming bound to the
context in their God-talk. But continuing along the paths of incarnation, the
human bodily, the politically, and the materially polluted is nothing to be
afraid of. Especially if they follow Catherine Keller’s ingeniously invented
notion of “inter-carnation”, constructive and contextual theology do not
necessarily need to dwell on different sides of the mystery of God’s incarna-
tion, the Creator’s diverse flesh-becoming in, within, and into a creation that
since then has been inhabited by the Spirit at play in the inter-carnation of
being-members-of-each-other.20 On the contrary, it is deep in the material
that the Spirit dwells. Still, one should not draw an all too sharp distinction
between constructive and contextual theology, as they can complement each
other and as the human ability of constructive imagination without doubt
also needs to be an essential part of reflecting on God in Context.21
Another highly relevant recent development is the emergence of the field
of so-called Global or World Christianity.22 These fields sprout primar-
ily from the background of Mission Studies, but gain additional impetus
especially from Anthropology of Christianity, the rather recent branch of
Cultural or Social Anthropology where Christianity is studied, mostly in
the Global South.23 This area of study tends to turn increasingly empirical,
and while many of the analyses of the data are theologically informed, the
emphasis tends to lie on lived religion. The approach has tended to become
akin to Religious Studies in the sense that the analysis is carried out from
outside the faith community studied, and the author is not involved in
constructing theology in the sense of personal existential involvement. Sys-
tematic theological approaches are not common, even if in some of these
studies there may be sections of analysing systematic theological topics in
the studied communities.24 There are, however, some studies that resemble
the World Christianity approach in the sense of making use of empirical
data from the Global South while clearly dealing with questions tradition-
ally counted as systematic theological.25
For the self-understanding of Christian faith communities in a changing
globalised world, contextual theology offers a most valuable tool for inter-
preting the correlation between one’s own traditions and the varied situ-
ations in which believers experience the God who acts. Following central
tenets of liberation theology, the option for the poor is assigned a central
role in the interaction between the liberating God and the suffering, and in
the theological interpretation of the ongoing, culturally multifaceted history
of salvation. One might, on an epistemological level, question whether the
normative critical dimension of doing theology is a necessary, integral part
of contextual theology. Without diving too deeply into such a discussion,
we can observe in the still-young discipline of contextual theology that such
a deep entanglement of the committed critical and the spiritual has been
active throughout its short history.
The options for those who are suffering from various injustices and the
interpretation of the crucified God have been intimately interwoven in con-
textual theology. In that sense, one can trace the strength of central tenets
in liberation theology. Lived faith has been experienced as liberative praxis,
and doing theology has implied reflecting on how God is at work not simply
in general but in particular with regard to the challenges and needs of the
suffering. Victims have, however, not been regarded as objects for mercy,
but as subjects of their own transformation in synergy with the God who
liberates.
Contextual theology has thus continued along the older classical paths
of reflecting Christ’s incarnation, his suffering on the Cross, his resurrec-
tion from the dead, and the Son’s and the Spirit’s liberation of the living.
It has furthermore also kept classical deep tenets of trinitarianism alive in
interconnecting and integrating faith in God, as the Creator of everything
in heaven and earth, and faith in the work of the Son and the Spirit for
the liberation of all. Even if the history of contextual theology is young
and embedded in the modern global world, it could without doubt also be
regarded as striving for a deep continuity with central principles in classical
theology, as it tries to reconstruct and express substantial beliefs in new
modes in interaction with new cultural situations and contexts. Contextual
theology also appears in such a lens, in its “circle of function”26 between
context and theology, as an attempt at an essential correlation of tradition
and situation. Contextual theology transforms selected substantial dimen-
sions of theology’s classical tradition into a new world that demands new
responses from Christian faith.
This book intends to catalyse the ongoing discussion about contextual
theology with perspectives from different regions and contexts around the
world. It will in this way offer an exciting mapping of the multifaceted and
united state of liberating contextual theology today, and will thus offer sig-
nificant stimulation and inspiration to the further discourse about method-
ology in systematic theology and mission studies in a new political key.
In the 12 following chapters, the book will develop the agenda of contex-
tual theology further by offering insights into how this overarching approach
makes sense in the wide range of geographical, cultural, and confessional
contexts of the world today. In this way, it not only allows a deeper under-
standing of the significance and relevance of the contextual model for theol-
ogy and how it works in practice, but also produces a new range of original
ways of doing theology in the face of contemporary challenges. Contextual
theology hereby represents a radicalisation and a breaking free from monis-
tic cages of thinking and acting.27 The range of tools for doing theology is
significantly expanded and the agenda of themes to be addressed is elabo-
rated in a constructive way.
The chapters
The book has its origin in the celebration of the 25-year anniversary of the
Institute for Contextual Theology association in Lund, Sweden. A one-day
conference on the theme of “Liberating Theology” took place at the Faculty
of Theology on 24 November 2017, and four keynote addresses by Chun
Hyung Kyung, Teresa Callewaert, Sigurd Bergmann, and Martha Fredriks
were presented, of which two are rewritten and included in this volume. The
association in Lund is just one of several bodies that have been inspired by
the Johannesburg Institute for Contextual Theology in South Africa. Other
communities and associations have been founded and developed at the
intersection of academy, church, and society. Furthermore, the emergence
of the Kairos Europe process has produced significant impetus towards the
development of liberation theology in Europe, which will be analysed in one
of the chapters.
In order to inspire this process further, we (the editors) decided, along
with the board of the Institute for Contextual Theology, to invite theolo-
gians from other world regions to contribute to what Stephen B. Bevans
has often described as “prophetic dialogue”28 about the diversity and com-
munality of contextual theology today. We are happy that so many have
responded positively and shared their interpretation of God in Context from
within their own experiences, spheres, struggles, and visions.
In Chapter 2, Dion A. Forster takes as his point of departure the way
in which public theology remains a deeply contested approach to theo-
logical engagement and reasoning among South African theologians. In his
view, the nation remains deeply divided by the lingering legacy of apart-
heid theologies, apartheid ideologies, and the tangible consequences of
apartheid laws. Has public theology any place, or validity, in this context?
Some suggest that public theologies are too universal in nature, and so are
both domesticated and domesticating. These critics suggest that we should
remain firmly committed to black African liberation theologies as an alter-
native to public theologies. While the critiques are valid, the proposed solu-
tion is inadequate for the author since the theologies that are advocated can
be exclusive and run the risk of curtailing the liberative and transformative
intent of the Christian faith. Rather, what is required is a contextual public
theology that can build a bridge between the universal claims of the Chris-
tian faith and the particular concerns of the South African context. This
chapter presents an example of such a “contextual public theology in South
Africa” by reflecting on the findings of a four-year-long qualitative empiri-
cal study on the “politics of forgiveness” among black and white South
Africans. The intention is to illustrate how a contextual theology bridges
the gap between the universal and the particular within the South African
theological context.
African Pentecostalism is at the core of Chapter 3, where Chammah J.
Kaunda approaches kenotic imagination as a decolonial analytical tool for
unmasking the cultural and historical roots of contemporary manifestations
of “authority” in African Pentecostalism in relation to sexual- and gender-
based violence. The chapter argues that neo-Pentecostal notions of authority
represent social, economic, political, and cultural contextual forces. Kenotic
imagination framed within decolonial thinking can help to interrogate a
religious paradox within neo-Pentecostalism, that is, the simultaneous
rejection and uncritical perpetuation of core elements of traditional cultural
forms of authority. The chapter highlights how African neo-Pentecostalism
reinforces and legitimises authority by adopting sacred attributes that
give unquestionable and unaccountable power to their clergy, creating an
authoritarian atmosphere in which women and children are easily subjected
to sexual abuse. By drawing examples from cases of sexual abuse of women
and children by neo-Pentecostal pastors in South Africa and Nigeria, the
chapter stresses that this contextualised form of authority is dangerous to
the wellbeing of women and children. The author develops a life-giving
kenotic theology of authority which is boundary-crossing from the centre
to margins.
From Africa we move to northeast Scandinavia. Elina Vuola in the Chap-
ter 4 analyses two groups of Eastern Orthodox women in Finland and their
relationship to the Mother of God. The analysis is based on 62 ethnographic
interviews and 19 written narratives. The focus is on two groups in two
marginal contexts within Orthodoxy: women converted from the Lutheran
Church and the indigenous Skolt Sámi women in Northeastern Lapland (all
cradle Orthodox). Both contexts reflect a broader ethno-cultural process of
identity formation. The converted women tend to reflect on their image of
the Mother of God in relation to their previous Lutheran identity, in which
the Virgin Mary plays a marginal role. In Skolt Sámi Orthodoxy, the figure
of the Mother of God is less accentuated than St. Tryphon, their patron
saint. The Orthodox faith and tradition in general have been central for the
Skolts in the course of their traumatic history.
Chapter 5 takes us to Germany, and reflects the history of ecumenical lib-
eration theology. Ulrich Duchrow explores how it arrived in Germany and
Europe after 1968. The author reflects on the early beginnings of liberation
theology as they were presented by Ruben Alvez and Gustavo Gutiérrez in
Europe in 1969. He traces the historical influence of liberation theology on
ecumenical theology and ecumenical practices, and discusses its outstanding
significance for faith communities and social movements. In this way, the
chapter contributes highly relevant historical insights into the contemporary
history of ecumenical, political, and contextual theology in Germany and
Europe. As the author himself has acted as a prominent representative of
ecumenical liberation theology and later as initiator of the European Kairos
movement, the chapter offers exciting insights from a contemporary witness.
Atola Longkumer upholds the tradition of liberation theology and draws
our eye in Chapter 6 to a border location in India. Her interpretation is
premised on the persistence of debilitating poverty and powerlessness.
Drawing from an indigenous/adivasi location in India, the author argues
that contextual theology needs to critique the inherent social and cultural
hierarchies in particular contexts in order to be truly liberative and con-
ducive to flourishing for every member of the community. The difficulties
faced by women – and other cultural boundaries that exclude and alienate
the vulnerable – persist, maintaining an economic and cultural status quo.
Inclusive justice continues to be elusive; the chapter argues that it is possible
only when the alleged cultural norms within contexts are overcome and
intentionally replaced with egalitarian practices.
In 2008, the three main banks of Iceland suffered an economic meltdown.
Sigríður Guðmarsdóttir in Chapter 7 takes a closer look at the downward
spiral of the Icelandic economy after the financial crash, which has deeply
affected the living standards of Icelanders, and simultaneously opened up
the potential for complex cultural identities. In the first years of the new mil-
lennium, the Icelandic banking system grew rapidly and was boosted by the
risk-seeking confidence of financial tycoons who called themselves “Outva-
sion Vikings”. These new Vikings represented themselves as leading peace-
ful “outvasions” into the global market instead of the violent invasions of
the Vikings of yore. What rhetoric of identity is operative in language in
a melding of Viking mythologies and economics? What kind of political,
gendered, sexual, or religious transgressions take place in such a climate
and its aftermath? The chapter uses the theories of political theorist Chantal
Mouffe and the contextual theologies of Marion Grau and Joerg Rieger to
probe theologically into the context of this postcolonial and economic Ice-
landic existential crisis.
While Guðmarsdóttir sought to wrap her head around the multifac-
eted transgressions in the aftermath of a national economic meltdown,
and Longkumer portrayed the contemporary global situation of immense
marginalisation that makes many vulnerable through an economic system
beholden to wealth and profit, Teresa Callewaert investigates in Chapter 8
the question of theology’s potential for developing critique of the hegemony
of global capitalism. This is treated through an engagement with two writ-
ers from the beginnings of liberationism, i.e. theologically grounded critique
of oppression and exploitation. The Peruvian Catholic theologian Gustavo
Gutiérrez and the Iranian Shiite thinker Ali Shariati both represent an under-
standing of religious tradition as a possible vehicle for conscientisation and
the construction of awareness, self-reliance, and resistance, since not only
is it uniquely positioned among the poor, but it also contains insights into
poverty, God’s will, and hope. The analysis points to the continuing abil-
ity of theology to offer particular insights and avenues for thinking about
resistance. However, such strategies can position critiques both within and
outside of traditions. It is suggested that a position that relates to the meth-
ods, justifications, and tools of tradition itself carries potential to uncover
distinctly theological insights that can contribute to political critique with-
out surrendering either its radicalness or its tradition.
While Chammah J. Kaunda earlier focused on African Pentecostalism’s
impact on women, David Emmanuel Singh offers in Chapter 9 insights into
Pentecostal processes of doing theology, and relates these to Sufi-inspired
faith. “The image of the Path or journey” has been used by charismatics
across religions, in Christianity as well as in Islam. The Sufi-inspired mil-
lennial sect of Mahdawiyya offers a more detailed view of such a journey.
Here, in a journey involving retreat and trust in God, remembrance-ritual,
and speaking from experience, the disciples aspire to “vision/illumination”,
but not as an end in itself. The experience serves as a preparation in readi-
ness for missionary outreach. The chapter explores similarities between the
Mahdawi case and the charismatic Christian tradition in which the author
was raised. Pentecostalism and Mahdawyya obviously belong to different
religious spheres; what connects them is their affiliation with millennial-
ism, and their marginality to their respective traditions. Using the method
of “comparative juxtaposition”, the author aims to search for theologi-
cal meaning behind apparent similarities. Inspired by phenomenology, the
chapter investigates how human effort in seeking nearness with God is not
a one-sided exercise; God reciprocates human effort at seeking him. Phe-
nomenology involves, for the author, comparative descriptions of the sub-
jects’ experiences as they appear or are presented to the researcher; theology
presupposes the reality of God, and God’s initiatives and responses towards
the creatures. Singh sets out on a search for meaning as both a student of
Sufism and a Christian traveller on a Godward journey.
Environmental challenges have in recent years gained more and more
importance. Sigurd Bergmann in Chapter 10 focuses on the notion of
“Anthropocene”, which implies a shift from the Holocene to a new epoch in
the earth’s history. At present, scientists in various disciplines are intensely
and critically discussing from different angles what this means. Bergmann
explores this through an ecotheological lens, and begins by discussing criti-
cal arguments against the triumphalist interpretation of the Anthropocene.
In a second step, it formulates the central challenge within the discourse and
searches for antidotes. Finally, theological skills are explored, to widen our
vision from the past and present to a future beyond the Anthropocene. In
this way, the chapter shows how contextual theopolitics might contribute to
experiencing the earth as Ecocene.
Environmental challenges are also at the core of Chapter 11, as Panu
Pihkala elaborates a theology of “eco-anxiety” as liberating contextual
theology. Numerous people suffer nowadays from various psychological
impacts of environmental problems. Sometimes the symptoms are severe
and are called “eco-anxiety”. The chapter explores theological contribu-
tions which have sought to channel eco-anxiety into hope and action. “The-
ology of eco-anxiety” is a new form of liberating contextual theology and,
according to the author, it will probably gain new forms as the environmen-
tal crisis escalates.
The two final chapters address forward looking issues of subjects, objects
and methods of liberative contextual theology.
Contextual theology has produced not only words and rhetorical expres-
sions but also a vibrant sphere of images. Volker Küster in Chapter 12 does
justice to this wide field and explores contextualisation through the arts. Chris-
tian Art in Africa, Asia, and Latin America has produced a contextual theol-
ogy in its own right beyond words, offering an incredibly comprehensive, rich,
and multifaceted area of material religion. The chapter introduces a theoretical
framework for how to approach and understand this area, and demonstrates
its feasibility by examining and interpreting in detail concrete works of art.
In the concluding Chapter 13, Mika Vähäkangas analyses the emergence
of the discipline of World Christianity as a process of theology’s post-
colonialising. Theology as an academic Eurocentric discipline is challenged
to renew itself. This challenge comes from academia, where traditional
closed confessionalism is no longer acceptable in pluralistic and increasingly
secularised societies. However, modernist projects aiming at scientific and
objective theologies are not viable due to the realisation that all theology is
contextual. Theological Eurocentrism is also challenged from the perspec-
tive of ethics. The renewed academic theology needs to be multireligious,
confessionally open, and culturally inclusive. Many of these changes have
recently taken place in mission studies, as it has transformed into World
Christianity. Undoubtedly, this process can contribute to the renewal of
academic theology, and the chapter explores this potential with special
emphasis on Northern Europe.
Doing theology – “making-oneself-at-home” on earth

While earlier works, often monographs,29 mostly offer methodological
reflections on and arguments for why theology should be contextual, this
book provides in its 12 following chapters a wide range of examples of how
this takes place in practice. The approach of contextual theology does not
function here as a loose, lowest common denominator, but rather as a deep,
central driving force for intensifying the interpretation of “God in Context”
in the lens of both tradition and experiences in concrete local situations.
Doing theology herein serves as what we might describe as a cultural skill of
“making-oneself-at-home”30 on earth in particular localities and of “being
alive”31 in specific contexts. Through its arrangement of themes and con-
texts, the book furthermore catalyses the ongoing negotiation about what
count as urgent, relevant, and prioritised challenges to Christian faith today.
The geography of the chapters provides a worldwide survey of fruits grown
in indigenous lands, as well as in Africa, Asia, Europe, Latin and North
America, and Australia.
To sum up, this book explores the significance of contextual theology
today. It does not offer a comprehensive map of all that is going on in
the field, but allows insights into selected contexts and themes where the
agenda and method of theology’s contextualisation are taken further. As
such, it rather offers encouragement and constructive contributions from
within, instead of a bird’s eye metatheological perspective. Discussing a
range of prioritised thematic perspectives in a worldwide range of selected
geographical, cultural, and confessional contexts, it intends to catalyse the
ongoing discussion on the methodology of doing theology. Themes such as
interreligious plurality, global capitalism, ecumenical liberation theology,
eco-anxiety and environmentalism, postcolonialism, intersectional fluidity
and gender, neo-Pentecostalism, contextual public theology, world theology
and forgiveness and reconciliation are emphasised in depth. Voices from
indigenous lands, Latin America, Asia, Africa, Australia, Europe, and North
America are entering a “prophetic dialogue” on what it means to contextu-
alise theology in a globalised and changing world today.
In this way, the book not only allows a deeper understanding of the sig-
nificance and relevance of the contextual model for theology and how it
works in practice, but also produces a new range of original ways of doing
theology in the face of contemporary challenges. Contextual theology thus
represents a radicalisation of and a breaking free from monistic modes of
thinking and acting. It offers new skills for practices of liberating faith. The
range of tools for doing theology is significantly expanded and the agenda
of themes to be addressed is elaborated in a constructive way.
Notes
1 The Fund for Theological Education was formed in 1958 in Accra, Ghana, and
became in 1977 the (Ecumenical) Programme for Theological Education. Cf.
Dietrich Werner, David Esterline, Namsoon Kang, and Joshva Raja, eds., Hand-
book of Theological Education in World Christianity: Theological Perspectives,
Ecumenical Trends, Regional Surveys (Eugene, OR: Wipf and Stock, 2010), 114.
2 Peter Schineller, A Handbook on Inculturation (Mahwah, NY: Paulist Press,
1990), 19.
3 Justin Ukpong, “Contextualization: Concept and History,” Revue Africaine de
Théologie 11, no. 22 (1987): 149–63. On using contextualisation as an umbrella
term bridging inculturation and liberation theologies, see Emmanuel Martey,
African Theology: Inculturation and Liberation (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1993);
Stephen Munga, Beyond the Controversy: A Study of African Theologies of
Inculturation and Liberation (Lund: Lund University Press, 1998).
4 Robert J. Schreiter, “Contexts and Theological Methods,” in Christian Mis-
sion, Contextual Theology, Prophetic Dialogue: Essays in Honor of Stephen B.
Bevans, SVD, eds. Dale T. Irvin and Peter C. Phan (Maryknoll: Orbis, 2018),
101–17, 102.
5 Angie Pears, Doing Contextual Theology (London and New York: Routledge,
2010), 1.
6 Cf. Sigurd Bergmann, God in Context: A Survey of Contextual Theology (Lon-
don: Routledge, 2003), 1–7 (1st ed. in Swedish, 1997); and Pears, Doing Con-
textual Theology, 168.
7 Robert J. Schreiter, Constructing Local Theologies (London: SCM, 1985).
8 Pears, Doing Contextual Theology, 1, emphasis ours.
9 Schreiter, “Contexts and Theological Methods,” 107–12.
10 Bergmann, God in Context, 3.
11 Cf. Paul Knitter, “Toward a Liberation Theology of Religions,” in The Myth
of Christian Uniqueness: Toward a Pluralistic Theology of Religions, eds. John
Hick and Paul Knitter (Maryknoll: Orbis, 1992).
12 Cf. Volker Küster, Einführung in die interkulturelle Theologie (Göttingen: Van-
denhoek & Ruprecht, 2011).
13 Cf. Susanna J. Snyder, “Displacing Theology: God-Talk in an ‘Age of Migra-
tion,’ ” in Home and Away: Contextual Theology and Local Practice, eds. Ste-
phen Burns and Clive Pearson (Eugene, OR: Pickwick, 2013), 104–23.
14 Dieter Gerten and Sigurd Bergmann, eds., Religion in Global Environmental and
Climate Change: Sufferings, Values, Lifestyles (New York and London: Con-
tinuum, 2011).
15 John Webster, “Introduction: Systematic Theology,” in The Oxford Hand-
book in Systematic Theology, eds. John Webster, Kathryn Tanner, and Iain
Torrance (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 1, 6, www.oxfordhand
books.com/view/10.1093/oxfordhb/9780199245765.001.0001/oxfordhb-
9780199245765-e-1?print=pdf.
16 A different view is held by Aruthuckal Varughese John, who locates modern
apologetics within the framework of contextual theology. Aptly, he notes that
apologetics represents a product of modernity, and suggests that we should strive
for a “Spirit-shaped apologetic” (219) that can re-enchant the world, based on
an understanding that the Holy Spirit’s work changes everything. Aruthuckal
Varughese John, “Third Article Theology and Apologetics,” in The Holy Spirit
and Christian Mission in a Pluralistic Context, ed. Roji T. George (Bangalore:
SAIACS Press, 2017), 202–22.
17 The project on “Lived Theology” was established by theologians in the United
States in 2000 in order to reflect on the interconnection of theology and lived
experience, and to offer academic resources to social justice and human flour-
ishing. Cf. www.livedtheology.org/overview/, accessed May 8, 2019. A similar
approach has also been developed in so-called “empirical theology”, where
Heimbrock unfolds practical theology as “analysis of the culturally shaped
forms and symbolic representations of life in order to describe religious experi-
ence as rooted in ‘lived experience’ ”. Hans-Günter Heimbrock, “Practical The-
ology as Empirical Theology,” International Journal of Practical Theology 14,
no. 2 (2011): 153–70.
18 Veli-Matti Kärkkäinen, Christ and Reconciliation: A Constructive Christian
Theology for the Pluralistic World (Grand Rapids, MI and Cambridge: Eerdmans,
2013), 13.
19 Gordon Kaufman, In Face of Mystery: A Constructive Theology (Cambridge,
MA: Harvard University Press, 1995), ix.
20 Catherine Keller, “Members of Each Other: Intercarnation, Gender and Political
Theology,” workshop presentation at the Faculty of Theology in Lund, Sep-
tember 16, 2019. Cf. Catherine Keller, Intercarnations: Exercises in Theological
Possibility (New York: Fordham University Press, 2017).
21 For a more extensive discussion of constructive theology see Jason A. Wyman,
Jr., Constructing Constructive Theology: An Introductory Sketch (Minneapolis:
Fortress Press, 2017).
22 Lamin Sanneh, Whose Religion Is Christianity? The Gospel Beyond the West
(Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2003); Andrew Walls, The Cross-Cultural Pro-
cess in Christian History (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 2002).
23 Joel Cabrita, David Maxwell, and Emma Wild-Wood, eds., Relocating World
Christianity: Interdisciplinary Studies in Universal and Local Expressions of
the Christian Faith (Leiden: Brill, 2017). On anthropology of Christianity and
theology, see Joel Robbins, “Anthropology and Theology: An Awkward Rela-
tionship?” Anthropological Quarterly 79, no. 2 (2006): 285–94; Joel Robbins,
“Afterword: Let’s Keep It Awkward: Anthropology, Theology, and Otherness,”
The Australian Journal of Anthropology 24 (2013): 329–37. See also Karen
Lauterbach and Mika Vähäkangas, eds., Faith in African Lived Christianity:
Bridging Anthropological and Theological Perspectives (Leiden: Brill, 2020).
24 See Elina Hankela, Ubuntu, Migration and Ministry: Being Human in a Johan-
nesburg Church (Leiden: Brill, 2014); Jonas Adelin Jørgensen, Jesus Imandars
and Christ Bhaktas: Two Case Studies of Interreligious Hermeneutics and Iden-
tity in Global Christianity (Frankfurt/M.: Peter Lang, 2008).
25 Mari-Anna Pöntinen, African Theology as Liberating Wisdom: Celebrating Life
and Harmony in the Evangelical Lutheran Church in Botswana (Leiden: Brill,
2013); Martina Prosén, “Pentecostal Praise and Worship as a Mode of Theol-
ogy,” in Faith in African Lived Christianity, eds. Karen Lauterbach and Mika
Vähäkangas (Leiden: Brill, 2020), 156–79; Mika Vähäkangas, “Negotiating
Religious Traditions – Babu wa Loliondo’s Theology of Healing,” Exchange 45,
no. 3 (2016): 269–97. For a proposal on methodology for such an endeavour, see
Mika Vähäkangas, “How to Respect the Religious Quasi-Other? Methodologi-
cal Considerations on Studying the Kimbanguist Doctrine of Incarnation,” in
Faith in African Lived Christianity, eds. Karen Lauterbach and Mika Vähäkan-
gas (Leiden: Brill, 2020), 133–55.
26 Cf. Bergmann, God in Context, 3.
27 This was one of Chun Hyung Kyung’s central points in her keynote lecture, enti-
tled “Breaking Free from the Monoreligious Cage”, at the event in Lund in 2017
which gave rise to this volume.
28 See Stephen B. Bevans and Roger P. Schroeder, Constants in Context: A Theol-
ogy of Mission for Today (Maryknoll: Orbis, 2004), 284–85. Bevans aims at
dialogue both within Christianity and between Christianity and other religions.
Cf. part III in Dale T. Irvin and Peter C. Phan, eds., Christian Mission, Contex-
tual Theology, Prophetic Dialogue: Essays in Honor of Stephen B. Bevans, SVD
(Maryknoll: Orbis, 2018).
29 Schreiter, Constructing Local Theologies; Stephen B. Bevans, Models of Contex-
tual Theology (Maryknoll: Orbis, 1992); Bergmann, God in Context; Kathryn
Tanner, Theories of Culture: A New Agenda for Theology (Minneapolis: For-
tress Press, 1997); Volker Küster, The Many Faces of Jesus Christ: Intercultural
Christology (Maryknoll: Orbis, 2001) (1st ed. in German, 1999); Pears, Doing
Contextual Theology.
30 Sigurd Bergmann, Religion, Space and the Environment (London and New
York: Routledge, 2014), 19–47.
31 Tim Ingold, Being Alive: Essays on Movement, Knowledge and Description
(London and New York: Routledge, 2011).
2 Can contextual theology
bridge the divide?
South Africa’s politics of
forgiveness as an example
of a contextual public theology
Dion A. Forster
Introduction
How might contextual theology help to bridge the divide between Black
African Liberationist theologies and public theologies in South Africa? Ste-
phen Bevans, a Catholic contextual theologian, writes:
There is no such thing as “theology”; there is only contextual theology:

feminist theology, black theology, liberation theology, Filipino theol-
ogy, Asian-American theology, African theology, and so forth.1
Of course, this is true in at least two senses. First, all theologies emanate
from particular contexts. The history, traditions, participants, sources, and
concerns of particular theological traditions (and the theologians who oper-
ate within those theological traditions) are the contexts within which theo-
logical contributions are formulated and from which they are presented as
contributions to the theological discourse. This is what Stephen Garner calls
“inherently contextual” theology.2 Second, it must be acknowledged that
there is also a second sense in which theologies can be considered contextual
in nature. Garner characterises the second type of contextual theology as
“explicitly contextual” in nature and intent.3 Contextual theologies of the
second kind place a particular emphasis upon the concerns, situations, expe-
riences, sources, and approaches to theological reflection (and also theologi-
cal contribution) that emanate from prescribed contexts.4
It is important to ask the question of what value each of the two types of
contextual theology offers to the academic discourse, and to Christianity, in
its various forms, expressions, and locations.
An outline of the argument for a “contextual

public theology”
This chapter aims to consider this complex question. In doing so, it will
argue for the relevance of a contextual public theology in the South Afri-
can theological context by reflecting on the “politics of forgiveness” among
16 Dion A. Forster
black and white South Africans. This task is predicated on numerous rel-
evant critiques of public theologies within the South African context. Some
South African theologians have questioned whether public theology has any
place, or validity, in this context. The critics suggest that public theologies
are too generic or universal in nature to address adequately the concerns of
black African Christians. As we shall see, their critique is that public theolo-
gies tend not to be contextual enough. The claims of such generic public the-
ologies are not particular in content and contribution, but rather universal
in nature. In consequence, they are considered domesticated (by the stand-
ards, traditions, sources, and approaches of historically Western theological
traditions), and perhaps even domesticating. These critics argue that South
African theologians should remain firmly committed to contextual, African,
and liberation theologies instead of the generic, universalised, domesticated,
public theologies they critique.
We shall engage critiques that are presented by four primary conversa-
tion partners, Esther McIntosh, Tinyiko Maluleke, Rothney Tshaka, and
Jakub Urbaniak. In doing so, we shall identify a common discontent among
these critics of South African public theologies – namely, that contemporary
South African public theologians have a tendency to collapse their theologi-
cal tasks into vague universal approaches, and also to produce non-specific,
universalised, theological content and claims. In response, they advocate a
return from the universal to the particular – namely, liberationist, feminist,
and de-colonial – approaches to the theological task and the resultant theo-
logical content. The challenge with this, as we shall see, is that the proposed
approaches to the theological task could limit the universal applicability and
claims of the Christian faith. This could serve to limit, or “privatise”, the
possible transformative and redeeming potential of the Christian Gospel.5
For example, true forgiveness has been difficult to achieve among South
Africans since the end of political apartheid. Within this context, can the
universal claim for forgiveness in Christianity be disregarded because of
the contextual challenges to this notion? Surely not. What is required is not the
denial of the universal, but the creation of a meaningful tension between
the requirements of the universal claims of Christianity and the particular
realities of the context within which they ought to function.
Thus, having presented these critiques, and considered the common con-
cern about a lack of contextual theological engagement, this chapter will
consider how one example of Southern African public theology, which
focuses on the politics of forgiveness, can serve as a form of “contextual
public theology”. The illustrative project invites an engagement with the
particular (ethnicity, gender, age, social and economic class, language, reli-
gious experience, and social identity complexity). It also invites a rethink-
ing of theological sources and methods (a move from only engaging peer
reviewed academic theological texts, towards a people’s theology that lis-
tens to the experiences and perspectives of “ordinary readers” of the Bible).
Finally, it invites theologians to employ new epistemological approaches to
Can contextual theology bridge the divide? 17
the theological task that take the needs of the “problem owners” seriously,
balancing them with academic requirements. In short, it can be character-
ised as a “contextual public theology in South Africa” that maintains the
integrity of the universal claims of Christianity, in relation to the contextual
uniqueness of history and identity.
A critique of public theologies in South Africa

South Africa remains a deeply religious society, with 84.2 per cent of South
Africans indicating that they are Christian in the last General Household
Survey.6 Moreover, a 2010 Pew report found that 74 per cent of South Afri-
cans “indicated that religion plays an important role in their lives”.7 South
Africans also place higher trust in religious institutions and leaders than in
the state or the public sector.8
It can be said, with a measure of confidence, that religion is important to
all spheres of South African life. Religious beliefs shape social identity,9 and
religious institutions play a very important role in shaping society. How-
ever, the converse is also true. South Africa’s social, cultural, and political
life also shapes Christianity, the Church, and theology. The South African
theologian Nico Koopman writes about this mutual impact, saying that the
“church exists in public, is a part of it and impacts upon it both knowingly
and unknowingly”.10 Koopman’s definition of public theology is instructive
in this regard. He asks three questions about the relationship between belief
and public life:
• What is the inherent public nature of God’s love for the world?
• How can we understand and articulate the rationality of God’s love for
the world?
• What are the meaning and implications of God’s love for every facet of
life?11
As one can see, these questions aim at understanding the universal claims
of the Christian faith in relation to specific issues of public concern. In this
sense at least, one could conclude, as Jürgen Moltmann does, that:
[f]rom the perspective of its origins and its goal, Christian theology is
public theology, for it is the theology of the kingdom of God. . . . As
such it must engage with the political, cultural, educational, economic
and ecological spheres of life, not just with the private and ecclesial
spheres.12
That South African Christianity, and so South African theologies, are

important for, and engaged in, public life is not significantly contested in the
academy. There seems to be a general agreement that religion matters for
South Africans. What is contested, however, is what approach to the task of
18 Dion A. Forster
theology is best suited to a constructive engagement with the ongoing social,
economic, political, and also theological challenges of the contemporary
South African context.
Perhaps the most robust, and widely recognised, critique of public theol-
ogy (in the South African context) has come from Black theologians and
Liberation theologians, such as Tinyiko Maluleke and Rothney Tshaka.
They question whether a public theological approach can ever be specific
enough to engage the complexities and uniqueness of the black and Afri-
can socio-religious context and experience.13 Maluleke and Tshaka both
question whether an approach to theology that does not focus primarily
on social analysis (as liberation theologies do)14 would have value in the
broader (Southern) African social context. In particular, both Maluleke and
Tshaka, as well as Jakub Urbaniak,15 have critiqued the approaches, and
even methods, associated with the persons and places that are identified as
offering a public theological contribution in South Africa. Maluleke’s pri-
mary concern is that:
public theology is trapped in an attempt to universalize concepts, simi-

lar to earlier forms of [colonial] theology, and does not take developing
world theologies seriously. It is post-coloniality, rather than postmoder-
nity, that . . . is of importance to South African society.16
In particular, Maluleke is concerned that public theologians, and their the-

ologies, are incapable of addressing the ongoing “anger in South African
society”.17 They tend to employ theological language and objectives, such
as reconciliation and forgiveness, which are much more closely aligned to
both universal theological ideals in general, and the intentions of Western
theologies in particular. He contends that these choices directly, or inadvert-
ently, contribute towards maintaining the status quo of black and African
subjugation. For this reason, primarily, he contends that “a theory of resist-
ance as found in liberation theologies” is crucial for addressing the concerns
of South African life.18
Of course, there is merit in this critique. The particular must always be
held in tension with the universal – in this case, the history, and current real-
ity, of South Africans must surely be engaged in a careful and robust man-
ner if a particular theology is to have value for the context. However, one
could also ask whether this task is only to be achieved through a liberation
theology – or perhaps, whether a liberative theological approach should
not be prioritised in certain contexts and settings, while other theological
approaches can be of value in different settings. Moreover, it is important
to remember that Maluleke’s critique had a specific context – the article in
which he develops his critique emanates from a particular academic engage-
ment between Maluleke and the Princeton theologian William Storrar, on
4 August 2008. A careful reading of Maluleke’s argument shows that he is
aware that his privileging of liberation theology in South Africa is meant to
be held in tension with other universal theological claims. This is evidenced
in his discussion of some major definitions of public theology, and his own
approaches to the theological task, in pages 80–82 of his critique.19 As such,
it would be fair to conclude that he is not dismissing public theologies out-
right, but rather seeking to aggregate and critique particular approaches to
faith and public life in South Africa that are inadequate to address specific
concerns and needs. In this particular instance, he seems to be concerned
that the universal claims of public theologies, and public theologians, may be
inadequate to deal with the “anger” of black South African Christian experi-
ence.20 This does not mean that a carefully constructed engagement between
faith and contextual issues of public concern – perhaps a liberative, multi-
disciplinary, South African engagement with faith, experience, economics,
and politics – should deny the universal claims of Christianity. Rather, he
makes a convincing point, asking “whether public theology” of the “uni-
versal”, historically Western, kind that he has described “is the most potent
vehicle for dealing with the reality” of black South African pain.21 My read-
ing of his critique is that certain approaches to faith and public life have
tended to lack contextuality – “the reality” – and so they have decreased
the contextual “potency” of the liberative and transformative claims of the
Christian faith.
Tshaka’s critique follows a similar line of reasoning, but with an empha-
sis upon a different set of theological convictions that he feels should gain
priority. Tshaka questions whether it is credible to engage in the task of
theology in the African, and particularly the South African, context in a
way that does not privilege the perspectives and contributions of black Afri-
can theologians.22 In particular, Tshaka picks up on an aspect of Maluleke’s
critique and deals with it more directly and extensively – namely that the
specifically South African contributions to public theologies have tended to
be primarily informed by, and in conversation with, European and North
American theologians.23 This results in both a methodological and a con-
tent shift in the task of South African public theologies. Methodologically,
it means that public theologians tend to approach the task of theology in
ways that are best suited to European and North American theological and
public concerns.24 Theology (as doctrine) and reason are privileged, as are
published sources and the contributions of professional academic theolo-
gians. These tend to be dominated by the contributions of white men, and
of course the concerns of such persons and their contexts.25 Again, this is a
valuable and important critique of South African public theologies, which
have tended to approach both the task and the primary conversation part-
ners in theology from a Western, academic theological, perspective. How-
ever, as with Maluleke’s critique, Tshaka’s does not dismiss public theology
in its broader sense, but rather seeks to critique, and correct, a privileg-
ing of white, Western, sources and conversation partners.26 Again, as with
Maluleke’s concern, this critique advocates a privileging of the voices, expe-
riences, and approaches to theology that are indicative of the black South
20 Dion A. Forster
African Christian experience. What he proposes is sensitivity and choice
in matters of faith and public life, and not a denial of the public role, and
importance, of Christianity and Christian theologies in South Africa. Hence,
here we see once more that a contextual approach to faith and matters of
public concern could be the bridge across the divide.
Urbaniak’s critiques, stemming from a sustained research project, are
among the most specific, and most carefully developed, critiques of South
African public theologies. Urbaniak built his critique of South African
public theologies through an engagement with the work and person of
Nico Koopman, the former chair of the Global Network for Public The-
ology, a former editor of the International Journal for Public Theology,
and former director of the Beyers Naudé Centre for Public Theology
at the University of Stellenbosch. Urbaniak develops the two critiques
discussed earlier (from Maluleke and Tshaka) extensively to illustrate
some of the challenges at the intersection of the particulars of the South
African context and the universal claims of some public theologies. He
writes that by
using [a] postmodern, rather than postcolonial framework, South Afri-

can public theologians [have tended to] open themselves in a more obvi-
ous way to dialogue with their Western/Northern counterparts. This,
however, comes at a price.27
The price, as mentioned by Maluleke and Tshaka, is that the concerns and
approaches of historical, colonial theologies and theologians inadvertently
shape both the issues that are addressed and the manner in which they are
addressed.28 A further “price” that is paid is that the voices of South Afri-
can Christians are also inadvertently not heard or engaged. Simply stated,
Urbaniak advocates an engagement with more than just published academic
sources. He encourages South African theologians to employ approaches to
the task of theology that engage “ordinary” black South African Christian
voices and perspectives.29 Urbaniak rightly argues that it is a mistake for
South African public theologians to give themselves over entirely to histori-
cally Western and Northern theological paradigms and traditions.30 Again,
it is worth taking Urbaniak’s critique to heart – South African public the-
ologies should take the postcolonial theological framework very seriously
in their task. What he suggests is that African public theologians should
seek to cultivate an “explicit and constructive link between [African] social
analysis and [African] theological ideas”.31 This is an important reminder to
African public theologians to offer the richness and diversity of our contexts
to both African and global theological research. Yet, as was argued previ-
ously, it can also be said in this instance that the central claim of Urbaniak’s
critique is related to the lack of contextual methodologies and contextual
inputs in considering the relationships that exist between issues of faith and
public life.
Of course, these challenges are valid within the local context of South
Africa, and the larger contexts of the African continent. It would be a mis-
take to think that theologies of liberation, or other contextual theologies
(such as African or Black theologies), can be ignored within these contexts.
Africa has a predominantly black African population in which there is a cru-
cial need for rigorous prophetic engagement with the historical social struc-
tures and oppressive systems (such as racism, colonialism, and entrenched
social injustice). Moreover, we need to recognise that (South) Africans
are not only consumers of theological knowledge; we are also producers
thereof. The relative disregard for non-published materials does not mean
that (South) Africans are not thinking theologically, or developing theo-
logical resources for significant engagement with issues of public concern.
However, as has been argued, it would also be a mistake to create a binary
between theologies of liberation and all other approaches to the complex
socio-theological issues that we face in our context. Rather, it would be of
greater value to hold liberationist approaches to theology in tension with
the contributions of experts from other relevant fields (such as econom-
ics, political science, sociology, history, etc.). The approach of public the-
ology, as outlined in the previous sections, aims to bring these voices into
conversation with one another so that new insights might emerge. Yet, we
must acknowledge the validity of Maluleke’s, Tshaka’s, and Urbaniak’s cri-
tiques. It would be irresponsible to attempt to engage in credible theology
in the African context without responsibly accentuating the richness of con-
textual African and Black theologies for this context and other contexts.32
It is in this sense that theologians, including African public theologians,
have a great deal to offer African theologies, and indeed global theologies.
Certainly, it is not the intention of those who engage in public theological
reflection and engagement to downplay the value and importance of our
context and its contribution, as can be seen for example in Koopman’s arti-
cle “In Search of a Transforming Public Theology: Drinking from the Wells
of Black Theology”.33
A final significant critique that could be raised against South African
public theologies is one that is brought by feminist public theologians. To
date, the most constructive South African contribution has come from Julie
Claassens in an article entitled “Towards a Feminist Public Theology: On
Wounds, Scars and Healing in the Book of Jeremiah and Beyond”.34 How-
ever, given the historically patriarchal nature of South African academic
theologies, the absence of extensively developed feminist public theologies
in the South African context is a critique within itself.
Esther McIntosh, from York St John University, has been outspoken about
the nature and character of public theologies around the world. A core ele-
ment of her claim is that the contextual experiences, concerns, and input of
women are silenced or disregarded in the formal academic circles of global
public theologies.35 In particular, she rightly shows that public theological
research is dominated by male theologians, and by approaches to theology
22 Dion A. Forster
that can function in ways that exclude women and women’s perspectives.36
This is certainly a critique that we are subject to in African theologies in
general, and South African public theologies in particular. While there are a
number of significant women public theologians on the continent (such as
Musa Dube, Isabel Phiri, Mercy Amba Oduyoye, Julie Claassens, Sarojini
Nadar, and Mary-Anne Plaatjies van Huffel, to name just a few), the real-
ity is that public theological research is largely occupied by men and men’s
worldviews and concerns. Moreover, if one were to look at the chosen con-
versation partners that are highlighted in published books and articles on
public theologies around the world, they are largely dominated by men.37
This critique is valid and is to be taken seriously – it is a call for contextual-
ity that is intersectional in nature. It brings gender considerations to the fore
alongside economic, geographic, cultural, and political concerns. It requires
concerted attention and a choice for critical self-reflection. The only answer
to this critique is to encourage (South) African public theologians to be
intentional about how we do our theology, with whom we undertake the
theological task, and what issues we choose to address in our public theo-
logical research. Again, this is a call for a contextual public theology for the
South African context.
This section of the chapter has sought to highlight, and give attention
to, the necessary critiques against South African public theologies. In par-
ticular, these major critiques all share one common concern – that South
African public theologies must be deeply and consistently contextual in
nature. Moreover, as we considered the corrections that these critics offered,
it became clear that they were not negating the importance of a rigorous and
credible engagement between faith and public issues. Rather, what they were
calling for is the maintaining of a strong and significant tension between the
universal claims of Christianity and the particular concerns, approaches,
and demands of South Africans and the South African context.
A politics of forgiveness as a bridge to the context

and concerns of South African public theologies:
an example of a contextual public theology
In the previous section, we came to the conclusion that faith and public life
are in a constant and necessary interchange in South African life. Theology
matters in South African public life. Yet, there is a need for a contextual
engagement (both in content and method) to adequately engage the com-
plexities of the interchange between faith and public life in this context.
In this section, we shall consider one illustrative example of a contextual
public theology in South Africa. It takes the critiques mentioned previously
seriously, and seeks to find a credible way to bridge the divide between the
universal claims of Christianity (in the call for deep, liberative, and trans-
forming forgiveness) and the particular (namely, South Africa’s social, polit-
ical, and economic history).
A politics of forgiveness
In his book The Politics of Peace, the South African theologian Brian Frost
suggests that to the popular imagination, linking politics and forgiveness
may seem unusual. Forgiveness would seem to be a deeply theological “uni-
versal” concept, while politics comes from a much more particular and con-
textual framing of reality. However, as he notes,
“Politics” is surely the way human beings organize themselves in groups,

either locally, nationally or internationally, to determine and distribute
the use of resources, often in short supply, and how they handle the
institutions they create for doing this. “Forgiveness” is a word used to
indicate that a wrong has been committed which needs redressing. It is
also a word which implies both accepting a wrong and dealing with it
in a constructive way.38
In this regard, it would seem that a coupling of politics and forgiveness

finds their logical link in time – how we deal with our present reality, in the
light of our experiences of the past and our hopes for the future. William
Faulkner succinctly stated that the “past is not dead and gone; it isn’t even
the past”.39 Indeed, in South Africa, we are facing a present contextual real-
ity that shows that we have not adequately dealt with our past in a manner
that is politically sufficient (i.e., in structural, economic, and social terms).
As such, we want forgiveness of our past sins (which is one of Christian-
ity’s universal claims),40 but nonetheless, forgiveness is deeply contested in
the present, and a shared future lived in peace seems to elude us. This is
precisely what Tinyiko Maluleke critiques: a universal call for forgive-
ness, which does not pay adequate attention to the “anger in South African
society”.41
Thus, we can safely assert that the link between a politics of forgive-
ness and a peaceable future among South Africa’s predominantly Christian
population is also not a given. However, as Donald Shriver points out,
A political form of forgiveness may not guarantee that we humans can

survive our sins against each other. But without it, we might not have
survived this long; and we need it, as our capacity to harm or hurt each
other grows, more than ever.42
Understood in this way, we can see the tension that is necessary, and should
exist, between the universal call for forgiveness in the Christian faith and the
particular contextual experience and reality of South Africans.
Forgiveness, as a theological and social discourse in South Africa, is
deeply contested. Numerous South African scholars and activists have
raised concerns about the transactional nature of the concept of forgiveness
in this context.43 Moreover, interpersonal socio-political factors – such as
24 Dion A. Forster
the nature of the historical offences of apartheid, whether reparation has
been made (or attempted) for these offences, the political identities of the
parties involved, and expectations and conditions for the self and for the
other – also play a role in understandings of forgiveness. One significant
problem that has been identified, and is evidenced in the findings of this
research, is that unreconciled persons in South Africa seldom have contact
with each other because of the legacy of the apartheid system, which sepa-
rated persons racially, according to economic class, and geographically.44 In
at least one sense, this makes forgiveness impossible – not only is it impos-
sible for persons to forgive one another since they have no proximate or
authentic social engagement, but forgiveness is also a theological impossi-
bility because of deeply held and entrenched religious convictions about the
nature and processes of forgiveness. The universal and the particular must
be held in tension for either to find fuller and truer meaning.
A people’s theology: empirical intercultural Bible study

In 2018, I published a discussion of the findings of a four-year project on
the politics of forgiveness, entitled “Translation and a Politics of Forgive-
ness in South Africa? What Black Christians Believe, and White Christians
do not Seem to Understand”.45 The title for this paper originates from the
findings of a project on forgiveness that was conducted among black and
white Christians in Cape Town, South Africa.46 The research aimed to ascer-
tain, by means of a qualitative empirical study, how a sampling of black
and white South African Christians understand forgiveness. What does for-
giveness mean? What does each group understand as the expectations, pro-
cesses, and requirements for forgiveness to be realised?
It could be said that forgiveness in its universal and vague sense is a deeply
contested notion for South African Christians – it is not understood, and
particular understandings of forgiveness are not broadly accepted or shared.
Because of the debts of the past, and unhealed history, discourses of for-
giveness frequently contribute towards the ongoing suffering of South Afri-
cans. We simply have not done enough “sensemaking” with one another, as
black and white Christians, to plumb the depths of an authentic “difficult
forgiveness”.47 The South African poet Nathan Trantraal, in his poem “Fic-
tion en Estrangement”, tells of how after the 1994 democratic elections in
South Africa, the Christian religion called upon black South Africans to be
“Christlike”, to give up the violent struggle for liberation, and to forgive the
white perpetrators for the sins of apartheid. This can be likened to the cri-
tique that Maluleke gives of “universal” approaches to public theologies.48
Trantraal says that it resulted in a “cheap” forgiveness – forgiveness without
justice. He writes:
Ammel het hystoe gegan

Hulle na hulle hyse langsie sea
ós na ós shacks
langs poeletjies stagnant wate
waa die gif in vergifnis
ós ammel
siek gemaak et
Everyone went home

They to their homes along the sea
And we to our shacks
Next to pools of stagnant water
Where the poison [gif] in forgiveness [vergifnis]
Made us all
Sick49
Trantraal says this cheap forgiveness made everyone sick. He employs a

subtle play on the Afrikaans words for forgiveness and poison to do so,
pointing to the “gif [poison] in vergifnis [forgiveness]”.50 This sentiment is
evidenced in the 2015 Institute for Justice and Reconciliation (IJR) report
on reconciliation, which notes that
While most South Africans agree that the creation of a united, recon-
ciled nation remains a worthy objective to pursue, the country remains
afflicted by its historical divisions. The majority feels that race relations
have either stayed the same or deteriorated since the country’s politi-
cal transition in 1994 and the bulk of respondents have noted income
inequality as a major source of social division. Most believe that it is
impossible to achieve a reconciled society for as long as those who were
disadvantaged under apartheid remain poor within the “new South
Africa”.51
What the research on forgiveness among black and white South Africans
found was that social identity, of which political identity is a part,52 played
a very important role in the construction of beliefs concerning the expecta-
tions, processes, and content of forgiveness.
We cannot go into great detail on the findings of the research at this stage.
However, the general findings were as follows.
• Among the predominantly black and so-called coloured53 participants,

forgiveness was largely understood in a collective and social manner.54
In other words, forgiveness was not only an individual concern, but
had social consequences and social expectations within the community.
Moreover, this group understood that forgiveness was not only a mat-
ter of spiritual restoration between the individual (or community) and
God. Rather, it should be evidenced in the restoration of relationships
and structures in the community. For this group, forgiveness can only
26 Dion A. Forster
be authentic if the conditions for forgiveness are evidenced in the com-
munity. In other words, forgiveness in South Africa would be contingent
upon economic transformation, transfer of land ownership, a transfor-
mation of social power dynamics, and visible and tangible expressions
of remorse on the part of the beneficiaries and initiators of apartheid in
South Africa. A social understanding of community harmony is largely
in keeping with notions of intersubjective identity that are more com-
mon in black and coloured South African communities.55
• The white participants largely understood forgiveness in an individual
and spiritual manner.56 For the majority of participants in this group,
the data showed that they viewed forgiveness as being primarily a mat-
ter of restoring their spiritual relationship with God. They did not ini-
tially consider that forgiveness may need to engage the party against
whom the sin was committed. Forgiveness is theological (spiritual); it
has to do with spiritual sin. As such, God is the offended party, and for-
giveness would have been enacted when God had set them free from the
guilt and spiritual culpability of their actions. Such a view of forgive-
ness would not necessarily entail the restoration of relational harmony
among members of the community or the restitution of social, political,
or economic structures in the community. Common expressions of this
view would be statements such as “apartheid was wrong, but it is over.
I confessed my part [sin] in it and I believe God has forgiven me. Now
we need to move on and stop living in the past. We must stop talking
about apartheid”.
This research project offers an example of a “contextual public theology”

that can bridge the divide between a universal claim of Christianity (forgive-
ness) and the particular contextual concerns and lived experiences of South
Africans.
First, the project, and its methodological approach, illustrate that faith and
public life operate in a mutual interchange with one another. This project is
not only contextual in the general, or universal, sense in which “all theology
is contextual”. Rather, it is “explicitly contextual”, both in its methodological
approach and in its findings. Methodologically, the project sought to priori-
tise the lived experiences, theological perspectives, and insights of “ordinary
readers” of the texts of forgiveness.57 It was specifically designed so that not
only published, formal, academic sources would inform the understandings
of “political forgiveness” in South Africa. The voices of the “ordinary read-
ers” predominate in the theological discussion and form the primary con-
versation partners, alongside which the perspectives of other theologians are
brought into the conversation. In consequence, this contextual public theo-
logical engagement with the politics of forgiveness gave priority to black
South African women’s and men’s perspectives. These voices shaped our
understanding of the complex interplay between faith and public life, and
also brought these perspectives into the wider academic public discourse.
Second, this “contextual public theological” project illustrates how con-
textual factors, such as social identity, can be brought into conversation
with theological concerns, in an interdisciplinary manner that has schol-
arly rigour and academic credibility. What is critical in this regard is that
the universal claim of forgiveness in the Christian faith is taken very seri-
ously in this project. Rather than merely rejecting it because of contextual
concerns and critiques over its misuse in the past, this “contextual public
theological” engagement with the politics of forgiveness illustrates how one
can hold a creative and necessary tension between the universal and the par-
ticular. This project shows that social identity and lived, contextual reality
play significant roles in the shaping of religious and theological convictions.
This relates to a number of important factors such as ethnicity, gender, and
social and economic class. In answering a central question of the public
theologian, “what are the meaning and implications of God’s love for every
facet of life?”58 this project shows that one can only provide an adequate
answer when the universal is actualised within the context, experience, and
history of particular persons. This requires not only theological insight, but
also a credible engagement with insights from other disciplines (such as
psychology, sociology, economics, politics, gender studies, etc.). This goes
some way towards addressing Maluleke’s concern about the adequacy of
a contextual public theology for South Africa that can truly engage black
“public anger”.59 Moreover, it takes McIntosh’s concern seriously not only
by facilitating critical conversation with (black African) women, but also
by considering the uniqueness of (black African) women’s lived experiences
and expectations of a politics of forgiveness.
Third, this illustrative example of a “contextual public theology” shows
that inadequate, jaundiced, and un-contextual applications of “universal”
theological concepts (such as forgiveness), if not coupled with lived experi-
ence, political expectation, and social engagement, can be counterproduc-
tive to the theological beliefs themselves. The results of the research project
show that because of a lack of contextual engagement with forgiveness as
a contextual political issue, black South Africans have come to experience
it as painful, and white South Africans have tended to disregard it.60 It is
important for academic theologians, well-intentioned faith leaders, and
persons of faith to take the importance of careful and rigorous contextual
engagement into consideration when seeking to adequately understand and
address issues of faith and public concern. A contextual public theology has
the potential to make a constructive contribution to the understanding of,
and adequate engagement with, issues of faith and public concern. On the
other hand, a non-contextual, universalised approach to contested issues of
faith and public concern (such as the politics of forgiveness in South Africa)
could lead to greater disconnection and disharmony among Christians and
within society at large.61
Finally, what this illustrative example of a contextual public theology,
related to the politics of forgiveness in South Africa, shows is that theological
28 Dion A. Forster
convictions have a significant impact upon daily life and political life. This
returns us to the claim with which we began – in some senses, all theolo-
gies, whether liberative, feminist, or public, are contextual theologies.62 In
this instance, we focused deliberately on the deeply contextual nature of the
“public” within which faith operates and is formed. The “universal” claims
of Christianity (whether they are shaped by a liberationist, Black, African,
or feminist approach) ultimately function within public life. As such, we
cannot escape the need for rigorous, intentional, and sustained contextual
public theologies that consider the interchange between faith and life. To
opt for an approach to engaging the complexities of faith that seeks to “pri-
vatise” such engagement within a particular sphere will only serve to limit
the intended liberating and transformative aims of Christian theology and
the Christian faith.
Conclusion
This chapter argued that a contextual theology can help to address some
of the most significant critiques of South African public theologies. We saw
that we cannot dismiss the universal claims of Christianity (such as forgive-
ness) because of specific, important, contextual concerns. However, what is
needed is to facilitate a creative and credible tension between the universal
claims of Christianity and the particular contextual concerns of those who
engage in issues of faith and public concern. A number of important cri-
tiques of South African public theologies were presented and considered. In
doing so, it was argued that the central issue at stake is that greater attention
has to be paid to contextual voices, contextual approaches, and contextual
priorities in public theologies. The chapter concluded by presenting an illus-
trative example of a “contextual public theological” research project that
focused on the “politics of forgiveness” among black and white South Afri-
can Christians. This project showed that “contextual South African public
theology” can hold great value for academic theologies, as well as for public
life in South Africa.
Notes
1 Stephen B. Bevans, Models of Contextual Theology (New York, NY: Orbis
Books, 2002), 3.
2 Stephen Garner, “Contextual and Public Theology: Passing Fads or Theological
Imperatives?” Stimulus: The New Zealand Journal of Christian Thought and
Practice 22, no. 1 (2015): 20–28, 21.
3 Ibid., 21.
4 Angie Pears, Doing Contextual Theology (London: Routledge, 2009), 7–9.
5 See the discussion of the loss of confidence in some liberation theological tra-
ditions, and the fracturing of others in the contemporary academy, in Ward’s
consideration of the rise of Radical Orthodoxy in relation to the contemporary
debates on ecumenical Christianity, in Graham Ward, “Radical Orthodoxy:
Its Ecumenical Vision,” Acta Theologica 25 (2017): 29–45, 36–37, https://doi.
org/10.18820/23099089/actat.v37i1S.1.
6 Willem J. Schoeman, “South African Religious Demography: The 2013 Gen-
eral Household Survey,” HTS Teologiese Studies/Theological Studies 73, no. 2
(2017): 1–7, https://doi.org/10.4102/hts.v73i2.3837.
7 Luis Lugo and Alan Cooperman, Tolerance and Tension: Islam and Christianity
in Sub-Saharan Africa (Washington, DC: Pew Research Center, 2010), 3–4; Dion
A. Forster, “From ‘Prophetic Witness’ to ‘Prophets of Doom’? The Contested
Role of Religion in the South African Public Sphere,” in Religious Freedom at
Stake: Competing Claims among Faith Traditions, States and Persons, eds. Dion
A. Forster, Elisabeth Gerle, and Göran Gunner, Church of Sweden Research
Series (Eugene, OR: Pickwick Publications, 2019), 22–24.
8 Forster, “From ‘Prophetic Witness’ to ‘Prophets of Doom’?” 23; Susanne Winter
and Lars Thomas Burchert, “Value Change in Post-Apartheid South Africa,” Ver-
anstaltungsbeitrag (South Africa: Konrad-Adenauer-Stiftung e.V., May 2015), 1,
www.kas.de/wf/doc/kas_41566-1522-2-30.pdf?150609093459; Hennie Kotze,
“Religiosity in South Africa and Sweden: A Comparison,” in Religious Freedom
at Stake, eds. Dion A. Forster, Elisabeth Gerle, and Göran Gunner (Eugene, OR:
Wipf and Stock Publishers, 2019), 1–7.
9 Dion A. Forster, The (Im)Possibility of Forgiveness? An Empirical Intercultural
Bible Reading of Matthew 18:15–35, Beyers Naudé Centre Series on Public The-
ology 11, 1st ed. (Stellenbosch, South Africa: SUN Press, 2017), 72–79; cf. Willie
James Jennings, The Christian Imagination: Theology and the Origins of Race
(New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2010), chapter 1.
10 Nico Koopman, “Public Spirit: The Global Citizen’s Gift – A Response to
William Storrar,” International Journal of Public Theology 5, no. 1 (2011):
90–99, 94.
11 Nico Koopman, “Some Contours for Public Theology in South Africa,” Interna-
tional Journal of Practical Theology 14, no. 1 (2010): 123–38, 124.
12 Jürgen Moltmann, Nicholas Wolterstorff, and Ellen T. Charry, A Passion for
God’s Reign: Theology, Christian Learning and the Christian Self (Grand Rap-
ids, MI: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing, 1998), 24.
13 Rothney Stok Tshaka, “African, You Are on Your Own! The Need for African
Reformed Christians to Seriously Engage Their Africanity in Their Reformed
Theological Reflections,” Scriptura: International Journal of Bible, Religion and
Theology in Southern Africa 96 (2007): 533–48; Rothney Stok Tshaka, “On
Being African and Reformed? Towards an African Reformed Theology Enthused
by an Interlocution of Those on the Margins of Society,” HTS Theological Stud-
ies 70, no. 1 (2014): 1–7; Tinyiko Sam Maluleke, “Reflections and Resources
The Elusive Public of Public Theology: A Response to William Storrar,” Interna-
tional Journal of Public Theology 5, no. 1 (2011): 79–89.
14 Cf. Maluleke, “Reflections and Resources,” 79–89.
15 Jakub Urbaniak, “Elitist, Populist or Prophetic? A Critique of Public theologis-
ing in Democratic South Africa,” International Journal of Public Theology 12,
no. 3–4 (2018): 332–52, https://doi.org/10.1163/15697320-12341546; Jakub
Urbaniak, “What Makes Christology in a Post-Apartheid South Africa Engaged
and Prophetic? Comparative Study of Koopman and Maluleke,” Theology and
the (Post) Apartheid Condition: Genealogies and Future Directions (Stellen-
bosch: Sun Press, 2016), 125–55, 125; Jakub Urbaniak, “Theologians and Anger
in the Age of Fallism: Towards a Revolution of African Love,” Black Theol-
ogy 15, no. 2 (2017): 87–111; Jakub Urbaniak, “Probing the ‘Global Reformed
Christ’ of Nico Koopman: An African-Kairos Perspective,” Stellenbosch Theo-
logical Journal 2, no. 2 (2016): 495–538.
30 Dion A. Forster
6 Maluleke, “Reflections and Resources,” 79.
1
17 Ibid.
18 Ibid.
19 Ibid., 80–82.
20 Ibid., 83–89.
21 Ibid., 89.
22 Cf. Tshaka, “African, You Are on Your Own!” 533–48; Tshaka, “On Being
African and Reformed?” 1–7; R. S. Tshaka and A. P. Phillips, “The Continued
Relevance of African/Black Christologies in Reformed Theological Discourses
in South Africa Today,” Dutch Reformed Theological Journal/Nederduitse Ger-
eformeerde Teologiese Tydskrif 53, no. 3–4 (2012): 353–62.
23 Tshaka, “African, You Are on Your Own!” 533–34.
24 Tshaka, “On Being African and Reformed?” 1–2; “Black Theologies African
Theologies and the Challenge of Whiteness VLOG 34 18 August 2016,” 19
August 2016, Youtube video, 19:11, posted by Dion Forster as part of the vlog
series “Not a Lecture . . . Just a Thought” (Stellenbosch University, 2016), www.
youtube.com/watch?v=D4t3Eq054LE&t=4s.
25 Tshaka and Phillips, “The Continued Relevance of African,” 353–54; Tshaka,
“On Being African and Reformed?” 1–2, 7; “Black Theologies African Theolo-
gies and the Challenge of Whiteness VLOG 34 18 August 2016.”
26 Tshaka and Phillips, “The Continued Relevance of African,” 361–62; Tshaka,
“On Being African and Reformed?” 7; “Black Theologies African Theologies
and the Challenge of Whiteness VLOG 34 18 August 2016.”
27 Urbaniak, “Probing the ‘Global Reformed Christ’ of Nico Koopman,” 516. Ital-
ics original.
28 Maluleke, “Reflections and Resources,” 83–89; Tshaka, “African, You Are on
Your Own!” 533–48.
29 Urbaniak, “Elitist, Populist or Prophetic?” 351–52.
30 Urbaniak, “Probing the ‘Global Reformed Christ’ of Nico Koopman,” 516–18.
31 Ibid., 518.
32 Nico Koopman, “Reformed Theology in South Africa: Black? Liberating? Pub-
lic?” Journal of Reformed Theology 1, no. 3 (2007): 294–306; cf. Dion A. For-
ster, “What Hope Is There for South Africa? A Public Theological Reflection
on the Role of the Church as a Bearer of Hope for the Future,” HTS Teologiese
Studies/Theological Studies 71, no. 1 (2015): 1–10; Jaco Botha and Dion A. For-
ster, “Justice and the Missional Framework Document of the Dutch Reformed
Church,” Verbum et Ecclesia 38, no. 1 (2017): 1–9, https://doi.org/10.4102/
ve.v38i1.1665.
33 Nico N. Koopman, “In Search of a Transforming Public Theology: Drinking
from the Wells of Black Theology,” in Contesting Post-Racialism: Conflicted
Churches in the United States and South Africa, eds. R. D. Smith et al. (Jackson:
University of Mississippi Press, 2015), 211–25.
34 L. Juliana Claassens, “Towards a Feminist Public Theology: On Wounds, Scars
and Healing in the Book of Jeremiah and Beyond,” International Journal of
Public Theology 13 (2019): 185–202.
35 Esther McIntosh, “Public Theology, Populism and Sexism: The Hidden Crisis in
Public Theology,” in Resisting Exclusion: Global Theological Responses to Pop-
ulism, eds. Simone Sinn and Eva Harasta, special issue, LWF Studies 2019, no.
1 (2019): 215–28, www.lutheranworld.org/sites/default/files/2019/documents/
studies_2019_resisting_exclusion_en_full.pdf.
36 McIntosh, “Public Theology, Populism and Sexism,” 215–28; Esther McIntosh,
“Special Issue – Hearing the Other: Feminist Theology and Ethics,” Interna-
tional Journal of Public Theology 4, no. 1 (2009): 1–4, https://doi.org/10.116
3/187251710X12578338897700; Esther McIntosh, “Issues in Feminist Public
Theology,” in Public Theology and the Challenge of Feminism, eds. Stephen
Burns and Anita Monro (London: Routledge, Taylor and Francis Group, 2015),
63–74.
37 McIntosh, “Public Theology, Populism and Sexism,” 216–18.
38 Brian Frost, The Politics of Peace (London: Darton, Longman and Todd,
1991), 1.
39 William Faulkner, Requiem for a Nun (New York, NY: Harper Classics, 2013),
137, cited in Frost, xiv.
40 Cf. Dion A. Forster, “A Public Theological Approach to the (Im)Possibility
of Forgiveness in Matthew 18.15–35: Reading the Text through the Lens of
Integral Theory,” In Die Skriflig/In Luce Verbi 51, no. 3 (2017): 1, https://doi.
org/10.4102/ids.v51i3.2108; Desmond Tutu, No Future Without Forgiveness
(New York, NY: Random House, 2012).
42 Frost, The Politics of Peace, viv.
43 Pumla Gobodo-Madikizela and Chris Van Der Merwe, Memory, Narrative
and Forgiveness: Perspectives on the Unfinished Journeys of the Past (Cam-
bridge: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2009); Robert Vosloo, “Difficult For-
giveness? Engaging Paul Ricoeur on Public Forgiveness within the Context of
Social Change in South Africa,” International Journal of Public Theology 9,
no. 3 (2015): 360–78, https://doi.org/10.1163/15697320-12341406; Robert R.
Vosloo, “Traumatic Memory, Representation and Forgiveness: Some Remarks in
Conversation with Antjie Krog’s Country of My Skull,” In Die Skriflig 46, no. 1
(2012), https://doi.org/10.4102/ids.v46i1.53; Dion A. Forster, “Translation and
a Politics of Forgiveness in South Africa? What Black Christians Believe, and
White Christians Do Not Seem to Understand,” Stellenbosch Theological Jour-
nal 14, no. 2 (2018): 77–94, http://dx.doi.org/10.17570/stj.2018.v4n2.a04.
44 Jan H. Hofmeyr and Rajen Govender, SA Reconciliation Barometer 2015:
National Reconciliation, Race Relations, and Social Inclusion (Cape Town:
Institute for Justice and Reconciliation, December 8, 2015), 1, www.ijr.org.za/
uploads/IJR_SARB_2015_WEB_002.pdf.
45 Forster, “Translation and a Politics of Forgiveness in South Africa?” 77–94.
46 See Forster, The (Im)Possibility of Forgiveness?
47 Vosloo, “Difficult Forgiveness?” 360.
48 Maluleke, “Reflections and Resources,” 83–89.
49 My translation.
50 Cf. Louise Viljoen, “Alles Het Niet Kom Wôd Deur Nathan Trantraal: ’n Resen-
sie,” LitNet, April 3, 2017, www.litnet.co.za/alles-het-niet-kom-wod-deur-
nathan-trantraal-n-resensie/; Nathan Trantraal, Alles Het Niet Kom Wôd: ’n
Digbundel, 1st ed. (Kaapstad: Kwela, 2017).
51 Hofmeyr and Govender, “SA Reconciliation Barometer 2015,” 1.
52 Francis Fukuyama, Identity: The Demand for Dignity and the Politics of Resent-
ment (London: Macmillan, 2018), 3–5.
53 The notion of ethnic identity is not to be understood in an essentialist manner
in this study. Hammett points out that ethnic identity, which in South Africa is
related to race identity (as is the case in Hammett’s discussion of the notion),
remains fluid, with the “reification or erasure of racial identities” continuing
to take place among population groups and within social and political struc-
tures in South Africa; see Daniel Hammett, “Ongoing Contestations: The Use
of Racial Signifiers in Post-Apartheid South Africa,” Social Identities 16, no. 2
(2010): 247–60, 247–48, https://doi.org/10.1080/13504631003691090. The
notion of ethnic identity and race identification remains contested and complex
32 Dion A. Forster
in South Africa. See Allan Boesak et al., Contesting Post-Racialism: Conflicted
Churches in the United States and South Africa, eds. R. Drew Smith et al. (Jack-
son: University Press of Mississippi, 2015); Cobus Van Wyngaard, “White-
ness and Public Theology: An Exploration of Listening,” Missionalia 43, no. 3
(2015): 478–92, https://doi.org/10.7832/43-3-132; Cobus van Wyngaard, “The
Language of ‘Diversity’ in Reconstructing Whiteness in the Dutch Reformed
Church,” in Churches, Blackness, and Contested Multiculturalism: Europe,
Africa and North America, eds. R. D. Smith, William Ackah, and Anthony G.
Reddie (New York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014), 157–70. In reality there is no
ethnic or race category that could adequately contain the complexity of human
identities. The terms that are used in this study are informed by the literature,
and are terms used by the participants in identifying their own race identities.
The three dominant self-descriptors are so-called coloured (brown, Khoi), black
and white. Some of the participants described themselves as white. Some partici-
pants described themselves as either black or coloured (or “so-called coloured”).
Others described themselves as black and coloured. The research shows that
black and coloured identity is based on an understanding that is relational in
some contexts and political in others. At times ethnicity, or race, is identified
and described in relation to a community of reference. For example, in relation
to family and friends, a person may self-identify as coloured, while in a political
setting the same person may self-identify as black so as not to be excluded from
the political solidarity of redressing the ethnic and racial legacies of apartheid.
See Mohamed Adhikari, Not White Enough, Not Black Enough: Racial Iden-
tity in the South African Coloured Community (Athens, OH: Ohio University
Press, 2005), 98–130; Ian Goldin, “The Reconstitution of Coloured Identity in
the Western Cape,” in The Politics of Race, Class and Nationalism in Twentieth
Century South Africa, eds. S. Marks and Stanley Trapido (New York, NY: Rout-
ledge, 2014), 156–81. The Broad-Based Black Economic Empowerment Act 53
of 2003 as Amended by Act No. 46 of 2013 in South Africa uses the term “Black
people” as a generic term to refer to “Africans, Coloureds and Indians”. The
Black Consciousness movement in South Africa employed the term Black inclu-
sively in order to raise awareness around black experience and black identity,
but also to subvert the essentialist and divisive intentions of Apartheid-era race
classifications.
54 Forster, The (Im)Possibility of Forgiveness? 178–84.
55 Adhikari, Not White Enough, Not Black Enough; Augustine Shutte, “Ubuntu
as the African Ethical Vision,” in African Ethics: An Anthology of Comparative
and Applied Ethics, ed. Munyaradzi Felix Murove (Scottsville, South Africa:
University of Kwazulu-Natal Press, 2009), 85–99; Dion A. Forster, “A Generous
Ontology: Identity as a Process of Intersubjective Discovery – An African The-
ological Contribution,” HTS Teologiese Studies/Theological Studies 66, no. 1
(2010): 1–12, https://doi.org/10.4102/hts.v66i1.731; Huseyin Cakal et al., “An
Investigation of the Social Identity Model of Collective Action and the ‘Sedative’
Effect of Intergroup Contact among Black and White Students in South Africa,”
British Journal of Social Psychology 50, no. 4 (2011): 606–27.
56 Forster, The (Im)Possibility of Forgiveness? 184–89.
57 Dion A. Forster, “A Social Imagination of Forgiveness,” Journal of Empirical The-
ology 1, no. 32 (2019): 70–88, 70–72, https://doi.org/doi:10.1163/15709256-
12341387; Forster, The (Im)Possibility of Forgiveness? 211; Gerald West,
“Liberation Hermeneutics after Liberation in South Africa,” in Trajectories
of Religion in Africa: Essays in Honour of John S. Pobee, Studies in World
Christianity and Interreligious Relations 48 (Leiden: Brill, 2014), 341–81, 341;
Gerald O. West, “Locating ‘Contextual Bible Study’ within Biblical Liberation
Hermeneutics and Intercultural Biblical Hermeneutics,” HTS Theological Stud-
ies 70, no. 1 (2014): 1–3, https://doi.org/10.4102/hts.v70i1.2641.
58 Koopman, “Some Contours for Public Theology in South Africa,” 124.
60 Forster, “A Social Imagination of Forgiveness,” 70–88; Forster, The (Im)Pos-
sibility of Forgiveness? 178–89.
61 Forster, “Translation and a Politics of Forgiveness in South Africa?” 77–94.
62 Bevans, Models of Contextual Theology, 3.
3 Contextual theology on trial?
African neo-Pentecostalism, sacred
authority, gendered constructions,
and violent enactions
Chammah J. Kaunda
Introduction
This chapter interrogates how some African neo-Pentecostalism1 reinforces
and legitimises authority2 by adopting loosely reinterpreted sacred attrib-
utes of traditional African notions of authority that give unquestionable and
unaccountable power to their clergy. The chapter argues that this resourc-
ing of power creates an authoritarian atmosphere in which women and
girls are rendered vulnerable to sexualised treatment. This is demonstrated
by employing two cases of sexual abuse of women and girls by some neo-
Pentecostal pastors in South Africa to stress that inculturation informed by
subconscious affirmation of the “Christ of culture”3 that has taken place in
some of these churches promotes dangerous forms of authority which have
both ignored values of Ubuntu and failed to adequately interact with the
kenotic authority of Jesus Christ.
The chapter is informed by decolonial4 thinking shaped by Ubuntu, and
refers to a way of being and exercising power informed by recognising the
intrinsic relationality and belonging of all creation to each other. Human
beings and all creation participate in each other’s existence – “we are
because you are, and since you are, therefore, I am”.5 The “I am” generates
power to be and authority to act from others. This makes “I am” a way of
exercising power and a way of acting through radical relationality. Ubuntu
speaks of a way of generating and exercising power as a relational resource
embedded within the community of life (including the living, non-human
creation, yet-to-be-born, ancestors, divinities and God) for the wellbeing
of the community. Authority/power is not a possession of an individual;
it is rather a community resource which originates from God. Only God
has authority/power, and all creation only participates in God’s authority/
power. Vital participation6 in God’s life/power is a gift of God to the com-
munity of life. Thus, decoloniality seeks to liberate and redesign existing
foundational systems of people’s imaginations of power, which have been
manipulated and used as religious apparatus of oppression and exploita-
tion, by subjecting them to kenotic imaginations. It also seeks to transform
indigenous ideals and aspirations inherent in cultural heritage by reclaiming
Contextual theology on trial? 35
life-giving elements and rejecting elements that do not promote the fullness
of life for all. Traditionally, power has been viewed as the possession of the
powerful and privileged. In contrast, this chapter seeks to rearticulate power
from the experiences of those on the margins, in order to kenotise and
decolonise principles on which reigning neo-Pentecostal notions of power
are grounded, as well as ideological discourses that authorise practices of
power. Thus, decoloniality is not a matter of merely changing frames of
thinking and approaches to neo-Pentecostal notions of power. Rather, it is
a critical approach to kenotising and decolonising the way power is articu-
lated and practised in order to promote a decolonial kenotic articulation of
relational meanings of power based on experiences of the margins.7
The chapter argues that the uncritical inculturation of traditional con-
cepts of authority/power within neo-Pentecostalism is a critical factor in
shaping local contextual forces such as social, relational, gender, sexual-
ity,8 economic, political, and cultural. There is a need to interrogate the
religious paradox within neo-Pentecostalism which simultaneously rejects
and uncritically perpetuates core elements of traditional cultural forms of
authority while not adequately interacting with the kenotic authority of
Jesus Christ. Kenosis is engaged using a decolonial approach, as too often
the concept has also unwittingly been utilised to promote subordination of
women and girls. I shall demonstrate how from the perspective of decolo-
niality, kenosis could help to challenge some misconceptions, such as the
view that authority is identical with coercive power, male dominance, and
the prophet’s sole access to the divine, as something that the clergy possess,
and that is enforceable through top-down interactions in which the laity is
reduced to a spiritual clientele. The chapter suggests a life-affirming deco-
lonial kenotic theology of authority which is boundary-crossing from the
centre to the margins, from spiritual to material, from divine to human, and/
or from power into powerlessness and vulnerability, whereby the pastor is
emptied of human authority for the sake of the marginalised.
On the sacred: a definition

In a search to interrogate the misuse of authority in some African neo-Pen-
tecostalism, the first step is to understand the African traditional notions of
sacred authority. I follow David Chidester’s definition of the sacred as
that which is set apart from the ordinary, everyday rhythms of life, but
set apart in such a way that it stands at the center of community forma-
tion. In between the radical transcendence of the sacred and the social
dynamics of the sacred, we find ongoing mediations, at the intersec-
tions of personal subjectivity and social collectivities, in which anything
can be sacralized through the religious work of intensive interpretation,
regular ritualization, and inevitable contestation over ownership of the
means, modes, and forces for producing the sacred.9
36 Chammah J. Kaunda
If we accept Chidester’s delineation of “the sacred”, then the concept of
sacred authority does not need to be limited to any specific religion. As
Tinyiko Maluleke stresses, “Nor, then, should we confine the concept of
the religious to the four walls of religious institutions”.10 In African reli-
gious heritage, religious leaders, as set apart by ancestors and divinities,
have been at the centre of community formations. Metaphysically and epis-
temologically, African ontologies are inhospitable to dichotomies such as
those between God and creation, the natural and the supernatural, the phys-
ical and the spiritual, the individual and the community, and so on. In the
absence of such dichotomies, there is no sharp distinction between secular
authority and spiritual authority.11 Authority is rooted in the meanings and
interpretations underpinned by an African spiritual heritage. However, the
notions of power/authority are not simple or monolithic, but rather embrace
all aspects of human experiences. Most African people believe in the spir-
itual significance of all human authority, whether political or religious.12
Spirituality cannot be removed from the experience of most African people
in considering any type of authority/power, especially religious authority,
which is a focus of this chapter.
African feminist theologians have lamented over how African spirituality
and authority easily get entangled within gendered relations of power.13 For
example, and as demonstrated in the following case studies, in some parts
of Africa, Christian women have been forced to define their sex and sexual-
ity from the perspective of being the causers and loci of sin. In worse cases,
coercing women to subordinate their sexual desires to their male counter-
parts is perceived as a form of purification from sin.14 African feminists
resist regarding authority as neutral. For them, neutrality is hardly part of
any form of religious authority. Some African notions of authority are well-
springs of patriarchy and abysses in which women and girls groan in pain.
Thus, African feminist theologians, although they regard African religious
heritage as a critical source for creating theology, have nevertheless rejected
uncritical retrieval of every element of African religio-cultural heritage, as
too often these have reinforced and perpetuated patriarchy in many African
churches.15 As I shall demonstrate in what follows, Christian patriarchy
has found fertile ground within African Christianity, in which the dialogue
between Christian and traditional patriarchies now informs a certain type of
male hegemony which replicates itself through ecclesiastical spaces in many
parts of Africa.16
The coming of Christianity has not changed the predisposition toward
non-dichotomisation of sacred authority and secular authority among Afri-
can Christians.17 As a way of life, the African religio-cultural worldview
lays the foundation for collective African consciousness, which continues,
albeit in a modified or loosely reinterpreted form, to shape the understand-
ing, interpretations, and conception of reality of many African people. In
contemporary African neo-Pentecostalism, these African religious imagi-
nations function in the interstices between continuity and discontinuity in
terms of their notions of authority.18 This means that while many Africans
have converted to new religious traditions, their notions of authority have
not been converted. In fact, the word appears to have been reinforced by
biblical conceptions of spiritual power.19 Various scholars studying African
religions and Christianity in different parts of the continent have noted that
key elements of traditional African notions of authority remain salient, resil-
ient, and deeply entrenched in African Christian imaginations.20 However,
it must be acknowledged that traditional African notions of authority can-
not easily be assigned to the whole of African neo-Pentecostalism; rather, it
is possible to identify some salient characteristics that influence and shape
their gender and sexual relations.21
If theology as critical reflection on the missio-political praxis of the church
is contextual in character, such that historical and cultural context is a fac-
tor in experiencing and articulating Christian faith, then to understand the
religious foundation of neo-Pentecostal notions of power we have to turn to
the religio-cultural heritage. This religio-cultural heritage can give us some
clues to help us understand the cultural psychology that is at work in Afri-
can Pentecostalism.
The world of sacred authority

On the question of continuity and discontinuity between neo-Pentecostalism
and African religious notions of sacred authority, many scholars are
increasingly affirming both continuity and discontinuity in varying
degrees.22 In Worlds of Power, Stephen Ellis and Gerrie Ter Haar demon-
strate that most Africans believe “power has its ultimate origin in the spirit
world”.23 Gerrie Ter Haar, in How God Became African, observes how
some Africans (including politicians) seek to manipulate mystical powers
to increase their vital force.24 She believes that the spiritual realm affords
one of the most accessible and strategic forms of power for many Afri-
can leaders. The source of power for most neo-Pentecostals is the spirit
world. For instance, Asonzeh Ukah, in the article “Obeying Caesar to
Obey God”, observes that “charismatic authentication or the legitima-
tion of Pentecostal authority is central to understanding the organisational
behaviour of Pentecostal associations in Africa, as well as their” gender
and sexual relations.25 Ukah concludes (in keeping with an African under-
standing of the ultimate source of power and authority) that “the source
of Pentecostal authority is, therefore, anchored on a non-human, suprahu-
man, suprastate entity”.26 Thus, Ogbu Kalu, in African Pentecostalism,
accentuates that:
African Pentecostalism is an important dimension of Africans’ attrac-

tion to pneumatic expressions of the gospel that resonates with the
power theme in indigenous religions, the power that sustained the cos-
mos, the socioeconomic and political structures, the power that gave
meaning to life’s journey from birth through death, and the sojourn in
the ancestral world reincarnated and return to the world.27
He perceives contemporary African Pentecostalism as “another phase of the

quest for power and identity in Africa”.28 Perhaps this is what scholars such
as Birgit Meyer have described as “Africanization from below” – the incul-
turation practices of grassroots neo-Pentecostalism.29 However, for African
neo-Pentecostalism the main point of convergence with African religious
heritage is not the devil, as Meyer argues, but rather the theme of spiritual
power. Allan Anderson wonders “whether African Pentecostal churches
conceive of the Holy Spirit’s power in a biblical sense, thus transforming
traditional power concepts, or whether continuity is maintained by giving
traditional power concepts a ‘Christian’ guise”.30
Neo-Pentecostal notions of authority arise out of historical and cultural
power grounded in the traditional African religious cosmological frame-
works. It is a reinterpretation of this framework which shapes specific neo-
Pentecostal notions of relationship, gender, and sexuality.31 To put it another
way, the concepts of authority arise out of the African understanding of
being bound together in an inseparable reality – physical and spiritual, indi-
vidual and community, women and men, humanity and creation, the living
and the dead, and God and creation.32 In short, African religious imagina-
tions provide the basic framework for both conceptualisation and interpre-
tation of how contemporary African neo-Pentecostals understand authority.
Jacob Olupona, one of the most prominent scholars of indigenous African
religions, stresses that “religious worldviews, often unique to distinct eth-
nic groups, reflect people’s identities and lie at the heart of how they relate
to one another, to other people, and to the world at large”.33 He further
argues that these religious worldviews encode, as well as influence, the col-
lective values and shared knowledge of each particular ethnic group. The
religious framework, therefore, constitutes the foundation upon which the
meaning of authority and power is established. In other words, authority
cannot be conceived without reference to religion. Authority is spiritual in
character – it originates from God/gods.34
In African spiritual systems, authority is an attribute of God which
human beings access through the mediatory role of ancestors.35 The mysti-
cal source of authority forms the foundation of religious imaginations for
the majority of African people, an element which has found a safe modern
haven within African neo-Pentecostalism. The traditional priest is perceived
as “a representative, a bearer of power, a hand used by power”, the eyes
of the gods.36 He is inseparable from ancestors and the gods. His words
are received and revered as words from and of ancestors, and the words
of the ancestors are in essence the words of God/gods. Violating them is
not only defying the authority of the ancestors and God/gods, but a breach
in the cosmological balance.37 In many cases, this incurs misfortune. Simi-
larly, contemporary neo-Pentecostal religious leaders locate themselves as
the embodiment of sacred authority. Their authority, derived from the call
of God, is legitimised through demonstrating that they have secret access to
sacred knowledge. In a study conducted among Pentecostals in the Dem-
ocratic Republic of Congo, Katrien Pype established that many members
of Pentecostal churches are persuaded that their pastors have unlocked or
unmasked the secret of sacred knowledge.38 The act of being called by God
brings the pastor into a mystical union with the Holy Spirit. There is a belief
that the pastors in a mysterious way function as conduits through which
the power of the Holy Spirit flows to reach their congregants.39 In the tradi-
tional context, people believe that the power of the ancestors is embodied in
the priest, who acts as the union of spiritual and physical power in his body
and personality. The belief has been adapted in its loosely reinterpreted
form in some neo-Pentecostalism in which pastors are increasingly per-
ceived as sacred authorities who are unlike other people; in their person and
being, they are mystical beings, sacred vessels of God.40 In heterogendered
contexts, this kind of authority, coupled with literal biblical interpretation,
figuratively and literally makes women vulnerable to patriarchal oppression
and sexualised treatment. The kind of authority that neo-Pentecostal leaders
command over their members, as discussed previously, seems to sanction
gendered and sexual violence against women and girls.
On account of being the embodiment of the secret knowledge from
the Holy Spirit, the pastors are perceived as sacred, and are feared and
approached with reverence in much the same way as the traditional priests.
This means the more pastors exercise unrestrained power over their mem-
bers, the more women and girls become easily sexualised, and the more
patriarchal pastors establish a broader unjust alliance between spirituality
and the sexualisation of women’s bodies and sexualities. The pastors are
regarded not as ordinary beings, but rather as those occupying a special
office, and representing a visible link between the spiritual realm and the
natural world. In this way, they appear to exercise indirect pneumatocratic
influence over their followers. Their being, knowledge, and activities are
presented to their members as shrouded in mysteries of the Holy Spirit. This
could be described as a theo/pneumatocratic-complex, a situation whereby
pastors unwittingly take the place of God/the Holy Spirit as his representa-
tives in the everyday affairs of their members. The contemporary African
neo-Pentecostal exercise of power has increasingly encouraged a blurring of
the lines between the pastor and the Holy Spirit.
In the neo-Pentecostal scheme of things, it is difficult to distinguish between
the pastor and the Holy Spirit. Pastors are feared because it is believed that
whatever they proclaim comes to pass. Thus, the neo-Pentecostal religious
leaders’ source of authority is, as it were, removed to a mystical dimension,
and the leaders themselves are perceived as sacred beings beyond human
criticism.41 In the context where individuals are increasingly perceived
as “spiritual systems” in themselves, members have tended to relinquish
their autonomy and personal subjectivity and power to their pastors in their
quest for spiritual solutions. Thus, within most neo-Pentecostal churches,
there is a great disproportion between the pastor as medium of Holy Spir-
itual power and members as beneficiaries of such power. Members too often
are subjected to theologies of personal disempowerment which render them
manipulatable and too docile to engage their pastors in life-giving ways of
exercising spiritual power. Since sex is usually utilised as a tool of power,
in such heteropatriarchal contexts with unconstrained exercise of power,
women and girls are the most vulnerable. Whereas traditional priestly
authority was embedded in mystery, scholars underline that the system also
ensured checks and balances. This was done through continuous critique
of the system by the presence of ancestors, and through revision and trans-
formation by human symbolic actions through ritual performances.42 The
people perform these rituals as a social mechanism to critique and revise
outdated aspects of cultural traditions by reconstructing them within col-
lectivist personhood. This Ubuntu-isation process ensures development of
“new ways of being and becoming so that social healing can follow in the
community”.43 Catherine Bell underlines that “rituals did not simply restore
social equilibrium, they were part of the ongoing process by which the com-
munity was continually redefining and renewing itself”.44 However, within
African neo-Pentecostalism with its “big human” or superhuman centred
structure, members are powerless to critique or revise the mystical powers
of the Holy Spirit embodied in the pastor.45
The overemphasis on the mysterious source of neo-Pentecostal authority
makes the systems vulnerable to, manipulatable by, and abusive of power.
The neo-Pentecostal spiritual system does not provide an adequate mecha-
nism to help prevent abuse of power. As demonstrated in the following case
studies, the pastoral exercise of sacred power is not constrained by proper
checks and balances in this religious moral system.
On gender and sexual relations: two case studies

There are countless sexual scandals in contemporary African neo-
Pentecostalism. This ranges from pastors who suck single women’s breasts
to exorcise them of demons to pastors who claim to be commanded by the
Holy Spirit to have sexual intercourse with married women together with
their daughters.46 Thus, to limit my discussion, I focus on two prominent
cases in South Africa.
The case of Omotoso

On 20 April 2017, a Nigerian televangelist Timothy Omotoso was arrested
on 22 counts of “human trafficking, sexual assault and the rape of young
girls”.47 Omotoso is the founder and senior pastor of Jesus Dominion Inter-
national with branches across South Africa, the United Kingdom, France
and Nigeria. It was alleged that he was grooming young people and sexually
abusing girls as young as 14. He was accused of raping over 30 young
women who testified in court to their experiences. The pastor coerced young
girls to massage his phallus, and then had intercourse with them without
condoms. After the act, he recited Psalm 51 and prayed.48
Sarojini Nadar, in her reflection on Omotoso’s trial, argues:
the problem is not regulation of churches – the problem is the regulated

teachings within the churches which socialise girls and women to sub-
mit to male authority; which promote what the SACC calls the “fam-
ily fabric” which is ostensibly a heteronormative – “daddy-mommy”
family and takes no account of the ways in which power is exerted in
harmful ways within families.49
She believes that “Timothy Omotoso is not the leader of a ‘cult’ – he is not
part of a lunatic fringe – but that Omotosos exist in all of your churches,
because your teachings allow and promote the existence of Omotosos”.50
She underlines that
there are thousands of Omotosos in this country alone, and that they
too are happy to read Psalm 51 after they perpetrate their acts of manip-
ulation, coercion and, ultimately, violence through their invitations to
young submissive victims, schooled in your “BC” (biblically correct)
teachings and not “PC” (politically correct) teachings.51
Nadar points out that “a young girl who subscribes to these Christian teach-
ings is at greater risk of coercion, manipulation, and pressure because she
has been socialised to submit to male authority, and she witnesses a church
where men and women don’t share equally in authority”.52 For Nadar,
teachings which promote abstinence instead of consent, “bodily belong-

ing” instead of “bodily autonomy”, and modesty codes for women
instead of “thou shalt not touch” codes for men, make it difficult to talk
about power and male entitlement in the church.53
“As long as churches remain environments where men have all the power”,
she stresses, “then church leaders can use their authority to groom and con-
trol women. Patriarchal culture that is steeped in Christian teachings creates
conditions that make abuse possible”.54 Nadar concludes, “The ‘biblically-
sanctioned’ teachings that encourage and teach power differentials between
genders is what made the Omotoso case possible”.55 Omotoso was regarded
as a spiritual father by his congregants. The spiritual father plays a similar
role to that of the traditional father. In most African patriarchal cultures,
the father controls the affairs of the home.56 Elsewhere, we have demon-
strated how Zambian neo-Pentecostals have equated ecclesiastical spaces
to a home where the pastor is regarded as the father of the members.57 This
inculturation of the church into a home is problematic on many levels. In
some traditional societies, African women have argued that home discourse
is a dangerous ideology for women and girls. They stress that the home
discourse was based on conservative traditional African cultural heritage, in
which culture and spirituality intertwined and placed women at the centre
of the ritual in order to domesticate their sex and sexuality for male gratifi-
cation and reduce them to objects for procreation.58
The case of Seven Angels

The second story is similar to the first. In February 2018, the leaders of
the Mancoba Seven Angels Ministry59 were accused of masterminding the
killing of police officers and a retired army officer inside the police station
in Ngcobo, a small town in the Eastern Cape of South Africa. The police
suspected the seven Mancoba brothers of murder and stealing guns from the
police station before blowing up two automated teller machines (ATMs).
A search at the church premises led to a shootout between the police and the
alleged criminals, and the deaths of three of the Mancoba brothers.60 The
church was established in 1986 by the father of the seven brothers, Siphiwo
Mancoba, in Umzimkhulu, KwaZulu-Natal. It was initially called “Angel”,
an acronym for All Nations God’s Evangelical Lamp. Shortly after his death
in April 2015, his seven sons refused to succeed him as leaders of the church,
choosing instead to break away and form Seven Angels Ministry, which
would be overseen by their mother. The church resisted secular education
and employment outside of the church as doctrines of devil worship. Mem-
bers of the ministry were required to relinquish all of their wealth as gifts to
the “Angel Brothers” upon joining the congregation. As a result, in 2016,
the church appeared before the Commission for the Promotion and Protec-
tion of the Rights of Cultural, Religious and Linguistic Communities (CRL
Rights Commission) to answer to allegations of commercialisation, abuse,
and exploitation of people’s beliefs.61 One of the brothers told the CRL
Rights Commission that they were “angels coming from heaven” and not
mere humans who should obey the national constitution. He accentuated,
“we are saying as Seven Angelic Ministries, firstly I am not a pastor; I am an
angel from heaven, seated at the right of the father”.62
The church refused to cooperate with the CRL Rights Commission. It
was only the shootout that granted the police access to the church prem-
ises. The National Police Commissioner confirmed that “not less than 100”
young women and girls between the ages of 12 and 25 were rescued.63
These girls and young women were “indoctrinated and brainwashed”64
and reduced to sex slaves. Besides their wives, the Mancoba brothers, “who
saw themselves as angels sent by God”,65 indoctrinated many women in
their church into sexual submission. The church considered providing the
Mancoba brothers with sexual satisfaction as an honourable service to
God. It was reported that “In this church it is forbidden to have identity
documents. Children are not allowed to have birth certificates and they are
not allowed to attend school”.66
These two cases demonstrate how culturally-shaped masculinities are
enforced and policed through neo-Pentecostalism – “with a view to the
maintenance not only of a general system of male supremacy, but the con-
tinuation of a particular type of hegemonic male supremacy: the hetero-
sexual type”.67 The traditional beliefs and practices which sacralise religious
leaders were uncritically adopted and utilised as instruments to legitimise
and maintain the distinctiveness of angels from the laity. In fact, adopt-
ing the title “angels” is intimately tied up with contextual worldview and
cultural contingencies in which traditional priests often adopt mysterious
names as instruments of legitimisation. This perception of religious lead-
ers in mystical terms contributes to abusing religious authority, especially
in a neo-Pentecostal context in which the spiritual authority of ancestors who
mercilessly punished wrongdoing has been replaced wholesale by the Holy
Spirit – regarded as a gentle, merciful, and forgiving Spirit. Thus, most neo-
Pentecostal religious leaders, as in the two cases discussed in this chapter,
are increasingly perceiving themselves as having unlocked access to unlim-
ited sacred power, which is too often abused due to lack of adequate struc-
tures of accountability.68
It is not just the biblical teaching at the core of gender and sexual relations
of power, but rather the way the process of organic inculturation has taken
place, that has weakened traditional African spiritual systems. Just as male
African theologians, in their process of formulating a theology of libera-
tion deeply rooted in African cultures, normalised and essentialised male
experiences as African experiences,69 the neo-Pentecostal leaders have nor-
malised male experiences. Some elements of African religio-cultural heritage
which nurture and perpetuate heteropatriarchy have been comprehensively
adopted in contemporary neo-Pentecostal Christianity.70 Hence, there is a
need for constant engagement in theological dialogue, first in order to draw
afresh life-giving conceptions of sacred authority, and second to develop
viable ways of exercising sacred authority that promote and enable the full
humanity of women and children, and the integrity of all creation.
Decolonial kenotic theology of authority

The need for decolonial kenotic theology of authority arises out of the
understanding that neo-Pentecostalism has uncritically inculturated a patri-
archal reading of the concepts of traditional authority into its religious sys-
tem. Elsewhere, we have demonstrated how this uncritical and subconscious
inculturation of traditional concepts of authority has reproduced and accel-
erated gendered constructions and violent enactions in some neo-Pentecostal
churches such as those in the two cases discussed in this chapter.71 In my
research among Zambian neo-Pentecostals, I demonstrated how, through
their subconscious organic process of inculturating Christianity in African
cultures, neo-Pentecostals have adopted a superficial and naïve reading of
traditional authority, ignored ideas of Ubuntu, and excluded the experiences
of women, or rather, sexualised their being and bodies.72 In the ever-evolving
neo-Pentecostal elitist culture embedded in African cultural and Christian
theologies, which are both informed by patriarchal imaginations, women
and their bodies are increasingly consigned to having a completely oblit-
erated self, which makes them vulnerable to the disempowering effects of
religio-normativity as explained in the cases discussed in this chapter. As
established, the dominant and accepted praxis of authority within most
neo-Pentecostals continues to reproduce and perpetuate heteropatriarchal
patterns of male control and women’s subordination in both homes and
churches. There is a continuation of heteropatriarchal imaginations in the
value systems of Christian faith and traditional religious heritage. This
describes a situation in which a new religious system has not only emerged
but has also redefined asymmetric social relations of power between the
pastor and laity. This has made neo-Pentecostal beliefs and practices in rela-
tion to gender and sexuality a locus for enunciation and reproduction of
sexualised theo/pneumatocratic-complexes which continually manifest in
gender- and sex-based violence perpetuated by pastors.
As a solution, I am proposing authority rooted in decolonial kenosis. Keno-
sis comes from κενόω (kenoō, “I empty, make empty”), and, in Philippians 2:7,
refers to Christ’s self-emptying in the incarnation, which is a realisation and
praxis of the divine authority within the flesh. Because God took on embodied
existence, the flesh becomes an ever-potential site of manifesting and demon-
strating the attributes of God such as love, justice, mercy, hospitality, equality
etc.73 In this perspective, Christ’s power was demonstrated in kenosis – the
power to empty himself. In so doing, Christ highlighted the margins of society
as the reason for divine authority – the women, lepers, children, tax collectors,
the sick, poor, and those who are marginalised and vulnerable. He crossed the
divine-human borders that were artificially created through sin. This has noth-
ing to do with giving ontological privilege to the marginalised in their relation-
ship with God over and above other human beings; rather, it is a conviction
based on radical affirmation that Jesus, through kenosis, is on a divine mission
of emptying divine justice and full dignity into the marginalised even as the
marginalised themselves participate in their own struggle alongside God.
In the older Jewish paradigm of priesthood (similar to the traditional
African model), it was the human priest who crossed the spiritual borders
to represent the religious community before God. This paradigm promoted
a clear distinction between the priest and the worshipping community.
The priest was a special mediatory figure who bridged the gap between
God and the community of worshippers. He alone had access to the secret
sacred knowledge of God, whereas, in the new paradigm inaugurated with
the incarnation of Jesus, God, in the person of Christ, crossed the divine
borders, not to represent God but to dialogue with humanity. This act
of crossing borders radically overcame the dichotomy between God and
humanity/all creation, and between the priest and the community of
faith – described as the priesthood of all believers. God and human are no
longer separated, but rather are in dialogue. The incarnation collapsed the
dichotomy as God emptied Godself into humanity and humanity into God
without losing the distinction. Jesus was fully God, fully human (John 1:1,
20:28; Romans 9:5; Colossians 2:9; Titus 2:11–13), identical to God and
humanity. This means that God is human, Jesus Christ, and the human is
also God – Jesus is very God and very human, both natures “unconfused
and unmixed, but also unseparated and undivided, in the one person of this
Messiah and Saviour”.74
Jesus’ power was not only in what he could do for others, but in what
he could make out of himself – the power to empty himself in order to
become like sinful humans. However, it was also the power to resist being
co-opted into sin and becoming a sinner. Through his temptations (Matthew
4:1–11), Jesus refused to associate himself with the powerful and the rich –
the global colonialist – the devil and his imperialist extensions manifested
through human elitists of his day – the religious leaders and Roman powers.
He introduced a paradigm for reinterpreting power and authority, in a way
that was not only about service, but about a power which is devoid of self –
the power to restore humanity to its authentic humanity in mutual dialogue
with the divine. The fundamental objective of the union between human
and divine in Jesus was the promotion of greater social justice and restora-
tion of human dignity. The divine in Christ embraces humanity in Christ
while transcending it – not giving in to temptation to sin.
However, while kenosis provides a vital conversation partner, it is impor-
tant to also underline that, nonetheless, the seeming humility in kenosis has
not insulated against facilitating human perception of divine relationality as
“power over”, in turn supporting a divine metaphysics of power as domi-
nation or hierarchical.75 Feminist theologians have argued that kenosis is
anything but an innocent concept. As already argued, in most African socie-
ties and churches, kenosis is culturally interpreted and women are expected
to sacrifice their needs, concerns, and sexualities in order to appease and
tame the violent tendencies of patriarchy.76 This makes kenosis a danger-
ous concept which requires a cautious approach through reimagining neo-
Pentecostal ecclesiastical spaces in decolonial terms. In short, since the
kenotic vision is vulnerable to misinterpretation and corruption, it needs to
dialogue with critical theories such as decoloniality.
Gianni Vattimo perceives kenosis as the inauguration of secularisation
through de-socialisation. For Vattimo, kenosis – as a process of secularisation –
undoes the violence not only of metaphysics, but also of religion. Through
incarnation, God has moved out of eternity and into spatial temporality. He
sees kenosis as God’s abasement from the position of master of humanity
to being its friend (John 15:15).77 Vattimo believes that kenosis as secu-
larisation is a process of emancipation and liberation through weakening
strong structures such as religions or metaphysics, for at the core of both is
violence, because they privilege God or religious systems at the expense of
the margins and marginalised.78 There is a way in which Vattimo’s kenosis
could be regarded as reductionist. Kenosis interpreted from an African per-
spective could be regarded as God “striking an intricate balance” between
eternity and spatial temporality; between God and humanity; between God
and creation; between the spiritual and material; between the religious and
secular, etc. It is God taking on Ubuntu. God demonstrates that God is
because we are, and because we are, God is. God demonstrates that power is
embedded in the quest for balance of forces. Power is generated as Ubuntu –
promoting empowering and liberating power within the relational nexus79
in which the humanity of all is affirmed through shared inclusivist power.
This is not the power over, but rather power with others – power in just
socio-relational actions. Kenosis as God taking on Ubuntu resists both secu-
larisation and sacralisation of power/authority. Jesus through his incarna-
tion reconfigured and relocated all powers that have a direct effect on the
community of life, including supernatural powers, within the realm that
promotes full accountability to humanity and non-human creation. For
Kwame Bediako, this approach to kenosis affirms the continuation of the
African world as a spiritually animated reality but functioning with con-
figured powers in which all the various forms of human leadership have
undergone Ubuntu-isation.80 Bediako underlines the incarnation of Jesus,
which reflects a dynamic encounter between God and creation; this relation-
ship was a form of radical accountability and served as a divine witness and
the witness of creation to justice and equality for all. He believes that this
approach to power is critical for subverting dictatorial and absolutist claims
that seem to be inherent in contemporary African neo-Pentecostalism.
Thus, decolonial kenotic theology of authority seeks to maintain balance
between the pastor and the community of faith, based on the critical pillars
of justice and human rights. It is power in sound and just relationships.
The power of the pastor is generated within and for just relationships. The
humanity of the pastor is bound up within the humanity of his/her con-
gregants. The power of God is that power which empowers the community
of faith to live justly, to act justly, and to affirm the humanity of all. The
pastor is not distinct from the community of faith. The pastor is first and
foremost a member of the community of faith. The pastor is a sinful person,
just like the rest of the community of faith. This is important, as it has been
proved that any artificial separation between the pastor and the members
can easily lead to the pastors usurping the place of God as they increasingly
become absorbed with demonstrating their spiritual gymnastics and claim-
ing to have unlocked the secret to divine knowledge. Decolonial kenotic
theology of authority rejects sacralisation of any human being and resists
perceiving any human as possessing authority – all authority/power belongs
to God alone. It focuses instead on the mutual empowerment of the pastor
and the marginalised, in the struggle to actualise the fullness of life in Jesus
Christ (John 10:10).
Decolonial kenotic theology of authority seeks to empty human author-
ity of its mysteriousness through the work of the Holy Spirit, who, through
spiritual gifts, distributes power as he pleases, and thus to relocate all pow-
ers only in God. Spiritual gifts are the various measures of divine power/
grace by which Jesus Christ, through the Holy Spirit, enables the commu-
nity of believers to participate effectively in God’s mission in the world. The
act of distribution of these gifts by the Holy Spirit means that power is not
located in mysterious dimensions, but rather within God as manifested in
the community of faith. These gifts are measured by the operation of divine
power in each member of the faith community. This means that no single
individual possesses all the power, but that each participates in a portion
of God’s grace. Only Jesus has all the power in heaven and on earth, in
which believers participate through the work of the Holy Spirit. It through
all believers’ equal participation in the power of the Holy Spirit that an
individual is emptied of claiming more access to God than others. Since the
Holy Spirit distributes gifts as he pleases, access to the power is not neces-
sarily derived from the Holy Spirit directly, but from one another, since
the power has already been distributed. This is a radical emptying of the
spiritual dimensions of power, which is divided among believers. It is also
important to note that each gift depends on other gifts, which essentially
means that other gifts are given so that a community of faith has clear inter-
nal mechanisms of accountability. When applied to the pastor, the pastor
is a facilitator whose authority is a measured gift of the Holy Spirit which
does not receive its legitimisation in some mysterious dimension, but rather
in fulfilling its function by serving the common good. It also means that the
office is accountable to all other spiritual gifts for its proper functioning.
As Nimi Wariboko argues, a prophetic lifestyle is all about participat-
ing in Jesus’ incarnation among, and living in radical solidarity with, the
marginalised people and allowing their indignation to nourish81 decolonial
kenotic authority. Leadership in postcolonial Africa is always about cross-
ing the long-standing legacies of colonial borders in order to touch people
at the core of their humanity. Thus, decolonial kenotic theology of author-
ity “must not only be anchored to the history of injustice, discrimination,
and suffering, but must also be grounded in a vision of love, hope, equity,
and justice to facilitate the responsible new alternatives and lean toward the
unexpected”.82 Decolonial kenotic theology of authority seeks to kenotise
and decolonise minds and subjectivities by giving hope and promoting con-
fidence among women and girls to struggle for a possible life-giving socio-
relational order which reflects the intention of God for his good creation.
For, as Jesus states in Matthew 28:18, “all authority in heaven and on
earth is given to me”. Bediako reminds us that these “words are in the con-
text of post-resurrection appearances of our Lord, and hence come from the
realm of ‘spirit-power’. In an Africa which understands authority and power
as emanating from the transcendent realm, the words make full sense”.83
However, these words also mean that no one possesses any authority in
heaven or on earth, except through participation in Christ. It also means
that power can only be exercised in the same way Christ himself demon-
strated through crossing borders of segregation between God and creation,
the spiritual and material, the divine and humanity, and so on. Any failure,
such as those that could be seen in the case studies discussed in this chapter,
is a clear indication that the powers have fallen – and according to Walter
Wink, all fallen powers are demonic;84 thus, they must be held accountable.
The way of Jesus constitutes a new, alternative use of authority in the world,
overridden by Roman and religious oppression and exploitation. According
to the Gospels, Jesus understood power in terms of marginality, that is, the
power to humanise the marginalised, the power to side with the dehuman-
ised, the power to heal and deliver the oppressed, the power to sacrifice his
life for others, the power to forgive sin, the power to serve and not to be
served, the power to promote justice and equality for all. His understand-
ing of power culminated in his death on the cross, where he Ubuntu-ised all
power and authority. It is on the cross where he stripped all powers at every
level of human society – “stripped them of any pretentions to ultimacy”.85
And as Bediako concludes, through his resurrection, Jesus demonstrated
that “authority truly belongs only to God”.86
In this way, decolonial kenotic theology of authority seeks to articulate
a shared inclusivist notion of authority that considers the neo-colonial con-
text in which most women and girls remain disempowered and are easily
manipulated to sexually empty themselves in order to survive or because of
ignorance. In this context, interpretations of authority should be based on
the continuous experiences of legacies of colonialism that shape the margins
of African societies. Decolonial kenotic theology of authority is opposed to
the paradigm of domination and the paradigm of a distinction between the
pastor and his/her congregation. In this model, authority undergoes a radi-
cal shift from a pastor-centred spirituality to a marginalised-centred spir-
itual conception of emptied selves, others, and the world. It argues that, like
Jesus, authentic religious leadership is about converting into the likeness of
the marginalised. Decolonial kenotic theology of authority refuses to collabo-
rate with any form of patriarchy – especially with the interpretations of God
as a male who through the process of incarnation empties himself into mar-
ginalised flesh, especially female flesh. This view of God disempowers women
to resist their sexualisation and objectification.87 Thus, decolonial kenotic
theology of authority is a radical refusal to take the place of God in the
exercise of power, and a conscious embracing of continuous self-kenosis.88
Conclusion
The chapter has employed kenotic imagination as a decolonial analyti-
cal tool to interrogate the cultural and historical root of contemporary
manifestations of “authority” in African neo-Pentecostalism in relation
to gendered constructions and violent enactions. It has argued that, with
Christianity now deeply entrenched in the socio-cultural landscape in much
of sub-Saharan Africa, and neo-Pentecostalism playing a prominent role in
this development, these are potential shapers of public notions of author-
ity. It has demonstrated that neo-Pentecostal notions of authority are
contributing to shaping local contextual forces, such as social, economic,
political, and cultural factors. Through kenotic decolonial thinking, it has
become clear that neo-Pentecostalism functions with a religious paradox
in that they simultaneously reject and uncritically perpetuate some core
elements of traditional cultural forms of authority. The pastors in these
churches reinforce and legitimise their authority by adopting sacred attrib-
utes that give them unquestionable and unaccountable power, thereby cre-
ating an almost authoritarian atmosphere in which women and children
are easily manipulated and subjected to sexualised treatment. Through
the two cases presented of sexual abuse of women and children by neo-
Pentecostal pastors in South Africa, the chapter stressed that this incultur-
ated form of authority is dangerous to the wellbeing of women and girls, as
it has not adequately interacted with the kenotic authority of Jesus Christ.
A decolonial kenotic theology of authority is proposed to challenge some
misconceptions, such as the view that authority is identical with coercive
power, male dominance, and access to the divine, that it is something that
the pastor alone possesses, and that it is enforceable through top-down
interactions in which the laity is reduced to a spiritual clientele. The chap-
ter concludes that decolonial kenotic theology of authority is boundary-
crossing from the centre to the margins, from the spiritual to the material,
from the divine to the human, and/or from power into powerlessness; in
this way, the leader participates in Jesus’ incarnation among, and is indis-
tinguishable from, his/her congregation in their equal participation in the
ultimate source of and sole possessor of all authority in heaven and on
earth – Jesus Christ.
Notes
1 In this chapter, African Pentecostalism refers to neo-Pentecostalism, especially
the current phenomenon scholars describe as neo-Prophetism, unless indicated
to the contrary.
2 In this chapter, authority and power are used interchangeably.
3 For a detailed explanation of various approaches Christians take in their interac-
tions with various cultures, see H. Richard Niebuhr, Christ and Culture (New
York: Harper and Brothers, 1951).
4 It is beyond the scope of this chapter to discuss the distinctions between deco-
loniality and postcoloniality. However, decoloniality is preferred based on its
geo-historical and biographical origin. Decolonial thinking originates from the
Global South within the matrix of colonial power, whereas postcolonial thought
emerged from the experience of British colonisation from the centres of power.
For discussion on the distinctions between postcoloniality and decolonial-
ity, which I believe are superficial, see Walter D. Mignolo, The Darker Side of
Western Modernity: Global Futures, Decolonial Options (Durham and London:
Duke University Press, 2011).
5 John S. Mbiti, African Religions and Philosophy (London: Oxford University
Press, 1969), 106.
6 For a detailed discussion of the concept of vital participation from an African
perspective, see Vincent Mulago, “Vital Participation: The Cohesive Principle of
the Bantu Community,” in Biblical Revelation and African Beliefs, eds. Kwesi A.
Dickson and Paul Ellingworth (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1969), 137–58.
7 Chammah J. Kaunda and Mutale M. Kaunda, “Mobilising Religious Assets for
Social Transformation: A Theology of Decolonial Reconstruction Perspective
on the Ministry of National Guidance and Religious Affairs (MNGRA) in Zam-
bia,” Religions 9, no. 6 (2018): 176.
8 On the need for a new sexual ethics in a Latin American context, cf. Elina Vuo-
la’s Chapter 4 in this volume.
9 David Chidester, Wild Religion: Tracking the Sacred in South Africa (Berkeley:
University of California Press, 2012), 5.
10 Tinyiko Maluleke, “Of Wounded Killers and ‘Failed Men’: Broadening the
Quest for Liberating African Masculinities,” Journal of Gender and Religion in
Africa 24, no. 1 (2018): 33–78, 35–34.
11 Mbiti, African Religions and Philosophy.
12 See Mercy Oduyoye and Musimbi Kanyoro, eds., The Will to Arise: Women,
Tradition, and Church in Africa (Pietermaritzburg: Cluster Publication, 2006);
Mutale M. Kaunda and Chammah J. Kaunda, “Infunkutu – The Bemba Sexual
Dance as Women’s Sexual Agency,” Journal of Theology for Southern Africa
155 (2016): 159–75.
13 Mercy A. Oduyoye, Hearing and Knowing: Theological Reflections on Chris-
tianity in Africa (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1986); Mercy A. Oduyoye, Introduc-
ing African Women’s Theology (Sheffield, UK: Sheffield Academic Press, 2001);
Isabel A. Phiri, Beverly Govinden, and Sarojin Nadar, eds., Her-Stories: Hidden
Histories of Women of Faith in Africa (Pietermaritzburg: Cluster Publications,
2002).
14 Fulata Lusungu Moyo, “Religion, Spirituality and Being a Woman in Africa: Gen-
der Construction within the African Religio-Cultural Experiences,” Agenda 18,
no. 61 (2004): 72–78.
15 Mercy A. Oduyoye, Daughters of Anowa: African Women and Patriarchy (Mar-
yknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1995); Mercy A. Oduyoye, “Gender and Theology in
Africa Today,” Journal of Constructive Theology 8, no. 2 (2002): 35–46; Isabel
A. Phiri, “Doing Theology in Community: The Case of African Women Theolo-
gians in the 1990s,” Journal of Theology for Southern Africa 99 (1997): 68–76;
Isabel A. Phiri and Sarojini Nadar, “ ‘Going through the Fire with Eyes Wide
Open’: African Women’s Perspectives on Indigenous Knowledge, Patriarchy and
Sexuality,” Journal for the Study of Religion 22, no. 2 (2009): 5–21.
16 Chammah J. Kaunda and Benjamin J. Pokol, “African Christianity, Myth of
Creation, and Gender Justice: An African Feminist Re-Inculturation Perspec-
tive,” Journal of Feminist Studies in Religion 35, no. 1 (2019): 5–19; Benjamin
J. Pokol and Chammah J. Kaunda, “Integrating Suum-ngi Theology of Peace in
Gindiri Theological Seminary Curriculum in Nigeria: An African Perspective,”
Missionalia 43, no. 2 (2015): 232–47; Zorodzai Dube, “The African Women
Theologians’ Contribution Towards the Discussion about Alternative Masculini-
ties,” Verbum et Ecclesia 37, no. 2 (2016): 1–6, 6.
17 Harvey Sindima, “Community of Life,” Ecumenical Review 41, no. 4 (1989):
537.
18 David Maxwell, “Introduction to Christianity and the African Imagination,”
in Christianity and the African Imagination: Essays in Honour of Adrian Hast-
ings, eds. David Maxwell, with Ingrid Lawrie (Leiden: Brill, 2002), 1–24; David
Maxwell, African Gifts of the Spirit: Pentecostalism and the Rise of a Zimba-
bwean Transnational Religious Movement (Oxford: James Currey, 2006); David
Maxwell, Christians and Chiefs in Zimbabwe: A Social History of the Hwesa
People, c. 1870s–1990s (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1999); Birgit
Meyer, Translating the Devil: Religion and Modernity among the Ewe in Ghana
(Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1999); Paul Gifford, African Christiani-
ties and Public Life: A View from Kenya (London: Hurst, 2009); Paul Gifford,
Ghana’s New Christianity: Pentecostalism in a Globalising African Economy
(London: Hurst, 2004); Paul Gifford, African Christianity: Its Public Role (Lon-
don: Hurst & Company, 1998); David M. Gordon, Invisible Agents: Spirits in a
Central African History (Athens, OH: Ohio University Press, 2012).
19 Chammah J. Kaunda, “The Nation That Fears God Prospers”: A Critique of
Zambian Pentecostal Theopolitical Imaginations (Minneapolis: Fortress Publi-
cations, 2018).
20 Kwesi A. Dickson, “Continuity and Discontinuity between the Old Testament
and African Life and Thought,” in African Theology En Route: Papers from the
Pan-African Conference of Third World Theologians, December 17–23, 1977,
Accra, Ghana, eds. Kofi Appiah-Kubi and Torres Sergio (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis
Books, 1975), 95–108; Samuel G. Kibicho, “The Continuity of the African Con-
ception of God into and through Christianity: A Kikuyu Case-Study,” in Chris-
tianity in Independent Africa, eds. Edward Fasholé-Luke, Richard Gray, Adrian
Hastings, and Godwin Tasie (London: Rex Collings, 1978), 370–88; John Mbiti,
“Peace and Reconciliation in African Religion and Christianity,” Dialogue and
Alliance 7 (1993): 17–32; Kwesi Dickson, ed., Akan Religion and the Christian
Faith: A Comparative Study of the Impact of Two Religions (Accra: Ghana
Universities Press, 1965); John Pobee, Towards an African Theology (Nashville:
Abingdon Press, 1979); Kwame Gyekye, Tradition and Modernity: Philosophical
Expressions on the African Experience (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997);
Ogbu Kalu, African Pentecostalism: An Introduction (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 2008); Kwabena J. Asamoah-Gyadu, African Charismatics: Current
Developments within Independent Indigenous Pentecostalism in Ghana (Lei-
den: Brill, 2005); Clifton R. Clark, African Christology: Jesus in Post-Missionary
African Christology (Eugene, OR: Pickwick Pub., 2011).
21 Scott D. Taylor, Culture and Customs of Zambia (Westport, CT: Greenwood
Press, 2006).
22 Allan Anderson, “Pentecostal Pneumatology and African Power Concepts: Con-
tinuity or Change?” Missionalia 19, no. 1 (1990): 65–74; Kalu, African Pente-
costalism; Martin Lindhardt, ed., Pentecostalism in Africa: Presence and Impact
of Pneumatic Christianity in Postcolonial Societies (Leiden: Brill, 2015).
23 Stephen Ellis and Gerrie Ter Haar, Worlds of Power: Religious Thought and
Political Practice in Africa (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), 4; see also
Stephen Ellis, “Mystical Weapons: Some Evidence from the Liberian War,” Jour-
nal of Religion in Africa 31, no. 2 (2001): 222–36; Stephen Ellis and Gerrie Ter
Haar, “Religion and Politics in Sub-Saharan Africa,” Journal of Modern African
Studies 36, no. 2 (1998): 175–201.
24 Gerrie Ter Haar, How God Became African: African Spirituality and Western
Secular Thought (Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2009);
Gerrie Ter Haar, Spirit of Africa: The Healing Ministry of Archbishop Milingo
of Zambia (London: C. Hurst and Co., 1992).
25 Asonzeh Ukah, “Obeying Caesar to Obey God: The Dilemmas of Registering of
Religious Organisations in Nigeria,” in Law and Religion in Africa – The Quest
for the Common Good in Pluralistic Societies, eds. Pieter Coertzen, M. Chris-
tiaan Green and Len Hansen (Stellenbosch: SUN Press, 2015), 309–29, 313.
6 Ukah, “Obeying Caesar to Obey God,” 309–10.
2
27 Kalu, African Pentecostalism, 4.
28 Ibid.
29 Birgit Meyer, “ ‘If You Are a Devil, You Are a Witch and, If You Are a Witch, You
Are a Devil’: The Integration of ‘Pagan’ Ideas into the Conceptual Universe of Ewe
Christians in Southeastern Ghana,” Journal of Religion in Africa 22, no. 2 (1992):
98–132; Birgit Meyer, “ ‘Delivered from the Powers of Darkness’: Confessions of
Satanic Riches in Christian Ghana,” Africa: Journal of the International African
Institute 65, no. 2 (1995): 236–55; Birgit Meyer, “ ‘Make a Complete Break with
the Past’: Memory and Postcolonial Modernity in Ghanaian Pentecostalist Dis-
course,” Journal of Religion in Africa 28, no. 2 (1998): 316–49; Birgit Meyer,
“The Power of Money: Politics, Occult Forces and Pentecostalism in Ghana,”
Africa Studies Review 41, no. 3 (1998): 15–37; Meyer, Translating the Devil.
30 Anderson, “Pentecostal Pneumatology,” 66.
31 Sindima, “Community of Life,” 537–51.
32 Emmanuel Asante, “Ecology: Untapped Resource of Pan-Vitalism in Africa,”
AFER 27 (1985): 289–93.
33 Jacob Olupona, African Religions: A Very Short Introduction (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 2014), 1.
34 Mbiti, African Religions and Philosophy.
35 Gabriel M. Setiloane, “Civil Authority – From the Perspective of African Theol-
ogy,” Journal of Black Theology in South Africa 2, no. 2 (1988): 10–23; Laurenti
Magesa, African Religion: The Moral Traditions of Abundant Life (Maryknoll:
Orbis, 1997); Mulago, “Vital Participation”; Vincent Mulago, “Traditional
African Religion and Christianity,” in African Traditional Religions in Contem-
porary Society, ed. Jacob K. Olupona (New York: Paragon House, 1991), 119–
34; John S. Mbiti, Concepts of God in Africa (London: SPCK, 1970); Pobee,
Toward an African Theology; Gabriel M. Setiloane, “Confessing Christ Today:
From One African Perspective: Man and Community,” Journal of Theology for
Southern Africa 12 (1975): 29–38; Gabriel M. Setiloane, The Image of God
Among the Sotho-Tswana (Rotterdam: Balkema, 1976); Gabriel M. Setiloane,
“How the Traditional World-View Persists in the Christianity of the Sotho-
Tswana,” in Christianity in Independent Africa, eds. Edward Fasholé-Luke,
Richard Gray, Adrian Hastings, and Godwin Tasie (London: Rex Collings,
1978), 402–12; Gabriel M. Setiloane, African Theology: An Introduction
(Braamfontein: Skotaville Publishers, 1986); Kwame Bediako, Theology and
Identity: The Impact of Culture upon Christian Thought in the Second Century
and Modern Africa (Oxford: Regnum Books, 1992).
36 Mulago, “Vital Participation,” 154.
37 Magesa, African Religion.
38 Katrien Pype, The Making of the Pentecostal Melodrama: Religion, Media and
Gender in Kinshasa (New York and Oxford: Berghahn, 2012).
39 Monica Wilson, Religion and the Transformation of Society: A Study in Social
Change in Africa (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1971); K. Oberg,
“The Kingdom of Ankole in Uganda,” in African Political Systems, eds. Meyer
Fortes and Edward Evan Evans-Pritchard (London: Oxford University Press,
1940), 121–62.
40 Chammah J. Kaunda, “ ‘The Altars Are Holding the Nation in Captivity’: Zam-
bian Pentecostalism, Nationality, and African Religio-Political Heritage,” Reli-
gions 9, no. 5 (2018): 145.
41 Kaunda, “The Altars Are Holding the Nation in Captivity.”
42 Victor Turner, “Symbols in Ndembu Ritual,” in Closed Systems and Open
Minds: The Limits of Naivety in Social Anthropology, ed. Max Gluckman
(Edinburgh: Oliver and Boyd, 1964), 20–51; Victor Turner, The Ritual Process:
Structure and Anti-Structure (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1969); Vic-
tor Turner, Dramas, Fields and Metaphors: Symbolic Action in Human Society
(Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1974).
43 Chammah J. Kaunda, “Ndembu Cultural Liminality, Terrains of Gender Con-
testation: Reconceptualising Zambian Pentecostalism as Liminal Spaces,” HTS
Teologiese Studies/Theological Studies 73, no. 3 (2017): 3718.
44 Catherine Bell, Ritual: Perspectives and Dimensions (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 1997), 39.
45 Kwame Bediako, “Unmasking the Powers: Christianity, Authority and Desacral-
ization in Modern African Politics,” in Christianity and Democracy in Global
Context, ed. John Witte Jr. (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1993), 207–29;
Kwame Bediako, Christianity in Africa: The Renewal of a Non-Western Reli-
gion (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1995); Kwame Bediako, “Chris-
tian Witness in the Public Sphere: Some Lessons and Residual Challenges from
the Recent Political History of Ghana,” in The Changing Faces of Christian-
ity: Africa, the West, and the World, eds. Lamin Sanneh and Joel A. Carpenter
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 117–33.
46 Jay Akbar, “Nigerian Pastor Arrested for Impregnating 20 Women in his Church
Claims God Commanded Him to Have Sex with Them – and Their Daugh-
ters,” Mail Online, March 4, 2015, accessed July 29, 2019, www.dailymail.
co.uk/news/article-2979585/Nigerian-pastor-arrested-impregnating-20-women-
church-claims-God-commanded-sex-daughters.html.
47 SABC News, “Nigerian Pastor Back in Court for Human Trafficking,” Decem-
ber 5, 2017, accessed July 29, 2019, www.sabcnews.com/sabcnews/nigerian-
pastor-back-in-court-for-human-trafficking/.
48 Naija Standard Newspaper, “Nigerian Church Overseer in South Africa
Considering Suicide,” December 21, 2017, accessed July 29, 2019, https://
nigeriastandardnewspaper.com/ng/nigerian-church-general-overseer-in-south-
africa-considering-suicide-nigerian-jailed-pastor-timothy-omotoso-compels-
13-year-old-south-african-girls-to-massage-him-with-vaseline-penetrates-
them-wi/.
49 Sarojini Nadar, “Moral Responsibility for Omotoso Lies with the Churches,”
October 26, 2018, accessed July 29, 2019, www.news24.com/Columnists/Guest
Column/moral-responsibility-for-omotoso-lies-with-the-churches-20181026,
italics as found.
50 Ibid.
51 Ibid.
52 Ibid.
53 Ibid.
54 Ibid.
55 Ibid.
56 Zorodzai Dube, “Patriarchy Reinvented? ‘Spiritual Parenting’ within African
Pentecostalism in Zimbabwe,” Verbum et Ecclesia 39, no. 1 (2018): 1–6.
57 Kaunda and Kaunda, “Pentecostalism,” 23–32.
58 Phiri and Nadar, “ ‘Going through the Fire . . .”; Kaunda and Kaunda,
“Pentecostalism.”
59 In many ways, this church fits the definition of a cult as a movement that bases its
doctrine solely on the founding leader’s teaching, which departs from historical
faith, and in which the leader requires absolute submission of his followers and
can turn violent, either against themselves or against others. I have continued to
refer to the church as neo-Pentecostalism as they use this name for themselves. It
also means that what is described today as neo-Pentecostalism is elusive.
60 Hitekani Magwedze, “Ngcobo Church Remains Sealed after Police Shootout,”
Eyewitness News, February 26, 2018, accessed July 29, 2019, https://ewn.
co.za/2018/02/26/ngcobo-church-remains-sealed-after-police-shootout.
61 SABC, “Angels Ministries, E Cape Swears to Defy Constitution,” SABC
Digital News, March 1, 2016, accessed July 29, 2019, www.youtube.com/
watch?v=qxWPLgA-XrQ.
62 Ibid.
63 Lubabalo Ngcukana and Msindisi Fengu, “Inside Cop Killers’ Horror Sex Cult,”
City Press, February 25, 2018, accessed July 29, 2019, www.news24.com/South
Africa/News/inside-cop-killers-horror-sex-cult-20180225-3; Nosipiwo Manona,
“How Ngcobo Cult Kept Its Sex Slaves,” News24, March 11, 2018, accessed
July 29, 2019, www.news24.com/SouthAfrica/News/how-ngcobo-cult-kept-its-
sex-slaves-20180311-3.
64 Ngcukana and Fengu, “Inside Cop Killers’ Horror Sex Cult.”
65 Ibid.
66 Ibid,
67 Tinyiko Maluleke, “Price we Pay for Toxic Masculinities,” IOL, July 1, 2018,
accessed July 29, 2019, www.iol.co.za/sundayindependent/dispatch/price-we-
pay-for-toxic-masculinities-15771392.
68 Dube, “Conundrum of Religious Mafia and Legislation in South Africa,” 6.
69 Oduyoye, Daughters of Anowa; Mercy A. Oduyoye, “Transforming Power:
Paradigms from the Novels of Buchi Emecheta,” in Talitha cum! Theologies of
African Women, eds. Nyambura J. Njoroge and Musa W. Dube (Pietermaritz-
burg, South Africa: Cluster, 2001), 222–44; and Tinyiko S. Maluleke, “Half a
Century of African Christian Theologies: Elements of the Emerging Agendas for
the Twenty-First Century,” Journal of Constructive Theology 99 (1997): 4–23.
On African liberation theology and Black African Liberationist theologies and
Public Theologies in South Africa in particular cf. also Dion A. Forster’s Chap-
ter 2 in this volume.
70 Kaunda and Pokol, “African Christianity.”
71 Ibid., 6.
72 Kaunda, “The Nation That Fears God Prospers.”
73 Richard Kearney, “Returning to God after God: Levinas, Derrida, Ricoeur,”
Research in Phenomenology 39 (2009): 167–83.
74 Geoffrey William Bromiley and Thomas Forsyth Torrance, eds., Karl Barth
Church Dogmatics, Volume II, Part 1: The Doctrine of God, trans. T. H. L.
Parker, W. B. Johnston, Harold Knight, and J. L. M. Haire (London and New
York: T&T Clark, 2004 [1957]), 486.
75 Anna Mercedes, Power for: Feminism and Christ’s Self Giving (New York: T&T
Clark, 2011).
76 Oduyoye, Daughters of Anowa, 197.
77 Gianni Vattimo, “Towards a Nonreligious Christianity,” in After the Death
of God, ed. Jeffrey W. Robbins (New York: Columbia University Press, 2007),
27–46, 35.
78 Gianni Vattimo, “Metaphysics, Violence, Secularisation,” in Recording Meta-
physics, ed. Giovanna Borradora, trans. Barbara Spackman (Evanston, IL:
Northwestern University Press, 1988), 45–62, 60.
79 Sigurd Bergmann, Religion, Space, and the Environment (London: Transaction
Publishers, 2014).
80 Bediako, “Unmasking the Powers”; Bediako, Christianity in Africa.
81 Nimi Wariboko, The Pentecostal Principle: Ethical Methodology in New Spirit
(Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans, 2012), 159.
82 Ibid.
3 Bediako, “Unmasking the Powers,” 213.
8
84 Walter Wink, Naming the Powers: The Language of Power in the New Testa-
ment (Philadelphia, PA: Fortress Press, 1984).
85 Bediako, Christianity in Africa, 245.
86 Ibid., 244.
87 Valerie C. Saiving, “The Human Situation: A Feminine View,” Journal of Reli-
gion 40, no. 2 (1960): 100–12; Daphne Hampson, Theology and Feminism
(Oxford: Blackwell, 1990); Tina Beattie, New Catholic Feminism: Theology and
Theory (London: Routledge, 2006); Ruth Groenhout, “Kenosis and Feminist
Theory,” in Exploring Kenotic Christology: The Self-Emptying of God, ed. C.
Stephen Evans (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), 291–312.
88 Richard Kearney, Anatheism: Returning to God after God (New York: Colum-
bia University Press, 2011).
4 Gender, ethnicity, and lived
religion
Challenges to contextual
and liberation theologies
Elina Vuola
My long-term interest in and interaction with liberation theology and femi-

nist theology has primarily focused on some theoretical and practical limita-
tions in Latin American liberation theology from the perspective of feminist
theology, and vice versa.1 Latin American feminist theology is not as known
as it should be, either by feminist theologians from the Global North or
by liberation theologians and feminist scholars from other fields in Latin
America. At the same time, it is important to tell the narrative of feminist
theology as a global, ecumenical, and interfaith movement.2
Since my early critique of the lack of sexual ethical thinking and practice
in Latin American liberation theology, the situation has somewhat changed.
While early Latin American feminist liberation theology did not engage with
sexual ethics – especially Catholic sexual ethics – younger scholars have
indeed taken up the challenge.3
Another research interest of mine has been the creation of more dialogue
between feminist theology and gender studies in other fields. The problem
of much of feminist theorising, in Latin America and elsewhere, has been a
superficial and often non-existent interaction with and lack of knowledge
of gender studies of religion, including feminist theology. In fact, feminist
theology has been a ground-breaking field within gender studies in engaging
with women and feminist thought of the Global South.4
Thus, the development and contemporary situation of global feminist the-
ology looks somewhat different when analysed internally as a theological
endeavour, on the one hand, and when analysed in relation to the broader
development of gender theorising, on the other hand. This interdisciplinary
challenge is still at the heart of any coherent understanding of liberation
theology, globally and in all its forms, which includes feminist theologies
and, to some extent, contextual theologies.
In this chapter, I will continue from my earlier research by asking what
the pressing challenges of liberation and contextual theologies are today.
I rely on my earlier research, aiming to discuss it in the context of this book.
My aim is primarily theoretical. By that, I do not mean a juxtaposition
of theory and practice. Rather, I ask what some contemporary theoretical
developments in the study of religion and other fields relevant to liberation
Gender, ethnicity, and lived religion 57
theologies would mean for the development of a liberation (contextual) the-
ology, which does not have women, indigenous people, and other groups
at the margins of critical theological thought. Obviously, this means also
clarifying the relationship between liberation theologies, contextual theolo-
gies, and feminist theologies. For example, is gender a “context”? How are
gender issues related to “culture”? How much has the expansion of subjects
in liberation and contextual theologies really affected them – or has it? One
possibility for thinking about these questions is the perspective of lived reli-
gion, which has become a major theoretical way of thinking about what is
meant by “religion” and, especially, how to understand it from the perspec-
tive of marginalised and subjugated groups of people.
To sustain my more theoretical perspectives I will offer empirical examples
from my own research on the meaning of the Virgin Mary for women in two
different cultural and religious contexts (Costa Rica and Finland; Catholi-
cism and Orthodoxy), on the one hand, and my ethnographic work among
the Finnish Skolt Sámi, on the other hand. These two empirical works are
related: my interest in both has been to expand the notions of the meaning
of religious traditions for people (women, and ethnic and racial minorities)
who have not been considered as theological subjects in their own right even
in most liberation and contextual theologies. Further, research on indig-
enous people and their religious traditions, including various branches of
Christianity, has usually not been linked to theological issues or theology as
a discipline – possibly with the exception of missiology and mission stud-
ies, but certainly in the case of liberation, contextual, and feminist theolo-
gies. Finally, in order for any theology to be “global”, it is important to
draw from different cultural contexts, from both the Global South and the
Global North. Neither is monolithic, or culturally or religiously singular,
and in both, it is women who struggle to be recognised as subjects, includ-
ing theologically.
Lived religion and liberation theologies

During recent decades, the perspective of lived religion has been influential
in the study of religion, especially sociology of religion. Scholars of lived
religion have focused on ordinary (lay) people and their ways of being reli-
gious and practising religion.5 Some of these scholars use the term everyday
religion (Ammerman) or vernacular religion (Primiano).6 These terms are
not entirely overlapping, but they share an interest in the ordinary, the mar-
gins, the everyday, and the material, and most of them also in gender. The
different uses of the term reflect disciplinary differences: for example, Primi-
ano is a folklorist, Ammerman a sociologist of religion, and Orsi a historian
of religion. Methodologically, empirical work is at the heart of lived reli-
gion. At the same time, ethnographic work among ordinary people stresses
their agency, instead of them being passive objects of religious knowledge
and guidance from above.
58 Elina Vuola
Nancy T. Ammerman has written a (self-)critical evaluation of the his-
tory and contents of lived religion.7 According to her, scholarship on lived
religion has tended to focus too narrowly on certain geographical and cul-
tural areas (mainly the United States) and religious traditions. Most of the
publications on lived religion are written in English. The initial tendency of
scholarship of lived religion to focus on the ordinary, the lived, instead of
the official and institutional, has also led to an unnecessary binary between
the institutional and the lived. In most religious traditions, especially in the
Abrahamic religions, religion is lived at the intersection of these.
Written texts, their interpretation into doctrines, and how those affect
the institutional are part of the lived experience and practice of the ordi-
nary faithful, even when this relationship can be – and often is – contested.
Liberation and feminist theologies, in my judgement, are good examples of
how traditions, texts, and institutions are challenged and changed from the
bottom up, even when the formulation of this critique is done primarily by
academic theologians. The institutional and the doctrinal, too, are “lived”.
This is not usually taken into account in the scholarship of lived religion –
one reason being its meagre dialogue with theology and theologians.8
The challenge of liberation theologies is both theoretical and practical,
even political. The self-understanding of all liberation theologies has been
that liberation theology is “lived”; it stems from real circumstances of mar-
ginalisation and outright oppression. The liberation theological theoretical
critique has challenged Euro- and androcentric interpretations of theology
and their relationship to issues of power. As a result, contemporary theol-
ogy and its repercussions in religious institutions and doctrines have been
changed because of this critique – even if not enough. For example, the
feminist critique of Christianity has been both theoretical and practical:
explaining and questioning the image of women in the history, authoritative
texts, and doctrine of Christianity, but also demanding concrete changes in
the exclusion and marginalisation of women in Christian churches. This
feminist rewriting of Christian theology has been influential in all Christian
churches, but it is primarily some Protestant churches which have been will-
ing to draw practical consequences of it, whether in the area of ethics or
priesthood.
Thus, various liberation theologies have also had an impact on the insti-
tutional and doctrinal. This is true also of the Catholic Church, although it
has been – and still is – surprisingly resistant to feminist theology, in spite of
the fact that most important feminist theologians are Catholic. It is impor-
tant to pay attention to this influence of liberation theologies, because it
highlights how institutions and the official are never entirely separated from
the lived, the everyday, and the cultural, or from issues of power.
In textual religions, such as Christianity, changes in doctrine and interpre-
tation of sacred texts are of direct practical importance, especially for people
who have been excluded from positions of authority and right to interpreta-
tion. Feminist theology, probably more than any other form of liberation
theology, has challenged traditional theology due to the simple fact that
women are half of humanity and they have been the primary objects of gen-
dered religious restrictions and teachings, even on issues which are relevant
only for them, such as motherhood, pregnancy, and menstruation. Both
“the lived” and the doctrinal and institutional change, even if slowly, when
tradition is reinterpreted and challenged by women.
A further potential restriction of the lived religion approach lies in its
focus on the individual. This focus on individual people’s thoughts, prac-
tices, and interpretations, as important as it is, may lead the lived religion
approach to another binary between the communal and the individual. Even
individual experiences are never detached from culture, tradition, and com-
munity. This is related to the previously mentioned relationship between the
institutional and the lived.
Latin American liberation theology has since its beginning claimed that
its roots are in la religiosidad popular (popular or folk religion) of Latin
American people. Latin American Catholicism has since the early days of
the Conquest been fused with indigenous religions and later with African-
based religions. Thus, the liberation theological interest in la religiosidad
popular may be interpreted as coming close to what is called lived religion.
In Latin America, it has meant the recognition of indigenous people, lay
Catholics – including women – and Afro-Latin Americans.
However, as I have argued elsewhere, Latin American liberation theology
has failed in including indigenous, gender, and ecological concerns in its
theoretical and practical core.9 This is largely due to a lack of applying the
critique expressed by the corresponding social movements, which demand
concrete political changes at the intersection of race, gender and sexual-
ity, class, ethnicity, and ecology. In gender issues, particularly, liberation
theology did not explicitly distance itself from racist and sexist elements of
Christian (Catholic) theology.10 The importance of la religiosidad popular
was emphasised in liberation theology, but without adequate and in-depth
knowledge of indigenous spiritualities, popular Catholicism and Afro-Latin
American religions.
Ethnographic methods have not been widely used in either feminist or
liberation theology. The focus has been primarily on doctrinal and philo-
sophical issues. Nor has there been much dialogue with anthropology or
sociology of religion, not to mention gender studies. There is a broader
under-development or even lack of religious studies in Latin American uni-
versities. Thus, the issue is also of somewhat narrow multidisciplinarity at
the heart of liberation theological claims.
Some Latin American feminist theologians have proposed that their theol-
ogy stems from la vida cotidiana, which could be translated as “everyday
life”.11 This, again, comes close to what is called lived religion in the Anglo-
Saxon world. However, these possible antecedents of and overlappings with
lived religion are not taken into account in standard presentations of lived
religion.
60 Elina Vuola
This is for at least two broad reasons: first, the already mentioned lack of
knowledge and dialogue with theology, whether from the Global North or
South, and second, the geopolitics of knowledge,12 which tends to univer-
salise from theoretical traditions of the Global North, especially the United
States, without recognising even influential traditions of thought elsewhere,
such as liberation and contextual theologies.
I argue that the perspective of what is called lived religion has been and
is in many ways present in feminist and liberation theologies, but whereas
scholars of lived religion use primarily ethnographic methods (but, as said,
may arbitrarily exclude the importance of theology), liberation theologies
have – in a way contradictorily – focused on doctrine. Claims about the
importance of indigenous spiritualities and women’s interpretations remain
superficial if they are not based on detailed scholarship done in these areas.
At the same time, liberation and feminist theologies have opened up entirely
new ways of thinking about theology and its subject. The “adding model”
(of women, indigenous people, etc.), however, does not develop these the-
ologies further if their central arguments and claims are not taken seriously
and integrated at the core of theology.13 This need is as challenging for lib-
eration theologies as it is for any other form of theology.
A greater use of ethnographic methods and interaction with such scholar-
ship which allows issues related to gender, race, and ethnicity to be explained
and understood – which includes showing how they are intertwined – would
both take liberation theologies to new avenues of development and stay
faithful to their original radical thought of changing the subject of Eurocen-
tric, patriarchal theology.
Contextual and liberation theologies

What exactly is the difference between contextual and liberation theolo-
gies?14 They are sometimes presented as overlapping, often not, and at the
least they have different emphases. Contextual theologians often remind us
that all theology – and in the end, all human activity – is always contextual.
Theoretically, this comes close to the emphases in other fields of research,
which argue for the importance of positionality. It has been especially
influential in cultural studies and gender studies: the possibility of stronger
objectivity is anchored in the consciousness and reflection of the scholar of
her/his cultural, racial, ethnic, and gendered position. In contextual theolo-
gies, the context – however defined – is the conscious point of departure for
theological reflection: the context is defined, explicated, and reflected on in
relation to other forms of theology. In contextual theologies, the context is
often that of a subjugated or marginalised group. In this respect, they come
close to liberation theologies: the context is not just something to be taken
into account, but also to be changed.
For example, Stephen Bevans seems to understand contextual theology as
somewhat overlapping with liberation theology. According to him, contextual
theology can be defined as a way of doing theology in which one takes into
account the spirit and message of the Gospel, the tradition of the Christian
people, the culture in which one is theologising, and social change in that cul-
ture, including struggles for equality, justice, and liberation.15 His very broad
definition includes a variety of ways in which contextualisation happens.
A culturally anchored approach would consider culture as a context:
there is necessarily no political or other demand for change, but rather a
conscious reflection on the Christian tradition from the perspective of other
cultural realities than that of early Christianity and later that of its European
developments. However, from the perspective of anthropology and cultural
studies, it is difficult to consider any culture as monolithic or homogenous.
Thus, when culture is taken as a point of departure, there is also a need for
a more varied and detailed understanding of culture, including issues of
historical changes, constellations of power, and heterogeneity within any
given culture (e.g. gender, ethnicity). This is also what Bevans seems to be
pointing at: the “context” or the “culture” is never neutral or homogenous,
and within them, there are all kinds of inner variations and issues of power:
cultures are not static.16
The history of Christian mission and the expansion of Christianity to
other parts of the world, as well as the overlapping of this enterprise with
European colonialism, are central points of reference. Here, culturally ori-
ented contextual theologies again may come close to liberation theologies
and their more explicated demands for change. Christianity arrived in what
today is understood as the Global South intimately tied to the colonial inter-
ests and structures of Europe. The Christian message – interpreted and trans-
mitted through European culture – was proclaimed as the universal truth.
Contextual theologies have questioned and challenged this universality.
Contextual and liberation theologies are thus closely related, yet different.
In both, critical de- and reconstruction of the Christian tradition and leg-
acy is central. The locus and subject of traditional theology are consciously
shifted in both, often with an emphasis on marginality, otherness, and sub-
jugation. Feminist theologies bring yet another aspect to both contextual
and liberation theologies by also challenging their androcentrism. However,
it is difficult to consider race, gender, or ethnicity as a “context” in the sense
in which it is usually understood in more culturally inclined contextual the-
ologies. Similarly, ecotheologies are difficult to place adequately into either
group, although it can be argued that both liberation and contextual the-
ologies have a close methodological affinity to ecotheology and ecofeminist
theology. Finally, if all theology has a context, it can be argued that there
can be contextual theologies which can theologically and politically be in
direct contradiction with liberation and feminist theologies. Thus, I prefer
to use the term contextual theology of those theologies which share at least
some basic tenets of the liberation theological impetus and which are also
sensitive to gender issues and willing to consider feminist theology as a cen-
tral part of their self-understanding.
62 Elina Vuola
Global feminist theology
The issue of gender becomes particularly crucial when theologians take
(their) culture as a point of departure. As previously stated, the presentation
of any “culture” is intrinsically tied to issues of historical and contempo-
rary power. In both liberationist and very conservative, even fundamental-
ist, contexts, women may be seen as primordial carriers of culture, on the
one hand, and changes in their position as a threat to that culture, including
religion, on the other. Contextual and liberation theologies need to be espe-
cially alert in mainstreaming gender in detailed ways, relying on adequate
scholarship, in order to avoid such presentations of culture that principally
harm women and in which women’s roles and position are not taken into
account. The same is true of issues of race and ethnicity: women and indige-
nous people may become both excluded in their own right and romanticised
as the primary carriers of culture.17
Another kind of lack or meagreness of deep multidisciplinarity which
affects the development of adequate gender theorising in the context of reli-
gion is between feminist study of religion – including feminist theology –
and other fields of gender research. An important part of my scholarship
has focused on this lack of interaction between various forms of feminist
theorising in different disciplines, which is especially striking when it comes
to religion. This is true also of Latin American gender studies.18
Gender issues when related to religion may thus be ignored in both “sec-
ular” gender studies – even when making claims about the relationship
between women and their religious traditions – and in contextual and liber-
ation theologies, if there is not enough knowledge of and dialogue with the
vast field of gender studies in religion. This includes feminist theology and
the empirical, lived religion type of research on the variety of ways women
interpret and live their religious traditions in different parts of the world.
The term “intersectionality” has become a major theoretical way to con-
ceptualise gender.19 Today, it is a standard way in gender research to theorise
on and understand how gender is always construed in relation to other dif-
ferences and hierarchies of power, such as class, ethnicity, race, and sexual
orientation, to name the most often used categories. Religion, by and large,
has not been substantially theorised as a difference, and it may be difficult
or even unnecessary to do so. However, religion crosscuts other differences,
and is thus important to take into account. As a concept and way of taking
a variety of crosscutting differences into account, intersectionality may pos-
sibly also serve a function in contextual and liberation theologies. Further,
intersectionality theorises similar questions in gender studies and feminist
politics to those that most liberation and contextual theologies do in theol-
ogy and the study of religion.
Unfortunately, gender remains an issue to be mentioned but not adequately
theorised in most contextual and liberation theologies. Similarly, religion
has been – and, by and large, still is – an area of study that standard gender
studies do not take into account. Gender scholars of religion, whether theo-
logians or sociologists of religion, are thus not dialogued with in substan-
tial enough ways to change the way we conceptualise both gender studies
and liberation and contextual theologies. In Latin America, feminist libera-
tion theologians’ work is seldom quoted or recognised by gender scholars
in other fields20 or the first generation of male liberation and contextual
theologians.
In a recent publication for a gender studies audience, I pointed out how
religion has not been substantially engaged with in the field of feminist stud-
ies.21 In order to make my argument about the exclusion of religion – and
the feminist study of it – more concrete, I analysed how the idea of intersec-
tionality was employed in feminist theology much earlier than in other fields
of feminist studies, even though it was not called intersectionality then.
In my article, I did a re-reading of feminist theology in order to show
how, from the early 1970s, feminist theologians stressed the interstructur-
ing of gender, class, colonialism, race, and ethnicity to emphasise their prac-
tical and theoretical cooperation with liberation and feminist theologians
from the Global South. They did not use the concept of intersectionality,
instead using interrelatedness or interstructuring, but conceptually, they
meant the same.22
In feminist theology, this early emphasis on the “interstructuring of
oppression” from both the Global North and the Global South was an out-
come of its collaboration with liberation theologies. Already in the 1980s,
there were Asian and African liberation theologies, Black theology in both
South Africa and the United States, and feminist theologies in all those con-
texts. Early feminist liberation theologians stressed the interstructuring of
gender, class, race, and ethnicity to emphasise the practical and theoreti-
cal cooperation and dialogue of liberation and feminist theologians from
the Global North and the Global South. Feminist liberation theologians –
including womanist and mujerista theologians from the United States and
feminist theologians from the Global South – were practically and conceptu-
ally linked to liberation theology even with their critical perspectives. Both
colonialism, with its far-reaching consequences, and religion became crucial
“intersections” of feminist theology of the 1970s. Feminist theology has
been global, ecumenical, and interreligious, and it has influenced all other
liberation and contextual theologies for a long time already. Feminist the-
ology, thus, can be understood both as a central part of all liberation and
contextual theologies and as a critique of them, which sometimes has meant
distancing.
Since feminist theology can be understood both as a form of libera-
tion and contextual theology and as a specific field of gender studies, it is
important that feminist theologians are read and dialogued with in both.
The too meagre and selective interdisciplinarity in theology as well as in
gender studies too often leaves out the extensive body of work produced
by feminist theologians globally. Any claims about women’s relationship
64 Elina Vuola
to religion in both fields must start with feminist theological work in order
not to reproduce stereotypical and unfounded arguments – whether on
religion in secular gender studies or on women in contextual and libera-
tion theologies.
Further, not only intersectionality, but also lived religion, may prove to
be a fruitful way to bridge the lacunae that exist between fields. For theolo-
gians, it means greater use of empirical and ethnographic research, whether
done by others or by oneself. My critique of the stereotypical and faulty
presentation of religion and religious women in much of Latin American
gender studies led me to learn ethnographic methods. This step does not
mean moving from textual to empirical methods, but rather emphasises
the need for both. Since the feminist dislike of religion (especially Catholi-
cism) in Latin America gained specific intensity in the case of the Virgin
Mary, I decided to interview Catholic women myself, to ask them what the
Mother of God means for them. This research I did in Costa Rica, where
I had earlier lived and worked. The broad result of this research is that the
women I interviewed presented views, experiences, and thoughts on the Vir-
gin Mary which do not easily fit either the traditional Catholic or the secular
feminist view of her.23
My Costa Rican interviewees’ views reflected in many ways the kind of
image of the Virgin Mary that has been brought forward in Latin Ameri-
can liberation theology: Mary as an ordinary campesina woman, poor and
young, but who is also the Mother of the poor and the prophetess of the
Magnificat. At the same time, there were deeply gendered aspects in my
interviewees’ Mariology and lived Marian piety that are not present in
liberation theological interpretations of her. For example, women turn to
Mary especially in situations and issues that have more urgency for them as
women, such as birth, infertility, and miscarriage. My interviewees tended
not to emphasise her virginity, or they offered non-physiological interpreta-
tions of it. Because of her gender, Mary was explicitly understood as some-
one closer to women and more understanding of them than God and Jesus,
comprehended as male.24
Christian women’s lived religion involves theological pondering and
reflection. Also, in order to understand what they actually say, a theologi-
cal analysis is central. This is why I argue that it is important to use both
empirical and theoretical methods. Theology, too, is lived, as all contextual
and liberation theologies make clear. Nevertheless, there has been not much
ethnography in either contextual and liberation theologies or feminist the-
ologies to sustain the more theoretical analyses. The lack of mainstreaming
gender in most liberation and contextual theologies leads to an absence of
women’s (and other groups’) lived religion. As said, the same happens –
albeit for different reasons – in much of gender studies, including in the
Global South. I am thus proposing greater and deeper interdisciplinarity
in both contextual theologies and gender studies. This can result in bet-
ter theory – through the use of terms such as intersectionality – and better
empirical claims – through the use of approaches such as lived religion.
Theology, for its part, can fertilise other fields of study through its more
historical, textual, theoretical, and doctrinal analyses.
Indigenous people and liberation theology:

the Skolt Sámi
Finally, I will take another example of how ethnography could feed into
contextual and liberation theologies or theology generally. Issues of eth-
nicity, at least in Latin American liberation theology, have suffered from
similar superficiality and absence to gender issues. The claims made by lib-
eration theologians about the importance of indigenous cultures and spiritu-
alities and their view of liberation theology as being based on la religiosidad
popular have usually not stemmed from ethnographic work – either the
scholar’s own or that of anthropologists.25 My broad argument about the
need for greater interdisciplinarity in contextual and liberation theologies is
similar in the case of issues of ethnicity to in the case of gender issues: the
“inclusion” of women and indigenous people is not enough, and sometimes
it can even be detrimental, especially when it happens at the level of gener-
alisations and stereotypes.
The need I perceived for the use of ethnographic methods in the contexts
of Latin American gender studies – particularly concerning claims about
religion – led me to continue on the same path in my own cultural context,
Finland. I interviewed Finnish Orthodox women on their relationship with
the Mother of God.26
The Orthodox Church has a long history in Finland, which is geographi-
cally and historically between the East and the West. After World War II,
Finland lost significant parts of its easternmost territories, including most
of Karelia, where most Orthodox lived, to the Soviet Union. Over 400,000
Finnish Karelians became internally displaced people who were evacuated
and resettled in other parts of Finland. Among them were about 55,000
Orthodox Christians, two-thirds of the Finnish Orthodox population at
that time. The Finnish evacuees included 500 Skolt Sámi (sä’mmlaž in Skolt,
kolttasaamelaiset in Finnish) from Pechenga (Petsamo) in the northeast.
The Sámi are an indigenous people that have historically inhabited north-
ern Scandinavia and the Kola Peninsula. They are divided into several tribes,
of which the Skolt Sámi is one. Their traditional home area, which includes
Pechenga, is situated in the Northwestern Kola Peninsula. It is estimated
that there are today about 1,000 Skolts, of whom about 600 are in Finland
and the rest in Russia and Norway. Of the Finnish Skolts, today only a
little more than half speak Skolt Sámi as their mother tongue. The Skolts
are traditionally Orthodox by religion, Christianised in the 16th century by
Russian monks. This, besides language, customs, and history, sets the Skolts
apart from the rest of the Sámi, who are primarily Lutheran. They are thus
a small minority within two minorities in contemporary Finland: within the
66 Elina Vuola
Orthodox Church (linguistically and ethnically), and among the other Sámi
(linguistically and religiously).
After Finland ceded Pechenga to the Soviet Union, the Finnish Skolt
Sámi were resettled in three villages situated on different sides of Lake
Inari. The Skolts lost access to their ancestral fishing and hunting grounds,
which resulted in the disintegration of their traditional way of life. The
Skolt Sámi culture has suffered severely from Finnish national assimilation
policies.
As part of my broader research among the Finnish Orthodox women,
I also conducted interviews among the Skolt Sámi. All of my 19 interview-
ees were women, and I originally asked them similar questions to my other
Orthodox interviewees on the meaning of the Mother of God. However, it
turned out that they did not speak so much about the Virgin Mary as they
did about the overall meaning of the Orthodox tradition and Church for
them as an ethnic minority.27 My work among the Skolt Sámi was a com-
bination of theological and ethnographic work, which uses intersectional
analyses and the perspective of lived religion.
Skolt Sámi culture is intimately connected with the Orthodox faith. East-
ern Christian influences set Skolts apart from other Scandinavian Sámi
groups, a difference that has historically been a source of discrimination
within the wider Sámi community, as well. Orthodox evacuees, both Kareli-
ans and Skolts, experienced stereotyping, suspicion and hostilities from the
majority Lutheran culture until at least the early 1970s. Other Sámi groups
were converted to Lutheranism much earlier, which is a source of pain and
trauma even today. Protestant Christianity was much more stringent with
the Sámi and their pre-Christian belief system, considered pagan, than the
Orthodox Church was in the areas where it was the primary form of Chris-
tianisation. In the case of Finland, this means both Karelia and the Skolt
Sámi region. At the same time, the Skolt Sámi were also met with suspicion
by the other Sámi because of their Orthodox faith and different language
and customs.
However, the Orthodox tradition has facilitated the maintenance of a dis-
tinctive Skolt identity. The Orthodox Church and tradition are important
for the Skolt Sámi. Particularly for many older interviewees, it was difficult
to separate religion and culture, for “to be Skolt Sámi is to be Orthodox”.
Indigenous theologies, primarily in North and South America, have until
now not informed Sámi theologians, with some few exceptions of young
theologians such as Helga West (Finland), Tore Johnsen, and Jorunn Jerns-
letten (Norway). In their work, they may rely on indigenous theologies
elsewhere, but primarily on their own cultural heritage and the traumatic
history of Christianisation of the Sámi tribes. Nevertheless, my interest here
is to point out how the voices of indigenous people themselves, theologians
or not, must inform any contextual, liberation, or feminist theology which
claims to speak for the indigenous people or takes their spiritual traditions
into account in a liberation theological agenda.
Conclusions
What implications could these thoughts have for contextual and liberation
theologies? First, ethnicity – just as gender – is not something to be listed
in the long list of contexts and forms of oppression. Rather, it is at the very
heart of any liberation or contextual theology. At the same time, the criti-
cal view of feminist and indigenous theology of the history of oppression
and contemporary marginalisation is a challenge also to contextual theol-
ogy. The kinds of intersectional differences and contemporary forms of lived
religion mentioned in this chapter are important to take into account in
such research in order to avoid generalisations and stereotyping. Similarly,
sensitivity to intersectional differences and forms of power – whether based
on gender, ethnicity, or religion – is necessary in any form of contextual
and liberation theology which “adds” culturally and historically subjugated
groups (such as women and indigenous peoples) to its subjects.
Second, it is important that there are adequately trained theologians who
create knowledge from their own experiences, in their own words, and with
all the demands they have for both states and churches. At the same time,
it is as important that the knowledge and viewpoints of ordinary people,
whether women or indigenous or both, are included in all works that claim
to “include” them. Their voices have to be gathered by adequate and ethical
forms of research.
Third, more theoretically, true inter- and transdisciplinarity is important.
Theologians could dialogue much more with ethnologists, anthropologists,
sociologists, and gender scholars in order not to make overly broad and
generalised claims about women/gender or indigenous people. The cross-
pollination of different fields is particularly important for theologies which
have contextuality, liberation, and equality at their centre. Besides factual
knowledge, a deeper interdisciplinarity can provide new tools and methods
for research. In this chapter, I have taken up two: lived religion from the
study of religion, and intersectionality from gender studies. The combination
of textual and empirical methods can enrich theology – and, again, this may
be especially crucial for the future of contextual and liberation theologies.
Fourth and finally, many of the themes I have discussed in this chapter
are already to some extent present in contextual and liberation theologies, if
compared with more traditional forms of theology. They may thus turn out
to be the sites par excellence in which to further challenge both theology and
constellations of power in religious institutions, society, and the academy.
That requires contextual and liberation theologians to also be attentive to
their own positions (of power) and to those who critique them.
Notes
1 Elina Vuola, Limits of Liberation: Feminist Theology and the Ethics of Poverty
and Reproduction (Sheffield and New York: Sheffield Academic Press and Con-
tinuum, 2002).
68 Elina Vuola
2 Elina Vuola, “Religion, Intersectionality, and Epistemic Habits of Academic
Feminism: Perspectives from Global Feminist Theology,” Feminist Encounters:
A Journal of Critical Studies in Culture and Politics 1, no. 1 (2017): Article no. 4,
www.lectitopublishing.nl/Article/Detail/DBU1TOTH.
3 See for example Marcella Althaus-Reid, ed., Liberation Theology and Sexuality:
New Radicalism from Latin America (London: Ashgate, 2006). On religiously
legitimated sexual and gender-based violence, in an African context, cf. Cham-
mah J. Kaunda’s Chapter 3 in this volume.
4 I argue this in detail in Vuola, “Religion, Intersectionality, and Epistemic Habits
of Academic Feminism”.
5 Nancy T. Ammerman, “Lived Religion as an Emerging Field: An Assessment of
Its Contours and Frontiers,” Nordic Journal of Religion and Society 29, no. 2
(2016): 83–99; Nancy T. Ammerman, ed., Everyday Religion: Observing Mod-
ern Religious Lives (New York: Oxford University Press, 2007); David D. Hall,
ed., Lived Religion in America: Toward a History of Practice (Princeton: Prince-
ton University Press, 1997); Meredith B. McGuire, Lived Religion: Faith and
Practice in Everyday Life (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008); Robert A.
Orsi, “Introduction,” in The Cambridge Companion to Religious Studies, ed.
Robert A. Orsi (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012), 1–11; Robert
A. Orsi, The Madonna of 115th Street: Faith and Community in Italian Harlem,
1880–1950 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2010).
6 Ammerman, “Lived Religion as an Emerging Field”; Ammerman, Everyday
Religion; Leonard Norman Primiano, “Vernacular Religion and the Search for
Method in Religious Folklife,” Western Folklore 54, no. 1 (1995): 37–56.
7 Ammerman, “Lived Religion as an Emerging Field.”
8 Cf. also Mika Vähäkangas and Karen Lauterbach, eds., Faith in African Christi-
anity: Bridging Anthropological and Theological Perspectives (Amsterdam: Brill,
2017), and Joel Robbins’ forthcoming book on theology and anthropology.
9 Elina Vuola, “Latin American Liberation Theologians’ Turn to Eco(theo)logy:
Critical Remarks,” in Religion and Ecology in the Public Sphere, eds. Celia
Deane-Drummond and Heinrich Bedford-Strohm (London: T&T Clark/
Continuum, 2011), 91–110.
10 See also Vuola, Limits of Liberation; Althaus-Reid, ed., Liberation Theology
and Sexuality.
11 Cf. María Pilar Aquino, Nuestro clamor por la vida: Teología latinoamericana
desde la perspectiva de la mujer (San José: Editorial DEI, 1992). English edition
and translation: Our Cry for Life: Feminist Theology from Latin America, trans.
Dinah Livingstone (New York: Orbis Books, 1993).
12 Walter Mignolo, “The Geopolitics of Knowledge and the Colonial Difference,”
The South Atlantic Quarterly 101, no. 1 (2002): 57–96.
13 See Vähäkangas’ Chapter 13 in this volume.
14 Cf. also on this central question the chapters of Ulrich Duchrow (Chapter 5),
Volker Küster (Chapter 12) and Mika Vähäkangas (Chapter 13) in this volume.
15 Stephen B. Bevans, Models of Contextual Theology, 2nd ed. (New York: Orbis
Books, 1994), 1.
16 Ibid., 22.
17 Vuola, Limits of Liberation; Vuola, “Latin American Liberation Theologians’
Turn to Eco(theo)logy.”
18 See Elina Vuola, “The Exclusion of (the Study of) Religion in Latin Ameri-
can Gender Studies,” LASA Forum XLVI, no. 1 (2015): 17–19, https://forum.
lasaweb.org/past-issues/vol46-issue1.php; and Elina Vuola, “Intersectionality
in Latin America? The Possibilities of Intersectional Analysis in Latin Ameri-
can Studies and Study of Religion,” in Bodies and Borders in Latin America/
Cuerpos y fronteras en América Latina, eds. Silje Lundgren, Thaïs Machado
Borges, and Charlotta Widmark, Serie Haina VIII (Stockholm: University of
Stockholm, 2012), 131–51. Portuguese translation: “Interseccionalidade na
América Latina? As possibilidades da análise interseccional nos estudos latino-
americanos de religião,” in Estudos feministas e religião: tendências e debates,
eds. Sandra Duarte de Souza and Naira Pinheiro dos Santos (Curitiba: Prisma,
2014), 15–38.
19 See for example Avtar Brah and Ann Phoenix, “Ain’t I A Woman? Revisiting
Intersectionality,” Journal of International Women’s Studies 5, no. 3 (2004):
75–86; Kimberlé Crenshaw, “Demarginalizing the Intersection of Race and Sex:
A Black Feminist Critique of Antidiscrimination Doctrine, Feminist Theory and
Antiracist Politics,” University of Chicago Legal Forum 140 (1989): 139–67;
Jennifer C. Nash, “Re-Thinking Intersectionality,” Feminist Review 89 (2008):
1–15; Nira Yuval-Davis, “Intersectionality and Feminist Politics,” European
Journal of Women’s Studies 13, no. 3 (2006): 193–209.
20 See Vuola, “The Exclusion of (the Study of) Religion.”
21 See my argument in detail in Vuola, “Religion, Intersectionality, and Epistemic
Habits of Academic Feminism.”
22 Rosemary Radford Ruether, New Woman, New Earth: Sexist Ideologies and
Human Liberation (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1975).
23 See Elina Vuola, “Seriously Harmful for Your Health? Religion, Feminism
and Sexuality in Latin America,” in Liberation Theology and Sexuality: New
Radicalism from Latin America, ed. Marcella Althaus-Reid (London: Ashgate,
2006), 137–62. Spanish translation: “Gravemente perjudicial para su salud?
Religión, feminismo y sexualidad en América Latina y el Caribe,” Pasos 127
(2006): 14–25; Elina Vuola, “La Morenita on Skis: Women’s Popular Marian
Piety and Feminist Research of Religion,” in The Oxford Handbook of Feminist
Theology, eds. Sheila Briggs and Mary McClintock Fulkerson (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 2011), 494–524; Vuola, “Intersectionality in Latin America?”;
and Elina Vuola, The Virgin Mary across Cultures: Devotion among Costa
Rican Catholic and Finnish Orthodox Women (London: Routledge, 2019). In
this chapter, I am not quoting the interviews I did in Costa Rica (2006–2007)
and Finland (2013–2014). These are available in Vuola, The Virgin Mary Across
Cultures; and Elina Vuola, “The Mother of God in Finnish Orthodox Women’s
Lived Piety: Converted and Skolt Sámi Voices,” in The Oxford Handbook of
Mary, ed. Chris Maunder (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2019), 195–212.
Here, I have a broader and more theoretical interest in the importance of lived
religion and ethnographic work for contextual and liberation theologies.
24 See more on my interviews in Costa Rica in Vuola, “Seriously Harmful for Your
Health?” and The Virgin Mary across Cultures.
25 See Vuola, “Latin American Liberation Theologians’ Turn to Eco(theo)logy.”
26 See the analysis of my work in both Costa Rica and Finland in Vuola, The Virgin
Mary Across Cultures.
27 See Vuola, “The Mother of God in Finnish Orthodox Women’s Lived Piety”;
Andreas Kalkun, Helena Kupari, and Elina Vuola, “Coping with Loss of
Homeland through Orthodox Christian Processions: Contemporary Practices
among Setos, Karelians, and Skolt Sámi in Estonia and Finland,” Practical
Matters, June 11, 2018, http://practicalmattersjournal.org/2018/06/11/coping-
with-loss-of-homeland-2/.
5 Ecumenical liberation theology
How I experienced its arrival in
Germany and Europe after 1968
Ulrich Duchrow
It is a special pleasure to contribute to the project on contextual libera-

tion theology (initiated in Lund). When I was working with the Lutheran
World Federation in the early 1970s trying to take the first steps in doing
contextual theology, it was Per Frostin from Lund who was one of my
dearest colleagues in the international arena. As this type of theology was
not easy to introduce, solidarity among committedly searching theologians
was key to surviving the necessary struggles. Against this background it
may also be interesting for contemporary readers to encounter biographi-
cal elements in the following reflections. First, I shall look at some roots
of liberation theology, then at its beginnings in the 1960s, and finally at
its development in relation to the changing contexts from the 1980s up to
the present day.
Some roots of liberation theology

The roots of liberation theology, without any doubt, lie in the Hebrew
Bible – read contextually. The Exodus story in Exodus 3ff. is the arche-
type of liberation theology. But there are other religions and philosophies of
that classical period showing analogous liberating approaches, as we shall
see. This ancient impulse came from the whole of Eurasia – from China
to Greece. The Apostle Paul also passed the Jewish liberating heritage on
to Europe. However, this heritage entered into a crisis, when Christianity
was imperialised starting with the Roman Emperor Constantine in 312 CE
and intensified by Theodosius from 380 CE. Yet periodically, persons and
movements emerged to recover the liberating message of the Bible in their
own contexts: Peter Waldo and Francis of Assisi in the beginnings of early
capitalism, John Wycliffe and Jan Hus during its further developments, and
at its climax, the Reformers Martin Luther, Thomas Müntzer, and some of
the Anabaptists, to mention just a few. This heritage is also found in the
British context, for example, Gerrard Winstanley in the 17th century. All
of them drew their liberating message from a rediscovery of the Bible.1 In
the Catholic sphere, one should especially mention Bartolomé de las Casas,
who was fighting slavery and the colonial abuse of indigenous peoples in
Ecumenical liberation theology 71
the 16th century, and documents of Vatican II, especially Gaudium et Spes,
which was the inspiration for the important Medellín Conference in 1968.
The more direct predecessors of liberation theology emerged in the late
19th and early 20th centuries. The first was Christoph Blumhardt (1842–
1919), who developed his radical pietism into a radical social and political
engagement. He discovered Jesus’ message and practice of the kingdom
of God, which is one of unlimited love, or more precisely love-powered
healing and liberating all life and making the vulnerable human being the
centre of concern. Against the massive critique of the conservative wing
of the church, he joined the workers’ movement and its political arm, the
Social Democratic Party, which he served as a member of the Württemberg
Parliament for six years. In this way, he became the father of religious
socialism and influenced its representatives, the young Karl Barth, Her-
mann Kutter, Leonard Ragaz, and also Paul Tillich. Religious socialism
was also one of the currents at the beginning of the ecumenical movement
in the 20th century. Think of the World Conference on Church and Society
in Stockholm in 1925 under the leadership of Swedish Archbishop Nathan
Söderblom.2
Another source of liberation theology is the struggle against National
Socialism (NS) and the “German Christians” in Germany, following Nazi
ideology. It is the Barmen Theological Declaration of 1934, phrased by Karl
Barth and adopted by a synod of the emerging Confessing Church, which
articulated the fundamental break with traditional Constantinian imperial
Christianity. Thesis II states:
As Jesus Christ is God’s assurance of the forgiveness of all our sins, so,
in the same way and with the same seriousness he is also God’s mighty
claim upon our whole life. Through him befalls us a joyful deliverance
from the godless fetters of this world for a free, grateful service to his
creatures.
We reject the false doctrine, as though there were areas of our life in
which we would not belong to Jesus Christ, but to other lords – areas in
which we would not need justification and sanctification through him.3
This means that the neo-Lutheran “doctrine” of two separate kingdoms,4

allowing economics and politics to move according to their “own autono-
mous laws” (Eigengesetzlichkeit, Max Weber), was overcome. This also
happened later in Norway, where Bishop Eivind Berggrav upheld the origi-
nal Luther against the neo-Lutheran assimilation to the Nazi occupiers of
Norway.5
Probably the most influential theologian for later liberation theologies
has been Dietrich Bonhoeffer. As early as 1927, in his doctoral disserta-
tion, Communio Sanctorum,6 he states that the future of the church will
not be bourgeois and that the proletariat has to be the starting point for
new ventures of becoming the church. This was confirmed by his experience
72 Ulrich Duchrow
of the Harlem black church he became part of while studying in Union
Theological Seminary in the middle of New York near the Riverside Church
in 1930–1931. But the most important aspect of his contribution to lib-
eration theology is his rediscovery of the Reformation category of status
confessionis. What does it mean? The answer may be found in his article
“Die Kirche vor der Judenfrage” (“The Church Facing the Jewish Issue”)
of April 1933, just three months after Hitler took power.7 Here he says that
when the state is too much or too little of what it should be, namely too
little devoted to order and justice or claiming too much power beyond its
realm, then the church is in statu confessionis, i.e. has to intervene directly
as a matter of faith. In his moment of history, this meant resisting the dis-
enfranchisement of the Jews and not firing pastors of Jewish background as
required by the Aryan section of the law (Arierparagraph). He put it into a
parable ascribed to Luther: “If the coach driver is drunk, the church must
not only bandage the wounds but put a spoke in the wheel”.8 Bonhoeffer did
this by joining the resistance, paying with his life. This sealed his authentic-
ity and credibility for good.
The origin of contemporary liberation theology

in the 1960s and 1970s
The context for the recent rise of liberation theology was characterised by
a complex mixture of international, national, and socio-economic factors.
Starting from 1953 in Persia when democratic Prime Minister Mohammad
Mosaddegh was deposed by the US Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) and
the British intelligence service, the United States – in conjunction with for-
mer European colonial powers – organised military coups in conjunction
with local elites in many countries of the Global South in order to make,
or to keep, these countries dependent on Western economic and geopoliti-
cal interests and structures (e.g. Brazil in 1964, Congo in 1965, Indonesia
in 1965–1967, Chile in 1973, and Argentina in 1975). On the basis of the
colonial past, this created what was identified and analysed academically in
the form of the so-called dependency theory,9 showing the splits within and
between societies into centre and periphery. So, liberation theology grew
up in a context of a specific period of Western domination linked to the
violence of elite military rule.
The youth uprisings in the 1960s were also coupled with resistance to
US imperialism, which had taken over from France the dirty war against
the people of Vietnam. Numerous demonstrations grew bigger and bigger
in Germany; these were coupled with demonstrations against the Shah of
Iran whom the United States had installed as military dictator after oust-
ing Mosaddegh. However, the protest against the domination of the United
States was linked to growing resistance against all forms of domination –
against patriarchal power, capitalist exploitation, teachers’ and professors’
non-participatory methods of education, church hierarchy, etc.
Ecumenically, there were two decisive events in the early 1960s which
prepared for new ecclesial and theological developments in this context:
1 The Second Vatican Council, 1962–1965.

2 The World Council of Churches’ 3rd Assembly in New Delhi in 1961,
which integrated into the WCC the Orthodox Churches and the Inter-
national Missionary Council, including many churches from Asia and
Africa.
The Second Vatican Council

The importance of Vatican II cannot be overestimated in terms of liber-
ating effects in the Roman Catholic Church, particularly from below in
Asia, Africa, and Latin America. It was not by accident that, given the
dependency context, the first big continental ecclesial expression of libera-
tion theology happened within the Latin American Bishops’ Conference in
Medellín in 1968. This development did not originate in the hierarchies,
but came from below, namely the ecclesial base communities (CEBs) at the
local level. They were the most important subjects of change. Here, lay
people, together with the priests, engaged in reading the Bible in the context
of their daily problems and acted according to the famous triad see, judge,
act. This formula had been developed by the Catholic Worker Movement
and taken up in Pope John XXIII’s Encyclical Letter Mater et Magistra of
1961. It recommends the triad as a way of reading and responding to the
signs of the times:
There are three stages which should normally be followed in the reduc-
tion of social principles into practice. First, one reviews the concrete
situation; secondly, one forms a judgment on it in the light of these
same principles; thirdly, one decides what in the circumstances can and
should be done to implement these principles. These are the three stages
that are usually expressed in the three terms: look, judge, act.10
Implementing these principles meant, in the practice of the communities,

reading the Bible contextually, in a way linked to clear analysis and com-
mon action.
The effects of the World Council of Churches’ 3rd Assembly

The larger presence of Churches from Asia, Africa, and Latin America in
the WCC after the New Delhi Assembly (1961) led to a watershed event
of the ecumenical movement in 1966: the Geneva Conference of the Com-
mission on “Church and Society” in 1966 entitled “Christians in the Tech-
nical and Social Revolutions of our Time”.11 Here we locate the decisive
shift of the WCC in social ethics. Between the founding Assembly in 1948
74 Ulrich Duchrow
and 1966, the formula of social ethics was “responsible society”. It was
influenced by Reinhold Niebuhr’s “Christian Realism”. In short, this con-
cept presupposed a capitalist democratic society of the Western type. Here,
the task of the church and Christians was seen as intervention within the
system to strive for more social justice. Geneva 1966 looked at reality from
the perspective of the Global South, at that time called the “Third World”
or “under-developed countries”. This meant that the system as such had to
be questioned and transformed because it was discovered that through the
structural dependency the under-development of the poor was the result of
the development of the rich (a classic book, unfolding this, was later writ-
ten by Walter Rodney under the title How Europe Undeveloped Africa).12
Therefore, the whole concept of “development” was questioned because
it was seen as embedded in the dominating system. The new theological
formula became “God’s preferential option for the poor”, and in 1968
this was also crucial for the message of Medellín. Another term used at the
1966 Geneva conference was “theology of revolution”. In any case, here
we have the perspectives of what later was termed “liberation theology”
with its systemic critique replacing the Western reformist approach within
the WCC. This was also the starting point of tensions between some West-
ern churches, including German ones, and the more radical approach of
the WCC.
The term “liberation theology” did not exist as a technical term before
1968. It was coined by the Brazilian Presbyterian theologian Rubem Alves
in his doctoral dissertation called “Toward a Theology of Liberation”,
presented at Princeton Theological Seminary in 1968.13 I personally was
privileged to participate in a conference in Cartigny, Geneva, in 1969 where
Rubem Alves and Gustavo Gutiérrez presented their thinking about this
concept for the first time – three years before Gutiérrez’s seminal book was
published under this title in 1972 (where, in the introduction, he mentions
the conference in Cartigny as the first occasion on which he presented his
thinking on this matter). This conference was organised by Charles Elliot,
secretary of SODEPAX, the acronym for “Society, Development, and
Peace”, a new unit created cooperatively by the Vatican and the WCC. The
conference tried to design a new concept of development – overcoming the
Western technocratic understanding using a liberating and participatory
one. This shows how near to each other the Roman Catholic and Protestant/
Orthodox communities had come at that time.
This also became clear in the 4th WCC Assembly in Uppsala, Sweden,
in 1968, the birth year of the term “theology of liberation” and at the
same time the climax of the worldwide student movement. At this Assem-
bly, the Vatican representative, the Jesuit Cardinal Roberto Tucci, in his
keynote address, even reflected on the possibility of membership of the
Roman Catholic Church in a new form of WCC. Moreover, he offered full
cooperation in the field of justice and peace – one of the fruits of this being
SODEPAX.
South African apartheid creates a new status confessionis
With the Uppsala Assembly, another crisis moved into focus: the apartheid
system in Southern Africa. It was characterised by a mixture of economic
injustice, racist arrogance, geopolitical interests in the form of the West
against the East, military violence and theological legitimation – the capital-
ist world system in a nutshell. The Uppsala Assembly laid the foundation for
the Program to Combat Racism (PCR). Here, the former General Secretary
of the WCC, Willem Visser ’t Hooft, pronounced the famous sentence:
It must become clear that church members who deny in fact their
responsibility for the needy in any part of the world are just as much
guilty of heresy as those who deny this or that article of the faith.14
This confessing, unambiguous approach was not really taken up in the PCR,
but we used it in situations that arose as I shall explain shortly. The PCR’s
spearhead action was instead the “special fund”, which provided racially
discriminated groups with financial humanitarian aid in order to strengthen
them in their resistance. This included the liberation movements the Afri-
can National Congress (ANC) in South Africa and the South-West Africa
People’s Organisation (SWAPO). This programme created an uproar in the
West, including in German churches and particularly among Evangelicals.
In my synod in the Evangelical Church of Baden, some people were calling
Nelson Mandela a terrorist, even though the UN had recognised the libera-
tion movements as legitimate South African and Namibian governments in
exile. Before we continue to discuss the further development of this issue, let
me turn to the Lutheran World Federation (LWF) during that time.
In 1970, the Lutheran World Federation was supposed to have its 5th
Assembly in Porto Alegre, Brazil. As the local Lutheran Church wanted
to invite the ruling dictator to the assembly, the Officers of the Federation
decided to move the Assembly to Evian, in France. I was invited because
I had been called to lead an integrated Department of Studies to be devel-
oped out of seven separate units after the Assembly. The events of 1968 had
motivated the Executive Committee to also call a Youth Pre-Conference and
have its delegates participate in the Assembly. After the Assembly, the Exec-
utive Committee elected the members of the Studies Commission which had
the task of directing the work of the forthcoming Department of Studies.
One of the members was Anna Marie Aagaard from Denmark, another the
young Manas Buthelezi from South Africa, part of the Black Consciousness
Movement, both very committed to the liberation perspective. He was later
called by Dr. Beyers Naudé to join the staff of the Christian Institute, which
was under attack by the apartheid government, including being banned for
some time.
The Assembly passed very progressive resolutions. It was really a fasci-
nating time of awakening and initiative. We were able to design an exciting
76 Ulrich Duchrow
studies programme for the next seven years leading up to the next assembly.
Our method was a decentralised participatory action-reflection research pro-
ject (later called a contextual theology approach) involving the grassroots
of the churches. We had project areas like Justice and Peace, concentrating
on the root causes of economic injustice and human rights; Encounter of
the Churches with Marxism in Different Cultural Contexts; Christian and
Theological Education; and, for the first time in the ecumenical movement,
a “women’s desk” working with groups around the world on “Women as
Innovative Groups”. Gretchen Dutschke from Aarhus was part of this pro-
ject. All of these project areas were related to an overarching ecclesiology
study process under the title “The Identity of the Church and its Service to
the Whole Human Being”.15 We did not call it liberation theology at that
time, but it was in fact exactly this because of the method by which we
worked. We had an exciting team of mostly young people.
It was in solidarity with our oppressed brothers and sisters in Southern
Africa and in the framework of the ecclesiology study that one of the key
resolutions of the forthcoming 6th Assembly in 1977 was developed: the
resolution declaring apartheid a confessional issue constituting a status con-
fessionis, as Bonhoeffer did in the case of disenfranchisement of the Jews.16
It explains what a status confessionis means:
Under normal circumstances Christians may have different opinions in

political questions. However, political and social systems may become
so perverted and oppressive that it is consistent with the confession to
reject them and to work for changes. We especially appeal to our white
member Churches in southern Africa to recognize that the situation in
southern Africa constitutes a status confessionis. This means that, on
the basis of faith and in order to manifest the unity of the Church,
Churches would publicly and unequivocally reject the existing apart-
heid system.17
As the white Lutheran Churches in southern Africa did not comply with this
resolution, their membership in the LWF was suspended by the next Assem-
bly in 1984. In 1982, the World Alliance of Reformed Churches (WARC)
made a decision along the same lines, declaring apartheid a heresy.18 Thus,
both organisations implemented what Visser ’t Hooft had already suggested
in Uppsala in 1968 in the tradition of Dietrich Bonhoeffer. But how are
insights like these to be implemented?
In traditional understanding, theology used to be linked to great names
of (usually male) academic individuals. Liberation theology by definition
is linked to real life in communities and therefore necessarily connected
with praxis.19 This is why we, in our ecclesiology study, also looked into
the social forms of being church. In the messianic scriptures of the New
Testament, we discern four or five social forms of the church. There are
local communities like the one in Corinth (cf. I Corinthians 1:2). There are
groups on the road between the local communities (migrant preachers), and
later there are special resident groups like intentional communities includ-
ing monastic communities. Both I call discipleship groups. All these keep in
contact within the worldwide oikumene as a third social form. Fourth, there
are regional entities, e.g. Paul addresses the local communities in the Roman
province of Galatia. But according to Matthew 25:31–40, there are people
who receive Christ, the Human One, although they do not know this. They
are feeding the hungry, giving water to the thirsty, visiting the sick and the
prisoners and receiving foreigners, in short, the most needy ones, in whom
Christ is hidden. These people and groups do not call themselves Christians,
but they receive Christ in the needy. So this is the hidden form of the church
which is at the same time the yardstick, the criterion for all the other forms
of the church to test whether they really are the Church of Christ. This is
also the reason why the church, in reading the signs of the times, must build
alliances with these groups and movements who are responding to the needs
of the people.
It is with this understanding that I used my connections in Germany to
experiment along these lines. In 1967, I had been appointed to the Pre-
sidium (governing board) of the German Kirchentag. In 1969, we had the
Kirchentag in Stuttgart, where students of the 1968 generation created a
very revolutionary atmosphere, organising sit-ins, passing resolutions, com-
mandeering microphones, etc. The governing board, not acquainted with
these methods in the universities at that time, was becoming very con-
cerned. I, coming from the context of the university, responded to this fear
by suggesting we reshape the Kirchentag to become a “Kirchentag from
below”, because the key request was for participation. So we developed
rules to make participation possible, which led to huge success of the Kirch-
entag in the 1970s and 1980s. One crucial element of this was developing
a Shalom Forum together with the peace groups. When in 1979–1983 the
military buildup with medium-range missiles created a heated debate, the
Shalom Forum served as the infrastructure for the first big demonstration
in Europe, with 90,000 people at the Kirchentag in Hamburg in 1981. The
Reformed Church in Germany even proposed regarding the question of
weapons of mass destruction as a status confessionis. It was in this context
that I proposed – according to Bonhoeffer’s understanding – that we speak
of processus confessionis leading to the corporate ecclesial decision of status
confessionis, which turned out to be helpful in the discussions that started
in the 1980s.
Global economy: a confessional issue for the churches

in the context of neoliberalism
The context of the 1980s was the introduction of neoliberalism into national
and international politics. The first experiment had started in Chile after the
CIA induced the military coup of General Augusto Pinochet, ousting the
78 Ulrich Duchrow
democratically elected president, Salvador Allende, and inviting the “Chi-
cago Boy” Milton Friedman to implement that ideology. Margaret Thatcher
followed in Great Britain in 1980, Ronald Reagan in the United States,
Helmut Kohl in Germany, and others a little later. These names merely sym-
bolise the process; in reality, this counter-revolution was well prepared on a
broad level by think tanks, particularly by the Mont Pèlerin Society under
the leadership of the economist Friedrich August Hayek, and also of Milton
Friedman.20
In response to the negative developments linked to the emerging neo-
liberal hegemony, in my region we started to gather the grassroots groups
working for justice, peace, and creation in the years from 1981–1983,
because we felt that the problems in all these fields were linked to the neo-
liberal global economy. At Pentecost 1983 we founded the “Ecumenical
Network for Justice, Peace and the Preservation of Creation (to translate
the German literally) in Baden”. It happened that in the same period I was
elected delegate of my church in Baden for the upcoming 6th Assembly of
the WCC in Vancouver, Canada, in July–August 1983. By chance, I was
asked there to give the introduction to one of the eight issue groups on the
issue of justice. In addition, my friend Heino Falcke, Dean of Erfurt in East
Germany, was asked to present the introductory paper for the issue group
on peace and creation. So we agreed to put the focus on the triad of justice,
peace, and creation from both sides. As we also knew the plenary speakers,
we were able to convince them to concur in this perspective. We had also
worked along these lines in our respective East and West German delega-
tions. As the Commission on Faith and Order also presented what it called
the Eucharistic Vision to the Assembly, linking ecclesiology with socio-
economic, political, and ecological responsibility, we were able to achieve
the Assembly decision calling the churches to embark on a “Conciliar Pro-
cess of Mutual Commitment (Covenant) for Justice, Peace and the Integrity
of Creation” (JPIC). This was a real kairos.21
After the Assembly, the WCC called me to work with the different depart-
ments and the representatives of the Vatican to design a framework for the
process, which we did from 1985 until June 1986, before Preman Niles
took over the newly created staff position. This meant that all the previous
and present work of the WCC departments could flow into this overarching
process. All social forms of the church could also be engaged. The ecumeni-
cal grassroots networks were already multiplying, congregations developed
special programmes including international partnerships, national churches
organised ecumenical assemblies, and continental convocations were even
called. The Conference of European Churches (CEC) under the leadership
of Jean Fischer was able to convince the European Roman Catholic Bishops’
Conference to organise the common Ecumenical Assembly in Basel, Swit-
zerland, in 1989. In 1990, the world convocation on JPIC in Seoul, South
Korea, tried to bring together the insights of the different continents, issuing
ten affirmations.22
Many things could be said about the effects of this process in the dif-
ferent regions. I will mention only one. The people in the former German
Democratic Republic claim that it was this process that helped them in their
“peaceful revolution”, as they call it. The Dresden Ecumenical Assembly
in particular had a great public effect by raising questions of human rights.
But also the non-violent methods in which – thanks to the process – they
were trained helped to avoid a violent clash with the state. In West Ger-
many, we used each Kirchentag not only for the issue of peace, but also for
the anti-apartheid struggle and JPIC. It was in 1985 at the Kirchentag in
Düsseldorf that we persuaded the physicist and philosopher Carl Friedrich
von Weizsäcker to get involved in the JPIC process, which led to a lot of
publicity.
Content-wise, the global economy started to become the focus in the pro-
cess because it became clearer and clearer that injustice, war and armament,
and ecological destruction were systemically caused by the imperial capital-
ist economy becoming more and more brutal in its neo-liberal form. The
debt crisis of the 1980s emerged as the clear indicator. So in connection
with the 50th anniversary of the Barmen Theological Declaration in 1984,
the Latin American liberation theologian and economist Franz Hinkelam-
mert and I – independently from each other – raised the question of whether,
after the cases of Nazism and apartheid, the global economy created a new
status confessionis for the churches. At that time in Europe, only the Dutch
economist Harry de Lange agreed to some extent. But when I visited Brazil
in 1985, theologians such as Julio de Santa Ana (the former director of the
WCC Commission of the Churches’ Participation in Development), Leon-
ardo Boff, and others were very open to this analysis and theological conclu-
sion. In the JPIC process, we also discovered that the confessional approach,
traditionally familiar to the Reformation Churches, was not the only way
to express the unequivocal YES and NO in critical contexts. In other church
traditions, other terms express the same seriousness, such as covenant, dis-
cipleship, conciliar decisions, eucharistic fellowship, catholicity, etc. This
diversification also helped in this case of ecumenical consensus building on
global economy. The results of these deliberations, with reference to Luther
and Bonhoeffer, I summarised in my book Global Economy: A Confessional
Issue for the Churches?23
The ecclesiology question had also led us to intensify our biblical scholar-
ship. As early as in the 1960s, new ways of reading the Bible contextually
had emerged, e.g. materialistic Bible reading, or Jewish forms of biblical
interpretation, called the “house of learning”, and especially socio-historic
Bible research. This approach made it abundantly clear that the central
starting point and perspective of the Bible is the Exodus, the liberation from
the exploitation of human labour as expressed in the preamble of the Deca-
logue and – if you look at the tenth commandment, “you shall not covet”
– the prohibition against accumulating greedily. Jesus, in the context of the
Roman Empire, declares the key theological issue the decision between God
80 Ulrich Duchrow
and mammon, which in his presence becomes good news to the poor (Luke
4:16ff.) because it is they who have been impoverished by the mechanisms
of debt, taxes, etc. in the service of accumulating treasures.24 Paul sees the
empire as totally governed by injustice and idolatry (Romans 1:18) and the
liberation through God’s spirit as leading to solidarity (agape) by overcom-
ing the divisions between the ethnic groups, master and slave, patriarch
and woman (Galatians 3:28). So liberation towards justice and peace is the
fundamental perspective of the Bible, not just the name of a particular the-
ology. A theology which is not liberating towards these ends is no biblical
theology. Gerhard Liedke and I tried to nurture the grassroots process in
this perspective by publishing the book Shalom: Biblical Perspectives on
Creation, Justice and Peace.25
This liberation perspective has to be interpreted in each situation, read-
ing the signs of the times – therefore, it is a key example of contextual
theology. The ecumenical movement has been working with this principle
since 1983, the Vancouver Assembly, i.e. for more than 35 years now. The
issue at stake had been identified as the imperial global economy – the life
and death issue (the theme of the Vancouver Assembly was Jesus Christ, the
Life of the World). The results of the subsequent ecumenical processes are
astonishing. Let me quickly summarise this period. It was the World Alli-
ance of Reformed Churches (WARC), after Milan Opocenský from Prague
had taken office as General Secretary in 1989, which started a process of
regional consultations in the 1990s to probe this issue. In 1995, the African
Consultation called for a status confessionis in the case of global economic
injustice. This was taken up in 1997 by the WARC General Council in
Debrecen, Hungary, which called for a seven-year “committed process of
progressive recognition, education and confession (processus confessionis)
within all WARC member churches at all levels regarding economic injustice
and ecological destruction”.26 In 1998, Milan Opocenský and the responsi-
ble staff person, Park Seong-Won from Korea, invited the WCC Assembly
in Harare, Zimbabwe, to join this process, which was decided positively.
The economist Rogate Mshana from the Evangelical Lutheran Church
in Tanzania was called to lead this process. In 2000, Karen Bloomquist
became director of the LWF Study Department and also joined the emerg-
ing team. After further regional consultative processes, the three follow-
ing Assemblies of the three organisations came to clear conclusions. The
LWF started with the Declaration on Globalization in Winnipeg, Canada,
in 2003, stating:
Through our diverse experiences, we are facing the same negative con-
sequences of neoliberal economic policies (i.e., the Washington Con-
sensus) that are leading to increased hardship, suffering and injustice in
our communities. As a communion, we must engage the false ideology
of neoliberal economic globalization by confronting, converting and
changing this reality and its effects. This false ideology is grounded on
the assumption that the market, built on private property, unrestrained
competition and the centrality of contracts, is the absolute law govern-
ing human life, society and the natural environment. This is idolatry
and leads to the systematic exclusion of those who own no property, the
destruction of cultural diversity, the dismantling of fragile democracies
and the destruction of the earth.27
WARC followed with the General Council in Accra, Ghana, in 2004 issuing
the Accra Confession, which was intentionally drafted in the form of the
Barmen Declaration. Here are just a few sentences:
11. . . . the current world (dis)order is rooted in an extremely complex

and immoral economic system defended by empire. In using the term
“empire” we mean the coming together of economic, cultural, political
and military power that constitutes a system of domination led by pow-
erful nations to protect and defend their own interests . . .
18. We believe that God is sovereign over all creation. “The earth is
the Lord’s and the fullness thereof” (Ps 24:1).
19. Therefore, we reject the current world economic order imposed
by global neoliberal capitalism . . . which def[ies] God’s covenant by
excluding the poor, the vulnerable and the whole of creation from the
fullness of life. We reject any claim of economic, political and military
empire which subverts God’s sovereignty over life and acts contrary to
God’s just rule.28
After these clear decisions of the LWF and WARC, some Western churches,
including the German ones, did everything to hinder the WCC from joining
in with such clarity. So the next Assembly in 2006 in Porto Alegre, Brazil,
only issued a call for AGAPE, an acronym for “Alternative Globalization
Addressing People and Earth”.29 But the WCC continued the work in differ-
ent programmes and adopted several documents in the following Assembly
in Busan, South Korea, in October–November 2013. Let me first mention
the second WCC Declaration on Mission “Together Towards Life”:
31. Jesus has told us “You cannot serve God and mammon” (Matt.
6:24, KJV). The policy of unlimited growth through the domination of
the global free market is an ideology that claims to be without alterna-
tive, demanding an endless flow of sacrifices from the poor and from
nature. “It makes the false promise that it can save the world through
creation of wealth and prosperity, claiming sovereignty over life and
demanding total allegiance, which amounts to idolatry”. This is a global
system of mammon that protects the unlimited growth of wealth of only
the rich and powerful through endless exploitation. This tower of greed
is threatening the whole household of God. The reign of God is in direct
opposition to the empire of mammon.
82 Ulrich Duchrow
88: the Spirit rejects the idea that Jesus’ good news for all can be con-
sumed under capitalist terms, and the Spirit calls us to conversion and
transformation at a personal level, which leads us to the proclamation
of the fullness of life for all.30
This declaration also warns not to fall into the trap of the pseudo-charismatic
“prosperity Gospel” looking for growth like capitalism.
There is also a conference document, called “The São Paulo Statement:
International Financial Transformation for the Economy of Life”, which led
to a programme under the title New International Financial and Economic
Architecture (NIFEA), sponsored by the WCC, WARC, LWF and Council
for World Mission (CWM), also accepted in Busan. It says:
There is thus a requirement for an active radicalizing of our theological

discourse that will no longer allow too much power being placed into
capitalist ideologies that have resulted in an inability to think beyond
existing financial and economic structures . . .
We reject an economy of over-consumption and greed, recognizing
how neoliberal capitalism conditions us psychologically to desire more
and more, and affirm instead Christian and Buddhist concepts of an
economy of sufficiency that promotes restraint (Luke 12:13–21), high-
lighting, for example, the Sabbath economy of rest for people and crea-
tion, and the Jubilee economy of redistribution of wealth . . .
We seek to overcome capitalism, its nature and its logic and to estab-
lish a system of global solidarity. We search for alternatives, for just,
caring, participatory and sustainable economies such as a solidarity
economy and gift economy.31
These four organisations continue the process of NIFEA for an Economy in

the Service of Life up to this day, preparing a significant input for the 11th
WCC Assembly, to be held in Karlsruhe, Germany, in 2022.32
It was a special gift that two weeks after the Busan Assembly Pope Fran-
cis published his Apostolic Exhortation Evangelii Gaudium (The Joy of the
Gospel). It is in many ways the climax of 30 years of ecumenical work and
struggle on the issue of global imperial capitalism, fundamental for the life
or death of humanity and the earth. He plainly states:
53. Just as the commandment “Thou shalt not kill” sets a clear limit in
order to safeguard the value of human life, today we also have to say
“thou shalt not” to an economy of exclusion and inequality. Such an
economy kills . . .
Therefore,
No to an economy of exclusion [53–54] . . .

No to the new idolatry of money [55–56] . . .
No to a financial system which rules rather than serves [57–58] . . .
No to the inequality which spawns violence [59–60].33
I regard it as a unique and historic event for the church that all historical
churches have within 30 years come to an agreement to reject the imperial
capitalism that is threatening human life on earth. Why is it threatening all
human and even animal life on earth?
Death-dealing capitalism as climax of a money-driven

civilisation: what are the alternatives?
It is the essence of capitalism that capital must grow. Therefore, it creates
limitless compulsory economic growth. Limitless growth on a planet with
limits is impossible. This is why capitalism is not sustainable. This can best
be understood against the background of the whole history of money. It
starts in the 8th century BCE in the whole of Eurasia from Greece to China.
I and others have written extensively about this, for example in a book I co-
authored with Franz Hinkelammert: Transcending Greedy Money: Interre-
ligious Solidarity for Just Relations.34 The thesis is that money, besides being
a useful instrument for exchange and credit, develops a tendency to make
money out of money, coupled with greed to accumulate without limit. This
has to do with the insecurity that emerges when people do their economic
work no longer in communities, but as individuals in a market.35 In Jesus’
time, the time of the Roman Empire, this accumulation of money ended in
treasure building, which Jesus called mammon – creating the decisive theo-
logical choice between accumulation of money and the God of justice.
Starting in the 11th century in Upper Italy, money was transformed into
capital in the sense that profit had to be immediately reinvested to create
more accumulation of money, first in the form of commercial and usury
capital. So, more and more, the economy became a money-accumulating
machine penetrating all spheres of life including religion. Luther rejected
this throughout his life. In modern times, capital conquered the sphere of
production, creating industrial capitalism. Here, the ecological question
comes into play because the issue is not only the exploitation of workers
and splitting of societies – the material throughput creates the exhaustion
and pollution of the earth. In the present stage of financial capitalism, the
compulsory economic growth is even enhanced by financial speculation.
This means that we are not just living in a new phase of money-driven civi-
lisation, but in the final phase. It has become not only death-producing,
but suicidal. For example, concerning the climate catastrophe, Rich-
ard Heinberg speaks of the time of the “Great Burning” and concludes:
“Climate change is contributing to a mass extinction of species, extreme
weather, and rising sea levels – which, taken together, could undermine
the viability of civilization itself”.36 Some scholars even talk about the
self-burning of humanity.37 These are facts in spite of a certain president’s
narcissistic ignorance. To avoid this catastrophe, humanity in the medium
84 Ulrich Duchrow
and long term is bound to develop a trans-capitalist, life-enabling, and
life-enhancing culture and economy.
Of course, there is the question of what alternatives would look like. This
has to be demonstrated against the framework of what can be called the
three pillars of capitalism: 1) money, b) property, and c) labour. Here are
just some basic aspects:
The key feature of a new monetary order is that money must turn from a
commodity for accumulation into a public good, democratically managed.38
It has to be an instrument for exchange and credit (without interest), not an
end in itself.
A new property order will be built on the commons, on the world as a
gift to be used for life, not as a privatised commodity.39 This starts with
land, water, air, and seeds, but also includes common cultural goods pro-
duced by collectives such as the internet. Consequently, all basic goods and
services – including, for example, transport, education, and health – which
satisfy people’s basic needs must be public. This does not mean that they
all should be transformed into state property. Public property must and can
be organised as near to the people concerned as possible. Indeed, there are
many legal forms through which this can be done.40 The struggles against
privatisation, together with the struggles against capital-serving imperial
structures, are the main allies of liberation theology and churches, besides
initiatives building up such new orders from below.
The new labour order has to start with full participation in decision-
making and move towards ownership of the means of production by the
workers, e.g. in the form of cooperatives. One key element is the reduc-
tion of working hours. In the recent past all productivity gains have been
siphoned off into capital accumulation. This has to be changed in order to
justly distribute the remaining work in the digital era – and distribute it in
a family-friendly way. Here faith communities and the labour movement
must build alliances.41
The role of liberation theologies for transformation

The necessary change does not only concern structures. It was probably the
mistake of parts of the movements after 1968 to isolate the structural issues,
to ideologise them, and even mirror the dominating system by using violence,
as did the RAF (Red Army Faction; Rote Armee Fraktion) in Germany, for
example – thus giving the reactionary forces a pretext to push back and start
a counter-revolution. The original impulse of 1968 was holistic, including
the question of improving human relations in all aspects, because the whole
of capitalist civilisation is penetrated by calculating, egocentric thinking and
spirituality. It is here that specifically liberation theologies come into play.
In our book Transcending Greedy Money – Interreligious Solidarity for Just
Relations,42 mentioned earlier, Franz Hinkelammert and I have shown that
all world religions and philosophies in the first phase of the money-driven
civilisation (called the Axial Age) reacted critically to these developments.
Thus not only the Hebrew Bible, the messianic scriptures of the New Testa-
ment, and the Qur’an – i.e. the Abrahamic religions – but also the Buddha
in India, the Greek Socratic philosophy, and Daoism and Confucianism in
China each in their particular cultural language resist the tendency to accu-
mulate money with all its social and psychological consequences.
So my interpretation of liberation theology is that in our times, in all
religions and wisdom traditions, movements have emerged in view of the
present crisis.43 They tie their own critique and actions to the power of
resistance within their original sources, which protest against the negative
consequences of the then-emerging money-driven civilisation.44 They do so
to counteract the assimilation of their own religious communities to the
imperial capitalist economy and the imperial way of life linked to it.
Religion has power over people. This is why the powers-that-be are inter-
ested in religion, and aim to co-opt it for their own purposes. The South
African Kairos Document of 1985 developed categories to analyse the
assimilation of churches to apartheid which are still relevant today: state
theology, church theology, and prophetic theology.45
• State theology actively adapts itself to the dominating political and eco-
nomic power. This is why we also call it capital theology. In Chris-
tendom, the great transformation into state theology happened under
Emperor Constantine in 312 CE. The transformation of Protestantism
into a protagonist of capital theology for the first time occurred with
Puritanism.
• Church theology looks for reconciliation and harmony without estab-
lishing justice as a basis for sustainable reconciliation. At that time,
churches criticised apartheid with words without raising the systemic
question. Their main interest was that people were nice to each other.
• Prophetic theology is the theology faithful to the original sources and,
therefore, critical of the systems and powerful actors, and promoting
justice and peace. This theology also aims at building solidarity alli-
ances with people of other faiths and all humanist forces, and can also
be called liberation theology.
Thus, liberation theology always has to go through the critique of religion,

deconstructing state/capital and church theologies, before it can unfold its
prophetic life-enhancing mission.
Today, prophetic and liberation theologies are emerging not only in all
world religions, but also in the indigenous cultures of Asia, Africa, and
Latin America. In Korea, the indigenous worldview is called Sangsaeng;
in Africa, Ubuntu; in Latin America, “good life” (e.g. sumak kawsay in
Quechua). They are characterised by the search for a new culture of life
overcoming the Western civilisation that counts success only in terms
of money (Gross National Product). Here, life for all in harmony with
86 Ulrich Duchrow
nature replaces maximum profit for the few, as a way of thinking and the
objective of the economy.
Certainly, you find dissidents of modernity turning against the trends of
the dominant civilisation across the centuries. In terms of our theme, it is
interesting to see that it is in the 1960s when the rethinking started, not only
in the Christian Oikumene but in wider alternative movements including
those within faith communities, and those processes of rethinking are linked
to the rediscovery of the original sources of the world religions critical of
the emerging first phase of the money-oriented civilisation. Thus, libera-
tion theology can be interreligious today. Alliance-building between faith
communities and social movements is the key to building up countervailing
force from below. As Antonio Gramsci has argued, this work from below
is linked to the support of what he calls “organic intellectuals”, i.e. people
of the social and natural sciences, theology, environmental humanities, etc.,
committed to the popular struggles.46
In Germany, churches and theology are not living up to these enormous
challenges. They mainly preach an individualised, i.e. capitalist, Gospel.
The worldwide ecumenical consensus looking for alternatives to imperial
capitalism has not been communicated to the congregations, and so did
not create a critical discussion and practice throughout the church. There
is one exception: the church is quite clearly positioning herself against the
frightening right-wing extremist developments in our society, especially the
hate speech and actions being directed towards refugees. But the church
tends to be more committed at the humanitarian level. It is not challenging
the root causes of the situation. As mentioned previously in relation to the
Jewish question, Bonhoeffer correctly said: “If the coach driver is drunk, the
church must not only bandage the wounds but put a spoke in the wheel”.
Here the wheel is imperial capitalism creating the crises driving people from
their homes to Europe. This is why Kairos Europa is developing a network
of congregations called “Interreligious Solidarity against the Root Causes
of Forced Migration” (“Interreligiöse Solidarität gegen Fluchtursachen”).47
Here is the project in summarised form. The congregations publicly chal-
lenge the talk about a “refugee crisis” because this term is turning victims
into perpetrators creating a crisis. Instead they ask, with the refugees, “who
is creating the crises” driving you and other people away from home? With
this question they invite refugees to help the congregation to learn about the
causes of their being in Germany. Half of the refugees have fled the wars in
Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria, and Libya. Who has waged or fuelled these wars
through breaking international law? The United States, together with its
European allies. So how can it be that the far right – be they movements,
parties, or governments in Europe – are aggressively handing the responsi-
bility over to the victims instead of changing their imperial and neo-colonial
policies? This is how congregations learn about the geopolitical structural
issues – by joining with the peace movement to challenge government poli-
cies and right-wing spiritualities.
Second, the refugees can teach our congregations who is destroying the
local economies in Africa by selling subsidised, overproduced goods at
dumping prices there. Who is stealing the fish with big fishing boats off Afri-
ca’s west and east coasts – all this on top of the colonial and neo-colonial
past? Who is mainly responsible for the climate catastrophe? It is Europe
and the West in the first place with their unsustainable way of life, their free
trade agreements, etc. Here the main political problem seems to be that the
social democracy in Europe became neo-liberal in the 1990s, robbing the
people of the opportunity to develop, elect, and implement an alternative
to the forces making capital accumulation and therefore economic growth
the absolute priority over the wellbeing of people and sustainability of the
earth.
Refugees from Africa can also tell us about the results of the climate
change produced mainly by the industrialised countries. It is predicted that
in some areas of Africa the temperature will increase by 10 degrees Celsius.
Droughts and climate wars are the consequence and a growing cause of
people being driven from their homes.
So we ourselves produce the refugees as a boomerang of our own actions
and/or of our silence about the real issues to be resolved. And it is the politi-
cal right who profit from the failure of progressive parties, but even more,
who push neo-liberal policies, thus aggravating the problems they pretend
to solve. Thus they gravely disorient people about the real situation to be
addressed. This is what the participating congregations are learning with the
refugees. And they are building alliances with social movements working for
alternatives to global capitalism as their way of doing liberation theology.
Conclusion
Summing up what we have considered, we face a decision between life and
death. But we do have strong helpers.
• We have the original sources of our religions and philosophies, calling

for a decision between God and mammon – and in the case of Jesus’
followers, they have the inspiring and strengthening Spirit of God.
• We have the Reformers’ rejection of early capitalism.
• We have today’s ecumenical, interreligious and humanist movements’
trans-capitalist orientation.
So we should be able step by step to leave the dominant 3,000-year-old

death-bound civilisation, driven by greedy money and greedy persons. We
can build alliances for a new culture of life. This would include not only
structural but also mental, epistemological, and spiritual alternatives. Not
only is another world possible, but renewed human beings are as well.
This is how I hope for a New Reformation as a fundamental cultural
revolution, driven by compassion and justice for life in the midst of the
88 Ulrich Duchrow
struggles of the people to avoid the forthcoming disasters. These are some
aspects of how I understand liberation theology today, more than 50 years
after the youth rebellion in 1968.
Notes
1 An international group of researchers showed this in a research and action pro-
ject called “Radicalizing Reformation – Provoked by the Bible and Today’s Cri-
ses” between 2010 and 2017. It culminated in the publication of seven volumes
of interdisciplinary studies (www.radicalizing-reformation.com/index.php/en/
publications.html, accessed February 13, 2020) and an International Conference
in Wittenberg, in January 2017, issuing the “Wittenberg Declaration” (www.
radicalizing-reformation.com/index.php/en/3rd-and-final-international-confer
ence-2017/165-declaration.html, accessed February 13, 2020). One key element
of this project for coping with “today’s crises” was the rediscovery of Luther’s
complete rejection of early capitalism, mostly forgotten now by Lutheran
churches in Europe but inspiring in many ways. For Karl Marx, for example,
Luther was the “first German National Economist”, and he quoted him exten-
sively (Elaborated in Ulrich Duchrow, Mit Luther, Marx und Papst den Kapi-
talismus überwinden [Hamburg and Frankfurt/Main: VSA and Publik-Forum,
2017], summarised in http://ulrich-duchrow.de/wp-content/uploads/2018/09/
Peoples-Reporter-Overcoming-Capitalism-with-Luther-Marx-Pope.pdf.).
2 A short summary may be found at http://oikoumene.net/hostudies/gerecht.book/
one.book/index.html?entry=page.book.1.2.2, accessed February 13, 2020.
3 www.sacred-texts.com/chr/barmen.htm, accessed February 13, 2020.
4 Refuted by Ulrich Duchrow, Christenheit und Weltverantwortung: Traditions-
geschichte und systematische Struktur der Zweireichelehre, 2nd ed. (Stuttgart:
Klett-Cotta, 1983 [1970]); and Per Frostin, Luther’s Two Kingdoms Doctrine:
A Critical Study (Lund: Lund University Press, 1994).
5 Cf. Ulrich Duchrow, ed., Lutheran Churches – Salt or Mirror of Society? Case
Studies on the Theory and Practice of the Two Kingdoms Doctrine (Geneva:
Lutheran World Federation, Dep. of Studies, 1977), 84–94. Here, Torleiv Austad
shows Berggrav’s reasoning for resistance as one of the few cases where the Two
Kingdoms concept was not misused for assimilating to powers.
6 Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Sanctorum Communio: Eine dogmatische Untersuchung
zur Soziologie der Kirche, ed. Joachim von Soosten, DBW 1 (München: Kaiser,
1986 [1930]; Engl. ed. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 2009).
7 Dietrich Bonhoeffer, “Die Kirche vor der Judenfrage (1933),” in Berlin
1932–1933, eds. Carsten Nicolaisen and Ernst-Albert Scharffenorth, DBW 12
(München: Kaiser, 1997), 349–58.
8 Cf. Ulrich Duchrow, Global Economy: A Confessional Issue for the Churches?
(Geneva: WCC, 1987), 34ff.
9 Cf. one of the classic books on this topic, Andre Gunder Frank, Capitalism and
Underdevelopment in Latin America: Historical Studies of Chile and Brazil
(New York: Monthly Review Press Classics, 1967).
10 Pope John XXIII, “Mater et Magistra: Encyclical of Pope John XXIII on
Christianity and Social Progress,” May 15, 1961, accessed February 13, 2020,
http://w2.vatican.va/content/john-xxiii/en/encyclicals/documents/hf_j-xxiii_
enc_15051961_mater.html.
11 M. M. Thomas and Paul Abrecht, intr. and eds., Christians in the Technical
and Social Revolutions of Our Time: World Conference on Church and Society,
Geneva, July 12–26, 1966: The Official Report (Geneva: WCC, 1967). A sum-
mary may be found at http://oikoumene.net/hostudies/gerecht.book/one.book/
index.html?entry=page.book.1.2.7.1, accessed February 13, 2020.
12 Walter Rodney, How Europe Undeveloped Africa (London/Dar es Salaam:
Bogle-L’Ouverture/Tanzania Publishing House, 1972).
13 Rubem Alves, “Toward a Theology of Liberation” (Doctoral diss., Princeton
Theological Seminary, 1968). A summary can be found in Bruno J. Linhares,
“Princeton Theological Seminary and the Birth of Liberation Theology,”
REFLEXUS – Revista Semestral de Teologia e Ciências das Religiões 8, no. 12
(2015): 19–43, doi:10.20890/reflexus.v8i12.234.
14 Willem Visser ’t Hooft, “The Mandate of the Ecumenical Movement,” Ecumeni-
cal Review 70, no. 1 (2018): 105–17, 114.
15 Cf. Ulrich Duchrow, ed., The Identity of the Church and its Service to the Whole
Human Being, International Consultations, 3 volumes (Geneva: LWF, 1973–
1975); Ulrich Duchrow, Conflict over the Ecumenical Movement: Confessing
Christ today in the Universal Church (Geneva: World Council of Churches,
1981).
16 Bonhoeffer, “Die Kirche vor der Judenfrage (1933),” 349–58.
17 Arne Sovik, ed., and the Lutheran World Federation, In Christ – A New Com-
munity: Proceedings of the Sixth Assembly of the Lutheran World Federation,
Dar-es Salaam, Tanzania, June 13–25 1977 (Geneva: Lutheran World Federa-
tion, 1977), 179f.
18 Lennart Henriksson, A Journey with a Status Confessionis. Analysis of an Apart-
heid Related Conflict between the Dutch Reformed Church in South Africa and
the World Alliance of Reformed Churches, 1982–1998, Studia Missionalia Sve-
cana CIX (Uppsala: Swedish Institute of Missionary Research, 2010).
19 See Elina Vuola’s Chapter 4 in this volume.
20 Cf. Bernhard Walpen, Die offenen Feinde und ihre Gesellschaft: Eine hegemo-
nietheoretische Studie zur Mont Pèlerin Society (Hamburg: VSA, 2004).
21 Cf. Stylianos Tsompanidis, Orthodoxie und Ökumene – Gemeinsam auf dem
Weg zu Gerechtigkeit, Frieden und Bewahrung der Schöpfung (Münster: LIT,
1999).
22 www.oikoumene.net/home/global/seoul90/seoul.grund0/index.html, accessed
February 13, 2020.
23 Duchrow, Global Economy.
24 Cf. Douglas E. Oakman, The Political Aims of Jesus (Minneapolis: Fortress,
2012); Douglas E. Oakman, Jesus, Debt, and the Lord’s Prayer: First-Century
Debt and Jesus’ Intentions (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2014).
25 Ulrich Duchrow and Gerhard Liedke, Shalom: Biblical Perspectives on Creation,
Justice and Peace (Geneva: World Council of Churches, 1989). Here we also
elaborate the concept of the social forms of being church.
26 www.oikoumene.net/eng.home/eng.global/eng.reportdebrecen97/index.html.
27 See Lutheran World Federation Assembly, Winnipeg, June 2003. IX. TRANS-
FORMING ECONOMIC GLOBALIZATION. A summary can be found at
http://oikoumene.net/eng.home/eng.global/eng.winnipeg2003/index.html,
accessed February 8, 2020.
28 http://wcrc.ch/accra/the-accra-confession, accessed February 13, 2020.
29 www.oikoumene.org/en/resources/documents/assembly/2006-porto-alegre/3-
preparatory-and-background-documents/alternative-globalization-addressing-
people-and-earth-agape, accessed February 13, 2020.
30 www.oikoumene.org/en/resources/documents/commissions/mission-and-evan
gelism/together-towards-life-mission-and-evangelism-in-changing-landscapes,
accessed February 13, 2020.
31 www.oikoumene.org/en/resources/documents/wcc-programmes/public-
witness-addressing-power-affirming-peace/poverty-wealth-and-ecology/
finance-speculation-debt/sao-paulo-statement-international-financial-transformation-
for-the-economy-of-life, accessed February 13, 2020.
32 Cf. http://wcrc.ch/justice/economic-and-financial and http://kairoseuropa.de/.
90 Ulrich Duchrow
33 Pope Francis, “Evangelii Gaudium,” apostolic exhortation, November 24, 2013,
https://w2.vatican.va/content/francesco/en/apost_exhortations/documents/papa-
francesco_esortazione-ap_20131124_evangelii-gaudium.pdf.
34 Ulrich Duchrow and Franz Hinkelammert, Transcending Greedy Money: Inter-
religious Solidarity for Just Relations (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012).
35 On the power of greed in relation to economy and liberation theology cf. Atola
Longkumer’s Chapter 6 in this volume.
36 Richard Heinberg, Afterburn: Society Beyond Fossil Fuel (Gabriola Island, BC,
Canada: New Society Publishers, 2015), 2.
37 Hans Joachim Schellnhuber, Selbstverbrennung: Die fatale Dreiecksbeziehung
zwischen Klima, Mensch und Kohlenstoff (München: C. Bertelsmann, 2015).
38 Cf. Harald Bender, Norbert Bernholt, Klaus Simon, and Akademie Solidarische
Ökonomie, eds., Das dienende Geld: Die Befreiung der Wirtschaft vom Wachs-
tumszwang (München: oekom, 2014).
39 Cf. Sigurd Bergmann, “Die Welt als Ware oder Haushalt? Die Wegwahl der trini-
tarischen Kosmologie bei Gregor von Nazianz,” Evangelische Theologie 53, no.
5 (1993): 460–70; and Sigurd Bergmann, “Life-Giving Breath: Ecological Pneu-
matology in the Context of Fetishization,” Ecumenical Review 65, no. 1 (2013):
114–28.
40 Ulrich Duchrow and Franz J. Hinkelammert, Property for People, Not for Profit:
Alternatives to the Global Tyranny of Capital (Chicago: University of Chicago
Press, 2004). In Chapter 7, we propose an alternative “property order from
below”.
41 Jörg Rieger and Rosemarie Henkel-Rieger, Unified We Are a Force: How Faith
and Labor Can Overcome America’s Inequalities (St. Louis: Chalice Press, 2016).
42 Duchrow and Hinkelammert, Transcending Greedy Money.
43 See also Miguel A. De La Torre, ed., The Hope of Liberation in World Religions
(Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2008).
44 On both Christian and Islamic theology’s potential for critique of and resist-
ance to oppression in global capitalism, cf. Teresa Callewaert’s Chapter 8 in this
volume.
45 Cf. https://kairossouthernafrica.wordpress.com/2011/05/08/the-south-africa-
kairos-document-1985/, accessed February 13, 2020.
46 Cf. Antonio Gramsci, Selections from the Prison Books (London: Lawrence and
Wishart, 1982), 9.
47 Kairos Europa, eds., Interreligiöse Solidarität gegen Fluchtursachen (Heidelberg:
Kairos Europa, 2016).
6 Economy, greed, and
liberation theology
A critique from a border
location in India
Atola Longkumer
For those who want the world to remain as it is have already acceded to its
self-destruction and, consequently, betrayed the love of God and its restless-
ness before the status quo.
Dorothee Sӧlle1
How then shall we understand the cross? Not as a death required by God in
repayment for sin, but as an event of divine love whereby the Creator of the
world entered into intimate contact with human suffering, sinfulness, and
death in order to heal, redeem, and liberate from within.
Elizabeth A. Johnson2
Introduction
An Uncertain Glory is the title of a book on India’s recent socio-economic
development by the Belgian-born Indian sociologist Jean Dreze and the
economist Amartya Sen.3 The phrase “uncertain glory” aptly conveys the
socio-economic, religio-cultural, and political realities of contemporary
India. Even as the authors affirm the recent development and the rapid
changes that modern India has experienced, they argue that inadequacies
and contradictions are evident across different sectors of India. Supported
with convincing statistics concerning the prevalence of crushing poverty and
debilitating social conditions of a large percentage of the country’s demo-
graphic, An Uncertain Glory captures the paradox of modern India. On the
one hand, India today is listed among the 20 top economies of the world,4
with a global presence and influence, yet, on the other hand, the conditions
of abject poverty and the abysmal quality of life for many of its populations
is telling of the contradictions and lopsidedness of the modern image of
an economic powerhouse of the 21st century. Socio-culturally, the realities
of the lived experiences of caste violence, gender discrimination, linguistic
divisions, power hegemony, religious exclusivism, and ethnocentric social
interactions continue to persist in the so-called secular, democratic, and
egalitarian society of modern India. In other words, the social index of the
country in general remains dismal.5
92 Atola Longkumer
The discriminations and marginalisations are most starkly evident in the
communities of the most vulnerable sections of Indian society, rendered vic-
tims by multiple factors and complex intersections of caste, religion, region,
class, gender, and political landscape. Within the complex and intersect-
ing socio-economic canvas of the country, the Dalits, the Adivasis and the
tribal/indigenous ethnic minorities of the Indo-Myanmar regions of India
comprise the country’s most vulnerable and neglected communities.6 In a
metaphorical sense, the Adivasi/indigenous communities are located at the
boundaries of the nation, fenced out by many forms of borders, not just
geographical boundaries.
Premised on the persistence of debilitating poverty and powerlessness of
the marginalised, this chapter attempts to engage the rhetoric of egalitarian
liberation. Drawing from conditions and experiences of border locations
of indigenous/Adivasi people of India, the chapter argues that contextual
theologies need to critique the inherent social and cultural hierarchies in
particular contexts to be truly liberative and enable flourishing for every
member of the community. Culturally sanctioned boundaries that exclude
and alienate the vulnerable persist in maintaining the economic and cultural
status quo of deep inequality. Inclusive justice continues to be elusive; the
chapter will argue that it is possible only when the alleged cultural norms
within contexts are exposed, challenged, and overcome, and egalitarian
practices are intentionally cultivated.
In what follows, some portraits and vignettes are described to mediate the
border locations of marginalised communities in modern India. The next
section highlights the rigid web of hierarchy that undergirds the persistent
exploitation, making injustice pervasive. Identifying the forces of power,
greed, consumption, and routinisation of spirituality forms the following
section. The final section of the chapter explores a re-imagination of libera-
tion theology for the common good and flourishing of all. The re-imagination
proposes three postures that mark an inclusive way of life: first, a critical
remembrance of the Christian mission movement, particularly its complex
tradition of engaging in projects of social upliftment; second, a call to revisit
the prophetic tradition in order to create a just society; and finally, a re-
imagination of a mystical spirituality that radically resists the hegemony of
the ways of the world. In other words, the theological discourse of libera-
tion and egalitarian visions remains in the form of trendy documents and
fashionable ideas without intentional lived practices, which in turn feed the
structures of oppressive discriminations that produce and exploit the most
vulnerable members of the community.
Frames of border locations in India

The usage of the term “border” refers to more than a geographical bound-
ary.7 Border location describes a state of alienation and peripheral loca-
tions demarcated by social and economic forces such as caste and gender.
Economy, greed, and liberation theology 93
For instance, despite the prohibition of caste discriminations by the Indian
Constitution, caste hierarchy continues to isolate Dalits and render them the
most vulnerable community in the country.8
The contradictions, diversities, and multilayered identities that make
modern India are most vividly portrayed in the sights encountered in a
casual stroll down one of the main streets of any of the metropolitan cit-
ies in the country. Crowded with tourists and local shoppers satisfying the
modern psyche of indulging the market and its glamour, a regular sight that
interrupts the carnivalesque exposé of materialism is the beggar in rags. Few
would take note of the pleading cry from the beggar for a few spare coins.
While the oblivious middle class shoppers can be perceived as possessing
some identity, not least their ability to participate in the market economy of
buying and acquiring, the beggar can only be perceived as a victim: name-
less and powerless. He is probably a victim of redundancy, a migrant from
a remote region of the nation, who has suffered misfortunes with regard
to health, rendering him helpless; or the victim could be an Adivasi whose
ancestral lands were transformed into mining caves; perhaps he is a Dalit,
who was ostracised from the village for some caste transgressions.9 The
paradox of a modern economy with its wealth and poverty continues in the
country.
Thachur is a village on the outskirts of the metropolitan city of Chennai
and has a sizeable Christian community, but is demarcated clearly along
caste divides. Caste divisions and identities remain rigid, even in death. Sepa-
rate burial sites for each caste group, control of land by the higher caste, and
the inhuman feudal structure of land ownership dehumanises landless Dalits
as bonded labourers.10 Rendered marginalised by caste boundaries, Dalits
continue to exist on the borders, marked by exclusion and discrimination.
Another vignette of margins comprising the borders in the country is por-
trayed in the skewed gender ratio in the country. The drastic consequence of
female infanticide and male preference is the millions of missing women in
the country. According to the latest census, the gender ratio in some states in
the country is as low as 850 females to 1,000 males.11 Studies on the conse-
quences of female infanticide estimate that around 63 million girls are miss-
ing from the country’s population.12 The skewed gender ratio has a critical
impact on traditional social institutions such as marriage. Media reports from
Eastern India describe the practices of brothers “buying” one bride to share
between them from the impoverished Adivasi communities of the region,
because of scarcity of women in the community.13
The rapid changes initiated by the liberalisation of the economy in India
included transformation of traditional spaces and practices, and develop-
ment of infrastructures in sync with a modern lifestyle characterised by
consumerism. These changes created significant need of labourers across
different sectors of the economy, ranging from unskilled labourers to skilled
workers who could adapt to a global standard of service and professional-
ism. Migration of labourers from the remote, neglected, under-developed,
94 Atola Longkumer
impoverished regions to the metropolitan cities became a reality of the late
modern period in India.14 The movement of people into the centre of econ-
omy and power brought with it challenges to different aspects of Indian
society, not least in the socio-cultural dimension. While India is quintes-
sentially a pluralistic nation, with diverse identities at different levels, the
communal tensions between diverse religious and linguistic groups have
remained a reality and have manifested in sporadic incidents of communal
violence.15
Another persistent practice of exploitation in the country is that of house-
maids. As the middle class grows, along with the invariable demands of a
liberal economy on the time and freedom of professionals, there is a grow-
ing need for domestic maids to assist in chores ranging from childcare to
housekeeping. This need is fed by exploiting the existing socio-cultural
structure of discrimination, whereby young women (mostly impoverished
and illiterate) from the Adivasi communities are lured to the city to serve as
house-maids. Unorganised and unprotected, these women remain one of the
most vulnerable groups of citizens, risking verbal/physical/sexual abuse and
inhumane treatment, and often being underpaid.16
These vignettes are some portraits that constitute a collage of border loca-
tions in the so-called growing economy of India. Undoubtedly, the economic
growth of India in recent years cannot be denied, but its GDP remains low
and the growing wealth has not benefitted the most vulnerable sections17 of
the country’s population. Related to the economic disparity is the persis-
tence of socio-cultural hierarchies such as those of caste, gender, and eth-
nicity. With a complex web of intersections of caste, ethnicity, gender, and
economic class, the demographics that comprise the most vulnerable con-
tinue to be victimised, exploited, and marginalised.
The selected portraits therefore demonstrate that oppressive, exclusive,
hostile borders and demarcations are created and maintained by the rigid
religious and economic conditions of the country. If geographical bounda-
ries isolate and delineate between insider and outsider, religious and eco-
nomic boundaries produce margins, characterised as the “other”, that is,
strange and alien. As borders signify marginality, to inhabit the edges of
society, removed from the centre of privilege and axis of power to reside in
borders, is to exist in uncertainty and vulnerability, ignored and isolated.18
Jean Dreze and Amartya Sen rightly attribute the state of “continued dis-
parity between the lives of the privileged and the rest” and the “persistent
ineptitude and unaccountability in the way the Indian economy and soci-
ety are organized”19 as factors in the persistence of peripheral locations for
many in the country.
The alienations and disparities are not confined to society at large; these
conditions are prevalent in ecclesial spaces. For instance, despite the pro-
gress made in the participation of women in ministry and theological edu-
cation, women across different socio-cultural groups in the country face
discrimination in the community of faith. Sexist attitudes derived from a
“kyriarchal”20 theology persist, often manifested in language, behaviour,
and church practices. Caste tensions and divisions remain a stark reality
inside the church.21 Robust scholarship and organic activism of Dalit, Adi-
vasi, and gender liberation issues have created awareness to some extent;
some churches in the country have participated in global ecumenical move-
ments, such as Decade of Churches in Solidarity with Women. However,
the recognition and participation of women is making only incremental
progress.
Caste, economy, greed, and the making

of the vulnerables in India
Embracing the neo-liberal economy in the last quarter of the 20th century,
India has seen rapid transformation from a traditional economy to a liberal-
ised and globalised economy, effecting tremendous changes in some aspects
of society. However, the economic growth has not translated into quality of
life for all citizens. As illustrated in the preceding discussion, poverty, gen-
der discrimination, caste violence, and ethnocentricism remain challenges
across different sections of Indian society. The glaring gap between the
wealthy class and the poor is palpably visible in many aspects of life, rang-
ing from access to medical care to basic amenities such as electricity. In the
second decade of the millenium, India stands at the threshold of innovation
and industrialisation, with a large youth population; however, the threat of
the rising religio-nationalism remains a potent reality. The assertion of a
dominant religion22 in politics and the economy portends further alienation
of the marginalised communities such as the Dalits, Adivasis, tribals, and
religious minorities.
Writing on the new economic policy that India adopted as part of glo-
balisation and its impact on the Dalits, Manas Upadhyay notes that “Dal-
its remain poor, illiterate, lack requisite skills for competing in the modern
world, enjoy unequal access to productive resources, and remain deeply tied
to land and traditional occupations”.23 A market economy with maximum
profit for wealthy corporations has only accentuated the existing margin-
alisation of the Dalits by way of land acquisition, mechanisation of most
production, professionalisation, and concentration of wealth in the hands
of the traditional land owners.24
India’s new economic policy has undeniably brought seismic changes in
the standard of living and lifted many from abject poverty; yet, Jean Dreze
and Amartya Sen’s more realistic analysis of poverty in the country is also
shared by Gail Omvedt, who notes only a fractional decline in poverty
among the Dalits.25
Despite the economic growth, the existing socio-economic hierarchies
have remained unchanged and therefore the economic growth has not
translated into social progress. As Dreze and Sen caution, “it is extremely
important to point to the fact that the societal reach of economic progress
96 Atola Longkumer
in India has been remarkably limited”.26 The economic reforms that tuned
the country to the demands of globalisation have not made any “effort to
make small producers – small farmers, artisans, fish workers [sic], Dalits,
tribals – the focus of the economy growth”.27 Without measures for social
justice for the marginalised communities in the country, an economic policy
of finance-capitalism and consumerist production stands only to contribute
to the growing inequalities between the powerful and the most vulnerable
citizens such as the Dalits, Adivasis, and tribals. The deep social hierarchies
that sustained caste injustice, feudal ownership of agricultural land, gen-
dered economic roles, and caste-assigned occupations are some of the rigid
conventions compounding the capitalist economy geared toward maintain-
ing economic inequalities.
Analysis of the unchanged socio-economic conditions for the most vul-
nerable people in the country calls on the liberation movements, such as
Dalit and tribal theologies inspired by liberation theology, to continue tena-
ciously in the struggle to journey towards justice. Felix Wilfred writes,
the radicalness of Dalit theology could be seen also in the way it unmasks
the traditional social constructs of purity and pollution, high and low,
and its restlessness regarding the ideological justifications, be it in the
society or within the Christian communities.28
Inspired by liberation theology, movements and theologies of the peo-

ple were fervently initiated, disrupting the dominant discourse and drawing
attention to the oppressive structures of the de facto representative socio-
cultural traditions.29 Drawing global attention, enlarging the lens and shift-
ing the emphasis, these liberation theologies in the country have changed the
discourse and undoubtedly created awareness among the people.
It must, however, be emphasised that critical observations of the mar-
ginalised communities reveal parallel chaos and injustices within the com-
munities. In general, caste identities and collective cohesion persist, tribal
parochialism exists, and gender roles remain unchallenged on many levels,
particularly within the ecclesiastical structures.
While reasons for such a stagnation of the movement of liberation vary,
an underlying causal factor might lie within the traditional and limited
understanding of Christianity itself. On the one hand, Christianity was
understood as seeking to accommodate the good of Sanskritic Hinduism,
and on the other hand, as being limited in its scope to salvation alone, with-
out social critical engagement. Both of these understandings of Christianity
were muted in challenging the social and economic marginalisations of the
poor and the dispossessed.30 The force of the market and consumerist pres-
sure is another reason why individuals have tacitly given in to the idol of
mammon.31
Given the persistence of marginalisation and socio-economic dispari-
ties, compounded by the rise of a political class aligned to a dominant
religion, a critical revisiting of the liberation movement is necessitated.
From the border locations of vulnerabilites in India, crucial questions of
power, Christian prophetic traditions, Christian missions, and Christian
spiritualities emerge. Answering the questions and accounting for a just
world entails explorations of the inherent Christian theological vision of
righteousness manifest in a just and inclusive creation. In the following
section, I shall explore a critical re-imagination of liberation theology,
engaging three dimensions of Christianity: mission, prophetic tradition,
and mystical spirituality.
A critical re-imagination of liberation theology in India

Liberation theology has its roots in the socio-economic contexts of Latin
America in the 1970s. The beginning of this revolutionary movement was
in Medellín, Colombia, at the Second General Conference of Latin Ameri-
can Bishops in September 1968.32 The conference at Medellín was preceded
and inspired by the writings of Gustavo Gutiérrez, through seminal pres-
entations; his was a theology rooted in Scripture that took experience as
crucial for social transformation.33 Gutiérrez’s foundational text, Theology
of Liberation, is cited as the kernel of liberation theology, and the famous
conference at Medellín “legitimate[d] a new kind of Catholic radicalism in
Latin America that could now cite the official statements of the bishops in
support of their arguments”.34
Anchored in the Roman Catholic church in Latin America,35 liberation
theology articulated a demand for liberation from the dominant Eurocen
tric theology amidst the crushing exploitation of a capitalist system. Libera-
tion theology in its seminal form sought the freedom and welfare of the poor
peasants and labourers caught in the complex web of economic develop-
ment characterised by industrialisation and the profiteering of multinational
corporations. According to some perspectives, the conference in Medellín
was inspired by Vatican II and its call for a church that was more engaged
with the people; furthermore, the leadership of Dom Helder Camara was
significant in directing the church to serve the poor and foster greater dia-
logue between the industrial and undeveloped worlds.36
Leonardo Boff also locates the beginning of liberation theology “[at]
Medellín (1968) [as] the Church began to walk with the underworld of pov-
erty and misery that characterised the Latin American continent, then and
now. By the power of the Spirit, Latin American pastors made a courageous
option for the poor and against poverty”, implementing
a practice of integral liberation: not only from our personal and col-
lective sins, but from the sins of oppression, the impoverishment of the
masses, discrimination against indigenous people, contempt for people
of African descent, and the domination of women that men have prac-
ticed since the Neolithic age.37
98 Atola Longkumer
In other words, the liberation theology that had its origins in the Latin
American context unmasks the many forms of oppression beyond the imme-
diate environs of Latin America.
The basic question underlying liberation theology is “how to be Chris-
tians in a world of destitution”.38 Upon this foundational question, Leon-
ardo Boff and Clodovis Boff anchored the rationale, urgency, and praxis of
liberation theology kindled by the immense suffering of the poor. In its fun-
damental content, liberation theology was a theological cry with the vulner-
able poor, rendered victims by different powerful forces such as free-market
capitalism, landowners, and privileged elites. The Boffs write, “liberation
theology can neither exist nor be understood” without sharing the suffering
of the poor.39 Therefore, liberation theology has its genealogy in a moment
of crisis for people of faith, facing extreme poverty and destitution; in such a
context, the question arises of how to live out the belief in a compassionate
God, who suffered for the “sins” of the world. A confident theology of the
sovereignty of God was shaken when confronted with wilful injustice done
to the poor by the selfishness of the few.40 The option for the poor becomes
a reality when the proponents of liberation theology struggle in solidarity
with the poor. In the solidarity with the exploited and the vulnerable, the
witness to the crucified Christ translates into realities of life.
According to the Boffs, the objective of liberation theology – to gain dig-
nity and freedom for the exploited poor – required a “strategy of liberation”
wherein the oppressed come together, and through a process of conscientisa-
tion arrive at an understanding of the oppressive structures and act together
as an organised movement.41 Liberation theology, therefore, is a collective
praxis sharing a common vision of a just system; as summarised by Chris-
topher Rowland, liberation theology springs from a life engaged in strug-
gles and deprivation, and “from the insights of those men and women who
have found themselves caught up in the midst of that struggle, rather than
being evolved and handed down to them by ecclesiastical or theological
experts”.42
As a collective movement, Latin American liberation theology in the last
quarter of the 20th century went beyond its immediate contexts, inspiring
other people’s movements for freedom from different forms of domination
and oppression. In India, liberation theology provided the vision, the pri-
mary framework, and the initial vocabulary to Dalit, tribal, and various
feminist liberation theologies.43
Rowland writes on the continuing task of liberation theology that
the seeds of hope have been sown. Yet everywhere the situation which
prompted liberation theologians to write and explore a different way of
engaging in theological reflection from what had become the norm, has
not improved. In many parts of the world it has become worse, and it is
this continuing context which prompts a continuing need for the kind
of theological engagement we find in liberation theology.44
Indeed, from the perspective of marginalised communities in India,
despite the decades of theological articulation and the variety of ecclesias-
tical programmes initiated towards inclusive justice for the marginalised
and excluded in the country, the conditions of deprivation and discrimi-
nation persist. Exclusion is manifested in different forms in the country:
caste, tribal identity, gender, and economic class. An underlying factor
in marginalisation is the unchallenged structures of cultural practices
that are normalised. In deeper analyses, there is a disconnect between
rhetoric and the practices of daily living. The persistent experiences of
discrimination in relation to caste, gender, and class identities, particu-
larly of marginalised members who comprise the border location, beg
the question of why victimisation of the vulnerable continues, despite the
legal prohibition and decades of social conscientisation. The option for
the poor requires the dismantling of the structures that produce the poor,
and deconstruction of the norms that sustain exclusive hierarchies. The
rigid and normalised structures are more than the capitalist economy;
they include caste practices, gender privileges, and inherent ethnocentric
biases. The discourse of liberation theology is essentially a discourse of
inclusive justice that provides the impulse for transformational praxis in
daily ways of living.
In the following section, the chapter will explore three modes of continu-
ing the liberation movement as inspired by liberation theology as a way of
answering the basic question of liberation theology: “how can we proclaim
the freedom inherent in a loving God manifested in Jesus of Nazareth?”
Remembrance of Christian mission and human dignity

Christian mission and liberation theology make an ambivalent pair. From
a certain reading of Christian mission, often the dominant perspective, the
history, practice, and theology of Christian mission is criticised as inherently
intertwined with the globalised market economy.45 While to some extent
the multifaceted work of Christian mission enabled the expansion of the
market economy, the situation is arguably more complex than a simplistic
pairing of colonial commerce and Christianity. Nonetheless, the subjuga-
tion of local cultures, the intense professionalism, privatisation of wealth,
and transfer of modes of industrialisation are seen as consequences of Chris-
tian mission. Liberation theology, on the other hand, is a critical response
to a theological view that is predominantly Eurocentric in its ambivalence
towards globalisation. Christian mission evaluated from a limited perspec-
tive arguably posits a critical challenge to the project of liberation theology,
for in its essence, Christian mission traced to the eighteenth and nineteenth
century emanating from the West did possess a fundamental theology that
established practices, structures, theology, and teleology characterised by
progress and power often measured in terms of accumulated wealth. In
the following list, Brian Stanley summarises the five basic rationales that
100 Atola Longkumer
undergirded the practice of Christian mission from the West in the 18th and
19th centuries:
• A . . . belief that non-Western peoples were “heathens”, lost in the deg-
radation of sin and in need of salvation through the gospel of Christ.
• A . . . tendency to dismiss other religions either as “heathen idolatry” or
as . . . superstitions . . . devoid of any trace of the presence of God.
• A belief in the manifest superiority and liberating potential of Western
“civilisation”, in both its intellectual and technological aspects.
• Confidence in the regenerative capacity of rational knowledge . . . linked
to Christian proclamation.
• An assumption that the Christian message was addressed principally to
individuals.46
Despite being more complicated, Christian mission’s shared legacy with

imperialism and its operational structures drawn from an attitude of
assumed superiority justifying the subjugation of cultures does impede
the argument for Christian mission’s project of freedom and liberation in
oppressive socio-economical contexts. Therefore, a return to Christian mis-
sion in critical engagement with an unfinished agenda of liberation theol-
ogy might provoke incredulity, particularly in the context of India, with its
many forms of malaise, not least the discrimination against those of low
caste, Adivasi, women, and other minority communities.
That Christian mission history and practice has inevitably shared impe-
rialistic structures cannot be disputed. However, it is crucial to recognise
the complexity of Christian mission in its project across varying historical
periods and disparate organisations and diverse theological understandings
expressed through different ways of working. Put simply, Christian mis-
sion’s legacy is complex and multifaceted, especially as unfolded in the his-
torical and contextual realities of India.47
During the heyday of the Western missionary movement, Christian mis-
sion in India saw a variety of mission organisations and activities. With-
out elaborating on the details, it is common knowledge that translation of
vernacular languages, dissemination of knowledge, printing newspapers,
establishing educational institutions and hospitals, forming women-focused
programmes such as the Zenana mission, organising agricultural institu-
tions to enhance the rural economy,48 and nascent settlements for landless
lower castes49 were all conduits of Christian mission.
Naturally, the socio-economic activities of Christian mission were sec-
ondary to the primary objective of evangelistic zeal to preach the good news
and establish communities adhering to Christianity. While this is generally
indisputable, to ignore the commitment of Christian mission to share the
features of the perceived “good life” characterised by “modern” aspects of
progress, and organised activities contributing to human dignity and flour-
ishing, would amount to a rigid ideological stance.
The criticism against Christian mission in toto was most vehement and
pronounced in the late-20th-century post-independence period.50 Despite
the critical denouncement, to re-evaluate Christian mission and its socio-
economic activities that express commitment to justice and human dignity
is vital given the persistence of discrimination, inequalities, accumulation of
wealth, ecclesiastical excesses, and gender exclusion in contemporary India.
Despite initial resistance from home mission boards and other limitations,
women missionaries were instrumental in connecting to local (native) women
and their circumstances, which were curtailed by cultural conventions. The
phenomena of Bible Women,51 female education, reforms of socio-cultural
rituals, and hospitals are directly related to the work of women missionaries
in the modern missionary movement. From the many historical records, the
example of Helen Barrett Montgomery (1861–1934) will suffice, a Baptist who
championed women’s missionary engagement in the “Eastern Lands” and the
cause of progress for women. She was a child of her times, yet a visionary for
women’s liberation, as the following words from her speech to the gathering of
the Third Baptist World Congress, at Stockholm in 1923, illustrate:
Jesus Christ is the great Emancipator of woman. He alone among the

founders of the great religions of the world looked upon men and
women with level eyes, seeing not their differences but their oneness,
their humanity. He alone put no barriers before women in his religious
teaching, but promulgated one law, equally binding upon men and
women, opened one gate to which men and women were admitted upon
equal terms.52
Collobaration in establishing modern socio-economic structures and pre-

paring agents to partake in the modern structures are both Christian mis-
sion legacies.53 A balanced analysis, therefore, will include the aspects of
Christian mission that contribute to the flourishing of the good life for
every member of the community. Remembering Christian mission’s com-
mitment to human dignity shares a common vision with today’s call for
socio-economic justice in an inclusive society. In a growing economy such
as India, with lopsided developments and contradictions rendering millions
vulnerable, Christian mission’s fundamental commitment to uplifting every
individual across the diverse socio-cultural contexts is even more urgent.
The foundational principle of liberation theology in its option for the poor
finds a parallel commitment in a Christian mission that understands that
proclamation of the Gospel includes social justice in a holistic flourishing
of creation.54
Reclaiming a prophetic voice for justice

The prophets in the Hebrew Scripture announced the kingdom of God char-
acterised by a just society. The denunciation of abuse of power, misplaced
102 Atola Longkumer
sacrifice, and unfaithfulness of the people to Yahweh sprang from a deep
sense of justice that included economic justice. Amos, Isaiah, Micah, and
Jeremiah all have passages that vehemently condemn greed, abuse of power,
exploitation of the poor, and ritualistic practices that are meaningless.55
Michael Barram underlines the passionate language Amos employed to
denounced those who “trample the head of the poor into the dust of the
earth and push the afflicted out of the way” (Amos 2:7, NRSV).56 In brutal-
ising the most vulnerable among them, the Israelites displayed their arrogant
neglect of the covenantal code as a people.57 Explaining the central message
of the prophet Isaiah, Barram writes,
The people are out of practice with justice; they need a radical reorien-
tation in their thinking, accompanied by drastically different conduct.
To “seek justice” in a covenantal context is to foster a holistic commu-
nity of interdependent relationships in which all, including the most
vulnerable, flourish consistently.58
In denouncing the injustices, the prophets were announcing the call to return
to righteousness and liberation as God intended for his people.
Being convinced of the vision of God for a just society, prophets are indi-
viduals who announce freedom for victims of oppressive structures – social,
political, and economic – and the destruction of religiosities devoid of mean-
ing. The prophetic tradition of the Hebrew Scripture has modelled a way for
individuals and communities to seek justice and the good of the people with
passionate commitment springing from an unsettling aversion to injustice
that renders people vulnerable. Drawing from the prophetic tradition of the
Hebrew Scripture, individuals and movements through history have taken
up struggles against powerful structures of self-interest, risking hostility,
alienation, and life itself.
Liberation theology agrees with the prophetic tradition in seeking the lib-
eration of people who are rendered vulnerable victims of dominant struc-
tures such as the profit-seeking economic system of the late 20th century.
Liberation theology addresses how to proclaim a God who is revealed as
love in a world of poverty and exclusion, and how to proclaim the “Gospel
of liberation”.59 To proclaim the love of God as manifest in the life and
work of Jesus is to proclaim liberation. To proclaim the love of God is to
proclaim the kingdom of God. But amidst debilitating poverty and mar-
ginalised powerless, proclaiming the kingdom of God that is marked by
inclusive love is meaningless unless the causes and roots of oppression and
exploitation are destroyed.60
The task of theology as a prophetic articulation of the central message
of the Gospel of freedom from destructive self-centredness also finds strong
emphasis from Dorothee Sӧlle, who categorically states, “The gospel has to
do with freedom for all, or more precisely – since the reality of oppression
remains in the picture – its essence is the liberation of all”.61 The liberation
and freedom of the individual is interconnected with the liberation and free-
dom of the collective community. Faith as nurtured by the Gospel posits the
liberation of all, not the isolated event of an individual act.62 Sӧlle summa-
rises this, saying that theology cannot be mere theoretical abstraction, but
is “a praxis of love that has value only as an apparent consequence of faith,
because it conceives truth not as knowledge, but as fulfillment of life”.63
Theology that is action-oriented in its solidarity with the vulnerable
reclaims the prophetic traditions amidst the challenges, and nurtures the
passion to interrupt structures that feed systems of exploitation. Borrow-
ing the term “interrupting” from the theologian Johann Baptist Metz, Mat-
thew A. Shadle proposes an interruption of capitalist forms of economy.
According to Shadle, interrupting capitalism is “ ‘breaking into’ the econ-
omy, adopting practices of solidarity that have the potential to transform
the economy”.64 While interrupting capitalism is not synonymous with dis-
mantling the global economy, it calls Christians’ attention to the economic
conditions of the present age and underlines the imperative for Christians
to proactively engage in transforming the global economy, drawing from
the traditions of justice and practices of generosity inherent in the faith. To
interrupt capitalism in its self-destructive drive today is to demonstrate an
alternate reality of solidarity rather than hopelessness and despair.65
Prophetic pronouncements against injustice interrupt the status quo and
declare an alternative reality. Through the prophets, God interrupts and
shifts the priorities to the marginalised. Theological interruptions such as
Dalit theology and tribal theology66 in the Indian context have challenged
the traditional theological orientations. Felix Wilfred astutely captures the
significant impact of Dalit theology in this way: “Dalit theology has shaken
the traditional way of pursuing theology by drawing our attention to the
experience of the most oppressed and marginalized groups in the Indian
society”.67 Further, to persist in the struggle for freedom for the many vic-
tims inhabiting border locations in India entails reclaiming the prophetic
tradition in announcing the alternative reality that is the kingdom of God.
Mystical spirituality for collaborators towards justice

Critical re-imagination of liberation theology amidst the demanding chal-
lenges of modern India also calls for a spirituality that is marked by a deep,
mystical relationship with the sacred. A radical belief sustained by confi-
dence in sharing an interdependent relationship with God is sufficient for
engaging in resisting mammon and its debilitating structures. In sharing the
solidarity of the struggle with the poor and the marginalised, in sharing the
vision of a just inclusive humanity, the ordinary people become collabora-
tors with God. They become agents of transformation and form the bridge
between the righteousness of God and a humanity in need of reconciliation.
The agents for transformation become the conduit for God’s passionate jus-
tice to be realised. Collaborators are sustained by a mystical spirituality that
104 Atola Longkumer
holds humanity and the divine together – a mystical spirituality marked by
immersion in a radical denouncement of the ways of the world and com-
plete surrender to the ways of God.
Interrupting the rigid hierarchies entails an encounter with the divine that
illuminates a deeper understanding of the faith – an understanding that faith
is meaningful only when expressed in praxis.68 The web of hierarchies and
scaffold of oppressive networks as designed by an economic policy biased
towards accumulation, excess profit, and extreme consumerism can only
be resisted with a lifestyle rooted in the unfathomable wisdom of God.
Because of its realisation in the absoluteness of God in all things and the
interconnectedness of all creation, mystical spirituality enables us to resist
the distractions of mammon and of the powers of the world.69
Dorothee Sӧlle realised this truth, that seeking an inclusive community,
yearning for peace, hungering for justice, and desiring healing in the world
required a mystical dependence on God. The search for the liberation of
humanity could only be sustained by balancing a prophetic zeal with a pas-
sionate longing for God, because human liberation included God in the
journey as well as in the destination.70 Solidarity with the vulnerable unveils
God’s own pain at humanity’s selfishness; as Sӧlle writes,
suffering does not necessarily separate us from God. On the contrary,

it may actually put us in touch with the mystery of reality. To follow
Christ means to take part in his life . . . Compassio in this sense . . . arises
in the immediacy of innocent suffering and from solidarity with those
who have to bear it. . . . Without compassio, there is no resurrection.71
A vision and deliberate lifestyle that embraces the suffering and the lim-
itations experienced by the marginalised poor declares in effect the shal-
lowness of the dominant powers, and in participating in the struggle for
justice expresses itself “in mystical defiance” that suffering will be overcome
through the unfathomable love of God only comprehended by those who
share the deep knowledge of God’s own self.72
The enormous challenge for justice calls for a spirituality deeply grounded
in God; as Elizabeth A. Johnson writes, “[w]ithout the incomprehensible
God as the horizon and ultimate fulfillment, the human project itself would
meet an impenetrable limit such that the human spirit would shut down,
having no further depths of knowledge, or love to plumb”.73 Therefore,
a prophetic theology of interruption can only be sustained by a mystical
relationship with the ineffability of God, because the human mind is inca-
pable of grasping the reality of the divine mystery that desires the good of
all creation.74
While mystical spirituality might indicate an interiorised spirituality that
is oblivious to the external environs, and therefore might seem untenable
for a liberation theology, a prophetic interruption calls for an intense spir-
ituality marked by ineffable trust in God as proclaimed in the good news
of Christ received by faith. In the context of deep misery and faced with
the despair of contemporary socio-economic realities, humanity can only
entrust its existence to the holy mystery of God, full of wisdom and unfath-
omable love.75
Conclusion
This chapter has presented a portrait of the global situation today as mani-
fested in a particular context, India, where there is immense marginalisa-
tion, made vulnerable by an economic system beholden to wealth and profit.
Such an economic system is further sustained by existing rigid socio-cultural
structures of caste, class, race, and gender. An economic system of profit-
making poses an immense threat to the natural environment, as evident in
the tremendous changes in natural seasons and habitats across the globe.
What is distinct about the contemporary depraved situation of extreme ine-
quality is its reach around the globe. Furthermore, the existence of extreme
inequality and insecurity amidst the tremendous wealth and progress of
humanity points simply to the greed of a few. A commitment to an inclusive
and just way of life is required to ensure the flourishing of all creation.
In the context of persistent marginalisation in India, the chapter has pro-
posed three practices that have enduring relevance in movements striving
for justice and the wellbeing of society. The immense number of the vic-
tims of the socio-economic structures necessitates a critical remembrance of
Christian mission’s commitment to realisation of human dignity and free-
dom as integral to the Gospel. Furthermore, a critical recalling of liberation
theology in the country also entails a prophetic passion to persist and con-
tinue the initial movements of liberation, such as Dalit, tribal, and feminist
theologies in the country. Finally, the chapter underscored the centrality of a
mystical spirituality that nurtures the journey of struggle and solidarity with
the marginalised. In its essence, a mystical spirituality draws its confidence
from the deep relationship and union with the mystery of the divine, whose
grace upholds all of creation.
In the task for theology to continue to interrupt oppressive norms and to
articulate the truth of the Gospel that is inclusive, the following words from
Jon Sobrino are helpful:
what takes my breath away is when people keep saying that liberation
theology has gone out of fashion. Poverty is increasing in the Third
World [sic], the gap between the rich and the poor countries is widen-
ing, there are wars – more than a hundred since the last world war and
all of them in the Third World [sic]. Cultures are being lost through the
imposition of foreign commercial cultures. . . . Oppression is not a fash-
ion. The cries of the oppressed keep rising to heaven . . . more and more
loudly. God today goes on hearing these cries, condemning oppression
and strengthening liberation. Anyone who does not grasp this has not
106 Atola Longkumer
understood a word of liberation theology. What I ask myself is what
theology is going to do if it ignores this fundamental fact of God’s crea-
tion as it is. How can a theology call itself “Christian” if it bypasses
the crucifixion of whole peoples and their need for resurrection, even
though its books have been talking about crucifixion and resurrection
for twenty centuries? Therefore if those doing liberation theology are
not doing it well, let others do it and do it better. But someone must
keep on doing it. And for the love of God let us not call it a fashion.76
The good news as expressed in the work and life of Jesus of Nazareth gives
life, and not to share this faith is to betray the love of God for every crea-
ture,77 and would be to withhold the kingdom of God marked by healing,
life, joy, and liberation78 that Jesus Christ inaugurated.
Liberation theology emerged in the context of tremendous economic
changes in Latin America, and the theological articulations and the sac-
rifices of the pioneers of liberation theology went beyond this, inspiring
many other people’s movements of liberation. Given the global realities of
economic inequalities and rise of exclusivism manifested in violent resist-
ance to the other, liberation theology that articulates the love of God and its
intentional option for the poor and the marginalised is even more urgently
needed today.
Notes
1 Dorothee Sӧlle, The Silent Cry: Mysticism and Resistance, trans. Barbara and
Martin Rumscheidt (Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress Press, 2001), 3–4.
2 Elizabeth A. Johnson, Abounding in Kindness: Writings for the People of God
(Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 2015), 13.
3 Jean Dreze and Amartya Sen, An Uncertain Glory: India and its Contradictions
(Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2013).
4 Available data from global economic statistics in 2019 positioned India among
the top economies in the world, despite the vast task of providing a sustainable
livelihood, modernised infrastructure, and quality of life to the millions living
in precarious poverty. See www.worldbank.org/en/country/india/overview, and
www.imf.org/en/Countries/IND#countrydata, accessed November 11, 2019. Inci-
dentally, more discouraging is data that indicates India’s position in the Global
Hunger Index 2019; India is ranked 102nd out of 117 countries, behind Myanmar
(rank 69), Pakistan (rank 94), Nepal (rank 73) and Bangladesh (rank 88). www.
thehindu.com/news/national/global-hunger-index-2019-india-ranked-lower-than-
nepal-pakistan-bangladesh/article29714429.ece, accessed November 11, 2019.
5 The cache of data provided by Jean Dreze and Amartya Sen parallels other
sources; for instance, the poverty deduction data provided by the World Bank
indicates minuscule change in the corresponding years of growth in the GDP
of the country; see http://povertydata.worldbank.org/poverty/country/IND,
accessed August 3, 2019.
6 The terms “tribal” and “Adivasi” are gaining more currency in their usage to
describe the communities that are outside the Indic/Hindu traditions. Sharing
broad features more akin to those of other indigenous people, the Adivasi and
tribals are people with distinct oral languages and shamanic religiosity who
inhabit the remote regions in the country. The Indian Constitution categorises
them under the term Schedule Tribe (ST). For more detailed discussion, see Vir-
ginius Xaxa, State, Society, and Tribes: Issues in Post-Colonial India (Noida:
Pearson, 2008); Nandini Sundar, ed., The Scheduled Tribes and Their India:
Politics, Identities, Policies and Work (Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2016);
Meena Radhakrishna, ed., First Citizens: Studies on Adivasis, Tribals, and Indig-
enous Peoples in India (Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2016).
7 The concept of “border” is employed here to frame conditions of binary divide
and as a metaphor to delineate the locations of marginality, which are not just
limited to spatial boundaries; for instance, a lucid discussion on the implications
of the term within the discipline of critical education is presented by Henry A.
Giroux, Border Crossings: Cultural Workers and Politics of Education (New
York: Routledge, 1993), 21–22. A Christian mission perspective of border cross-
ing is discussed by Peter C. Phan, who highlights three functions of borders as
barriers and identity markers. Peter C. Phan, “Crossing the Borders: A Spir-
ituality for Mission in our Time from an Asian Perspective,” accessed Novem-
ber 11, 2019, https://sedosmission.org/old/eng/phan_2.htm.
8 A recent publication provides a comprehensive context and catalogue of vio-
lence against Dalits and Adivasi in the country. See Martin Macwan, ed.,
Bhed-Bharat: An Account of Injustice and Atrocities on Dalits and Adivasis
2014–2019 (Ahmedabad: Dalit Shakti Prakashan, 2018).
9 According to reported data from the National Crime Records Bureau, there were
a total of 119,872 incidents of atrocities on Dalits in three years, 2014–2016. See
Martin Macwan, ed., Bhed-Bharat.
10 S. Dorairaj, “Caste Divide,” Frontline: India’s National Magazine, February 25,
2011, accessed May 15, 2019, https://frontline.thehindu.com/static/html/fl2804/
stories/20110225280403800.htm.
11 http://censusindia.gov.in/Census_Data_2001/India_at_glance/fsex.aspx,
accessed May 15, 2019.
12 Priyanka Pulla, “What are the Consequences of India’s Falling Sex Ratio?” The
Hindu, March 3, 2018, accessed May 15, 2019, www.thehindu.com/sci-tech/
health/what-are-the-consequences-of-indias-falling-sex-ratio/article22920346.
ece. See also Manasi Gopalakrishnan, “Female Feticide in India – a Paradox
of Development?” Deutche Welle, August 1, 2019, accessed November 7, 2019,
www.dw.com/en/female-feticide-in-india-a-paradox-of-development/a-49852825.
13 Haryana Kotla, “Seven Brothers,” The Economist, April 7, 2011, accessed
May 15, 2019, www.economist.com/asia/2011/04/07/seven-brothers.
14 For a recent study on migration of northeasterners to the cities, see Bengt Karls-
son and Dolly Kikon, “Way Finding: Indigenous Migrants in the Service Sector
of Metropolitan India,” South Asia: Journal of South Asian Studies 40, no. 3
(2017): 447–64.
15 Among the plethora of texts on the communal tension and violence, an excellent
study highlighting the modern roots may be found in Martha Nussbaum, The
Clash Within: Democracy, Religious Violence and India’s Future (Cambridge,
MA: Harvard University Press, 2007). Incidentally, the recent rise of the aggres-
sive Hindu-right political party Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) has seen growing
violence, such as lynching, against minority communities.
16 N. Neetha, “Urban Housekeepers from Tribal Homelands: Adivasi Women
Migrants and Domestic Work in Delhi,” in First Citizens: Studies on Adiva-
sis, Tribals, and Indigenous Peoples in India, ed. Meena Radhakrishna (Delhi:
Oxford University Press, 2016), 219–32, discusses the impact of the changes in
modern economy in the communities of Adivasi, most evident in the migration
108 Atola Longkumer
of Adivasi women to cities to work as domestic help. She writes, “The movement
of women from Adivasi pockets to cities for domestic work goes back to the late
1970s. It witnessed an unprecedented increase in the 1980s and more so in the
1990s. The major source areas for Adivasis women are the states of Jharkhand,
Chhatisgarh, Odisha, Assam, and West Bengal. The cities such as Delhi, Mum-
bai and Bengaluru are the receiving places for Adivasis migrants” (230).
17 For example, the economic deprivations of the Adivasi population across the
country continue, compounded by mismanagement of the digitisation pro-
grams designed to enable efficient distribution of public services such as ration
cards. Recent media reports of Adivasi (tribal/indigenous people) in the state of
Jharkhand dying of starvation only confirms these grim economic realities; see
Shiv Sahay Singh, “Death by Digital Exclusion? On Faulty Public Distribution
System in Jharkhand,” The Hindu, July 13, 2019, accessed November 11, 2019,
www.thehindu.com/news/national/other-states/death-by-digital-exclusion/arti
cle28414768.ece.
18 Jooseop Keum, ed., Together Towards Life: Mission and Evangelism in Changing
Landscapes (Geneva: WCC Publications, 2013), 15; herein the mission docu-
ment of the World Council of Churches spells out the conditions of margins as
“exclusion from justice and dignity”; by contrast, those occupying the centre are
those “having access to systems that lead to one’s rights, freedom, and individu-
ality being affirmed and respected”.
19 Dreze and Sen, Uncertain Glory, 11.
20 Elisabeth Schussler Fiorenza coined the neologism “kyriarchy” to point out the
complex and intersecting multiplicative social structures of oppression that go
beyond patriarchy – male-centric domination. Derived from the Greek word
“kurios”, the neologism kyriarchy redefines the structures of domination.
Developed within the area of biblical interpretation, the concept of kyriarchy is
adopted in feminist critical theory to describe the web of dominance and inter-
connected oppressive structures. See Elisabeth Schussler Fiorenza, Rhetoric and
Ethic: The Politics of Biblical Studies (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1999),
5–6.
21 A. P. Nirmal, “Toward a Christian Dalit Theology,” in Frontiers in Asian Chris-
tian Theology: Emerging Trends, ed. R. S. Sugirtharajah (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis
Books, 1994), 27–40; John Webster, Dalit Christians: A History (New Delhi:
ISPCK, 1992); James Massey, Indigenous Peoples: Dalits: Issues in Today’s The-
ological Debate (Delhi: ISPCK, 1994).
22 The categories of both religion and modern Hinduism need clarifications under-
scoring the complex working of power in controlling and solidifying the trajec-
tory of modern knowledge. For detailed discussion on the topic, see Geoffrey
Oddie, Imagined Hinduism: British Protestant Missionary Constructions of
Hinduism, 1793–1900 (New Delhi: Sage Publications, 2006); Richard King,
Orientalism and Religion: Postcolonial Theory, India and the Mystic East (Lon-
don: Routledge, 1999); Michael J. Altman, Heathen, Hindoo, Hindu: American
Representations of India, 1721–1893 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017).
Altman discusses the role of American university programs in contributing to the
category and the study of Hinduism as it is known today.
23 Manas Upadhyay, Globalization and Dalits: Still Lagging Behind (New Delhi:
Serials Publications Private Ltd., 2017), 88.
24 Sundar, ed., The Scheduled Tribes and Their India, 31–33.
25 Gail Omvedt, “Economic Policy, Poverty and Dalits,” in New Economic Policy
and Dalits, ed. P. G. Jogdand (New Delhi: Rawat Publications, 2000), 38–57.
26 Dreze and Sen, Uncertain Glory, 8; we might consider, for instance, the dismal
situation regarding power (electricity). There are frequent outages daily for those
who have access to electricity, along with 200 million who do not have electricity.
7 Omvedt, “Economic Policy,” 56.
2
28 Felix Wilfred, Margins: Site of Asian Theologies (Delhi: ISPCK, 2008), 61.
29 One of the pronounced shifts is the intervention in the theological conversation
dominated by brahminical texts and worldviews.
30 Gail Omvedt, “The Doubly Marginalised,” Seminar 602 (2009): 70–75,
accessed May 21, 2019, https://eprints.soas.ac.uk/17278/1/2009/602/602_gail_
omvedt-1.htm.
31 Walter Brueggemann, Money and Possessions (Louisville: Westminster John
Knox, 2016); see also Kathryn Tanner, Christianity and the New Spirit of Capi-
talism (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2018).
32 For a more comprehensive discussion on the history of the beginnings of libera-
tion theology, see also Ulrich Duchrow’s Chapter 5 in this volume.
33 Paul E. Sigmund, The Birth of Liberation Theology: Medellín and Beyond
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992), 30; Christopher Rowland, ed., Cam-
bridge Companion to Liberation Theology (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1999); Leonardo Boff and Clodovis Boff, Introducing Liberation Theol-
ogy (Kent, UK: Burns and Oats, 1987).
34 Sigmund, The Birth of Liberation Theology, 28.
35 Although the kernel of the movement was sown in the Catholic church and by
the priests in Latin America, the distinctive development that included the read-
ing of God’s inclusive justice and acts on behalf of the oppressed has a Protestant
dimension, as highlighted by Brian Stanley. See Brian Stanley, Christianity in
the Twentieth Century: A Global History (Princeton: Princeton University Press,
2018), 237–38.
36 Jay Corrin, “The English Catholic New Left and Liberation Theology,” Journal
of Church and State 59, no. 1 (2017): 43–58, doi:10.1093/jcs/csv090.
37 Leonardo Boff, Come, Holy Spirit: Inner Fire, Giver of Life and Comforter of
the Poor (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 2015), 3–4.
38 Boff and Boff, Introducing Liberation Theology, 1.
39 Ibid., 3.
40 Ibid.
41 Ibid., 5.
42 Rowland, ed., Cambridge Companion to Liberation Theology, 2.
43 While liberation theology inspired theologies of liberation in other local con-
texts, the second stage of liberation theology also saw critical interventions, par-
ticularly from feminist theologians incorporating more wide-ranging identities
of marginality including LGBTQ; see Marcella Althaus-Reid, From Feminist
Theology to Indecent Theology: Readings on Poverty, Sexuality Identity and
God (London: SCM, 2004).
44 Rowland, Cambridge Companion to Liberation Theology, 250.
45 Norman Etherington, Mission and Empire (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
2008); Brian Stanley, “ ‘Commerce and Christainity’: Providence Theory, the
Missionary Movement, and the Imperialism of Free Trade,” The Historical Jour-
nal 26, no. 1 (1983): 71–94. Drawing from the context of the Tswana of South
Africa, the complex relationship between Christian mission and the introduction
of market economy is astutely discussed by the anthropologists Jean Comaroff
and John Comaroff, Of Revelation and Revolution: Christianity, Colonial-
ism, and Consciousness, vol. 1 (Chicago, IL: The University of Chicago Press,
1991), 165–71. The critique of collusion between Christian mission and impe-
rial power is more complex; for a judicious discussion of the theme, see David
Bosch, Transforming Mission: Paradigm Shifts in Theology of Mission (Maryk-
noll, NY: Orbis Books, 1991), 302–12. The dynamics of Christian mission and
the transformation it wrought were wide-ranging, as were the missionaries and
their home bases; see David A. Hollinger, Protestants Abroad: How Missionaries
110 Atola Longkumer
Tried to Change the World but Changed America (Princeton, NJ: Princeton Uni-
versity Press, 2017), 3.
46 Brian Stanley, Christian Missions and the Enlightenment (Grand Rapids, MI:
Eerdmans, 2004), 8.
47 For a resourceful discussion on the dynamics of Christian mission and its project
of establishing Christianity in the country, see Robert Eric Frykenberg, Christi-
anity in India: From Beginnings to the Present (New Delhi: Oxford University
Press, 2008).
48 For instance, the Presbyterian mission, as part of which Sam Higginbotham con-
tributed to the establishment of the Agriculture University; for discussion of this,
see Hollinger, Protestants Abroad. See also Felix Wilfred, “What Is Wrong with
Rice-Christians? Wellbeing as Salvation: A Subaltern Perspective,” Third Millen-
nium IV (2001): 6–18, 6–8.
49 For more details, see Mrinalini Sebastian, “Localised Cosmopolitanism and Glo-
balised Faith: Echoes of ‘Native’ Voices in Eighteenth- and Nineteenth-Century
Missionary Documents,” in European Missions in Contact Zones: Transfor-
mation through Interaction, ed. Judith Becker (Gottingen: Vandenhoeck and
Ruprecht, 2015), 47–64; see also Albrecht Frenz, Freiheit has Gesicht: Anan-
dapur, eine Begegnung Zwischen Kodagu und Baden-Wurttemberg (Stuttgart:
Staatsanzeigler fur Baden-Wurttemberg, 2003).
50 Stanley, Christianity in the Twentieth Century.
51 See Eliza F. Kent, Converting Women: Gender and Protestant Christianity in
Colonial South India (New York: Oxford University Press, 2004), 150–53.
52 Quoted in Kendal P. Mobley, Helen Barrett Montgomery: The Global Mission
of Domestic Feminism (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2009), 13.
53 For a discussion on the beginnings of women’s higher education and profession-
alisation in India, see Maina Chawla Singh, Gender, Religion, and the Heathen
Lands: American Missionary Women in South Asia, 1860s–1940s (New York:
Taylor and Francis, 2000).
54 C. René Padilla, “The Globalization of Solidarity,” Journal of Latin American
Theology 9, no. 2 (2004): 69–90.
55 See Michael Barram, Missional Economics: Biblical Justice and Christian For-
mation (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2018), 120.
56 Ibid., 122.
57 Ibid.
58 Ibid., 127.
59 G. Gutiérrez, “The Task and Content of Liberation Theology,” translated by
Judith Condor, in Cambridge Companion to Liberation Theology, ed. Christo-
pher Rowland (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 33.
60 Ibid., 34.
61 Sölle, Political Theology, 67.
62 Ibid.
63 Ibid., 83.
64 In the context of the financial crisis of 2008 in the United States, Matthew A.
Shadle draws on Catholic social thought to renew the theological tasks of work-
ing for a just society; see Matthew A. Shadle, Interrupting Capitalism: Catholic
Social Thought and the Economy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018), 4.
65 Shadle, Interrupting Capitalism, 158.
66 For pioneering tribal theologies, see Nirmal Minz, “Religion, Culture, and Edu-
cation in the Context of Tribal Aspirations in India,” Journal of Dharma 24, no.
4 (1999): 402–16; Wati Longchar, Tribal Theology: An Emerging Asian Theol-
ogy: Issue, Method and Perspective (Jorhat, India: ETC Publications, 2000).
67 Wilfred, Margins: Site of Asian Theologies, 61.
6
69 In a daily reflection of the Centre for Contemplative Action, Richard Rohr high-
lighted an understanding of mysticism that is not otherworldly but a realisation
of a responsible relationship with the whole of creation, using the following
words from Beverly Lanzetta: “Mysticism also refers to a universal and unifying
view of the world. One of the quintessential insights of the mystics through the
centuries is that the entire cosmos is intersubjective – all beings are embedded in
webs of relationship that are interconnected, interdependent. . . . Today, mysti-
cal awareness expands to incorporate our relationships, and . . . the whole of
humanity, creation . . . the suffering of the planet, . . . and violence caused by reli-
gious superiority, national self-interest, poverty, homelessness, starvation, and
war”. See https://cac.org/living-mysticism-2019-08-07/, accessed November 11,
2019.
70 Sölle, Silent Cry, 151.
71 Ibid., 138–41.
72 Ibid., 149.
73 Johnson, Abounding in Kindness, 7.
76 Quoted in Christopher Rowland and J. Sobrino, Companions of Jesus: The Mur-
der and Martyrdom of the Salvadorean Jesuits (London: CIIR/CAPOD, 1990),
50–51.
77 Sӧlle, The Silent Cry, 4.
7 The dissemination of Vikings
Postcolonial contexts and
economic meltdown
Sigríður Guðmarsdóttir
During the first years of the new millennium, the Icelandic banking sys-
tem grew rapidly and was boosted by the risk-seeking confidence of finan-
cial tycoons. The financial tycoons were nicknamed útrásarvíkingar, that
is, “Outvasion Vikings”. Instead of the violent invasions of the Vikings of
yore, these new Vikings represented themselves as leading peaceful con-
quests, “outvasions” into the global market. In 2008, the three main banks
of Iceland suffered an economic meltdown. The news was mediated to the
nation by a national address on the television by Iceland’s prime minister.
We were all watching, gathered round TV sets and computers screens in

our workplace, in cafés and at home on that misty afternoon. It was not
just that this sophisticated and usually perfectly composed man seemed
shaken but that he concluded his unique address by asking God to bless
Iceland. This is when we knew we were in serious trouble.1
The downward spiral of the Icelandic economy has deeply affected the liv-
ing standards of Icelanders, and simultaneously opened up the potential
for complex cultural identities. Eiríkur Bergmann has described the boom
as a “postcolonial project”2 and the meltdown as a political crisis that was
“simultaneously a crisis in capitalism and a crisis of national identity”.3 Berg-
mann maintains that “the enthusiastic behaviour of the outvasion Vikings
and the widespread, almost cheerleading acceptance of their endeavours at
home must be explained in relation to Iceland’s history and through its post-
colonial national identity”.4
Homi K. Bhabha envisioned (with a little help from Jacques Derrida) that
instead of looking at the scattered peoples on the margins of cultures and
societies as dispersed crowds, they might be seen as a “gathering” in their
own right, a “dissemiNation” as it were. Bhabha argues for the complexity
of discursive strategies of cultural identification which form identity as a
nation, or as a people, and “make them the immanent subjects of a range
of social and literary narratives”.5 This chapter takes its cue from Bhab-
ha’s pun of dissemiNation as a disseminal identity and probes the literary
devices and contexts that formulate a national identity as “Viking identity”.
The dissemination of Vikings 113
The chapter reads and interprets the economic meltdown of the Icelandic
economy and its aftermath through the lenses of contextual theology. If
Bergmann is right (and I think he is) that the postcolonial context must be
taken into account in understanding the economic bubble and its aftermath,
this contextual theological approach needs some help from postcolonial and
poststructuralist theory and theology. The chapter comprises four sections.
The first one lays out some of the premises of contextual theology which
are important for our methodology. The second section analyses the Icelan-
dic economic “miracle”. To deepen the analysis, the third section ventures
into postcolonial and poststructuralist theory and theology, while the fourth
recontextualises the analysis within contextual theology.
Contextuality, recontextuality, and kontextuality

Bhabha is adamant that dissemiNation is not the discourse of nationalism
per se. Rather, he is pointing to what he calls “living the locality of culture”,
namely, focusing on complex and hegemonic temporalities, the symbolics
of communal life, and the differences and hybrid mythologies that chal-
lenge common ideologies and stable identities.6 If Bhabha thus puts a name
on the ambiguity of lived cultural localities, Stephen Bevans addresses such
subtleties as context. Bevans argues that “all theology is contextual theol-
ogy”, and that those who advocate for more universal types of theology
are usually “deeply rooted in European, Western culture, shaped by Greek
thought and the Roman genius for order and law”.7 Bevans explains how
the turn to the subject in modern theology flourished into political theol-
ogy, theology of liberation, and the various forms of feminist theology,
and argues that “contextual theology could include both reflections on the
mutual interaction between the Christian tradition and culture, as well as
the struggles of the poor and marginalized for dignity and basic rights”.8
For Bevans, rooting theological inquiries in diverse contexts is justified by
the incarnational, trinitarian, sacramental, and catholic nature of the enter-
prise.9 Marcella Althaus-Reid reminds us that all theologies are political,
economic, and sexual, although not necessarily consciously so.10 For her,
the aim is “to explore the contextual hermeneutical circle of suspicion in
depth by questioning the traditional liberationist context of doing theol-
ogy”. Althaus-Reid makes it clear that she is not criticising the contextual
endeavour of liberation theology to read theology from the standpoint and
context of the poor. Rather, she points out that contextualisation is a con-
tinual process of social transformation. “Liberation Theology”, she says,
“needs to be understood as a continuing process of recontextualization, a
permanent exercise of serious doubting in theology”.11 Like Althaus-Reid,
and from the standpoint of indigenous theology, Jione Havea treats contex-
tuality with suspicion and argues that contextualising is a dynamic process.
“Whether any contextual statement can be inclusive enough, I am not sure.
But the contextual raft must still be pushed forth”.12 Although Havea has
114 Sigríður Guðmarsdóttir
thus affirmed the main principles of contextual theology, he doubts that all
contexts are created equal, and postulates that “the North still controls the
theological game”.13 Havea asks what it means to be contextual: “Can one
be contextual without being rooted, actually, in the context of interest?”14
He answers his own question by relocating the hyphen from context- to
con-, or even to kon-, because his own Tongan language does not have a
c in its alphabet. Havea names five “cons” that he detects in contextual
theology. The first is contextuality’s hidden agendas, which run the risk
of presenting a complex context as a thin guise for their own essentialism.
Havea asks, “Whose interests do contextual theologies serve?” Second,
Havea points to the importance of native languages and the difficulties of
translation: “As long as we fail to account for the maneuverings of lan-
guage and translation, in my opinion, our contextual project is naive”. In
other words, if the North still runs the theology game, English and other
colonial languages run the language game. Havea’s third point has to do
with globalisation, which for Havea forms a “trinity of power” with colo-
nialisation and the Christian mission.15 The fourth con in Havea’s vocabu-
lary is the different borders that shape consciousness, culture, and identity,
in spirituality and relationships. For him, the need to contextualise arises
from the lack of relations to ancestors and spirits, which are results of
colonialisation. Finally, Havea addresses the danger that contextual theol-
ogy runs when it seeks to harmonise and simplify the context too much.
Instead of harmonisation and oversimplification, Havea emphasises the
importance of respecting and understanding the differences within cultures
and contexts.
These methodological insights from contextual theology serve as leads
for interpreting the Icelandic meltdown. Bevans insists on reading texts
from location, to honour the cultures of diverse peoples and disturb the
universal idea of theology as one. This acknowledgement of diverse cultures
as vital resources for theology is important for the present chapter, which
claims that the economic meltdown in Iceland has relevance as a resource
for contextual theology. Likewise, Althaus-Reid’s point that recontextuali-
sation is a perennial affair is an invaluable insight for this chapter, because it
addresses the complexity of the lives and narratives of the people involved.
Such complexities can only ever be partly addressed. Bhabha, in his dissemi-
Nation of discursive strategies, points us to this complexity, away from the
homogenous narratives to the gathering of the dispersed, from the centre to
the margins. Finally, the method of the paper can be understood as a nod
from an Arctic islander to the Pacific islander Havea, who reminds us that
sometimes we need to con our own contexts, kontextualise, bring out fates,
cultures, thoughts, dreams, failures, and languages of the few, to destabi-
lise the rhetoric of the powerful and universal and to question everything.
Islanders understand that “the contextual raft must be pushed forth”, or
else all of us drown.
Outvasion Vikings: “You ain’t seen nothing yet”
Iceland was settled by Viking dissidents in the year 874, won by a Norwegian
king in the 13th century, colonised by the Danish crown in the seventeenth,
and given partial independence in 1918 and full independence during World
War II. Kristín Loftsdóttir argues that a strong sense of Icelandic national
identity was created through exceptionalism during independence strug-
gles of the 19th century. Loftsdóttir explains such exceptionalism as the
discursive attempts to belong to the Western civilised world, indoctrinated
and maintained through schoolbook texts where Icelanders are presented as
descendants of the prime of the Norwegian population. Loftsdóttir writes:
“Within such narratives, Icelandic exceptionalism is laid out, emphasising
Icelanders as different from anyone else”.16 She maintains that the “nine-
teenth century nationalists tended to regard the Danish colonial government
as the result of Iceland’s decline from a glorious historical past”, but that
the relationship between the two nations was “unnatural”, since the Danes
ruled over the Icelanders as if they were uncivilised. According to Lofts-
dóttir, the national mythology that later became the drive in the economic
boom takes its energy from this postcolonialist struggle.17
In 2005, the President of Iceland, Ólafur Ragnar Grímsson, gave a speech
in a business club in London to distinguished business leaders. The presi-
dential discussion of the Icelandic business consisted of 13 points, which
all pointed to the national characteristics of Icelanders which make such
impressive foreign business relations possible. President Grímsson’s speech
in 2005 exhorted businesspersons to re-examine their previous beliefs and
the norms that they thought would guarantee results. “Third”, Grímsson
postulated, “Icelanders are risk takers. They are daring and aggressive”.18
Most of the traits on the presidential list have to do with attributes of
aggression, risk, and mastery that have in Western symbolism historically
been linked to diverse myths of masculinity. Grímsson continued:
Eighth on my list is the heritage of discovery and exploration, fostered

by the medieval Viking sagas that have been told and retold to every
Icelandic child. This is a tradition that gives honor to those who venture
into unknown lands, who dare to journey to foreign fields, interpreting
modern business ventures as an extension of the Viking spirit, applaud-
ing the successful entrepreneurs as heirs of this proud tradition.19
The “Viking spirit” allusions are interesting in light of history, since the
interactions between the Celtic populations of the British Isles and the Nor-
dic Vikings were violent. Thus, Icelandic allusions to “Viking spirit” func-
tion as a political and sexual economy, which erases the past of enslavement
which runs in Icelandic veins, as well as the seven and half centuries of
humiliating Icelandic colonisation under the Norwegian-Danish empire.
This historical reading of Icelanders as the descendants of brave and adven-
turous Vikings situates cultural fantasies of conquest back in the “good old
days” when Nordic people terrorised the British Isles and their surround-
ings. The Icelandic glorious past is naïvely explained with images of con-
quest, where everyone wins and the sufferers have been erased.
Grímsson concluded his analysis by promising the advent of even greater
signs and wonders in the years to come: “Let me leave you with a prom-
ise. . . . I formulated it with a little help from Hollywood movies: ‘You
ain’t seen nothing yet’ ”. The President’s public enthusiasm for the Viking
business spirit was in no way unusual or unique at the time. The Icelandic
Chamber of Commerce published a report in 2006 that argued that Iceland
should “no longer compare itself to the other Nordic states, as we over-
reach them in most fields”.20 The University of Iceland Business Depart-
ment founded a research project called “INTICE: Outvasion of Icelandic
Companies” and Icelandic musicians referred to themselves as part of a
“cultural outvasion”, “wanting to conquer nations and peoples”.21 These
sentiments of economic acuity and superiority were echoed in an 88-page
report on the image of Iceland sponsored by the Prime Minister’s Office in
Iceland in April 2008 called “The Image of Iceland: Strength, Status and
Prospects”. The report ambitiously starts by stating the importance of Ice-
land continuing to be “the best in the world, the country with the highest
living standard in the world”.22 According to the report, the term that best
describes Icelandic people and their economic relations is “Natural Power”,
and they advise an Icelandic image-campaign that emphasises this natural
strength of the people as well as the place. The report describes the national
myth of Icelanders in this way:
The first Icelanders were people who came to this country in search
of freedom and better standards of living. The nation was poor for a
long time, but rose with more freedom and political independence from
being a developing country to one of the richest nations of the world
within a century. The Icelanders are a nation industrious and proud,
marked by their struggles of inhabiting tough, rural areas.23
There seem to have been few challenges to the national Viking mythologies
during the boom, and criticisms and warnings from economists abroad were
generally classified as ill will, interference, or jealousy over the Icelandic
economic “miracle”.24 A notable exception to the rule was the Icelandic
Society of Historians, which in June 2008 criticised the Prime Minister’s
image report for its naïve metanarrative of Icelandic origins and traits in
a public letter. The historians pointed out some of the inconsistencies and
myths of the report, especially the notion of the Viking freedom fighters and
the Golden Age of Independence. They equate its rhetoric to the political
ideology used to achieve independence at the beginning of the 20th century.
They end their letter by directing the prime minister to recent historical
research on representations and constructions of Iceland.25
The downward spiral of the Icelandic economy after the crash has affected
the living standards, employment, and savings of Icelanders, and has had
an impact on neighbouring countries as well because of high-interest per-
sonal saving accounts. Privately owned Icelandic banks opened online sav-
ing branches in the United Kingdom, called Icesave and Kaupthing-Edge.
These savings accounts were promoted with pictures of the Icelandic coun-
tryside and attractive slogans of natural purity and transparency. “Icesave”
was owned by Landsbanki and its particular slogan was “Clear Difference”,
placed under a picture of a blue Icelandic waterfall.26 The Icesave website
promised “Peace of Mind” to prospective customers, whose savings were
to be doubly guaranteed by UK laws and by the state budget of Iceland as
collateral. Haukur Már Helgason succinctly described the political situa-
tion in Iceland after the recession in 2008: “Our beloved Vikings took the
money and ran, and left the Icelandic state with a foreign debt of €20 bil-
lion. Divided between the country’s [300,000] inhabitants, that is almost
€[67,000] per person”.27 Not only did the banking system in the country
collapse, but because of the online savings abroad, Iceland ran into a tough
crisis in terms of foreign relations after the British government decided to
freeze all the assets of Landsbanki in Britain under the Anti-terrorism, Crime
and Security Act 2001, which froze all of the assets of Icelandic banks for
a period of time, the Central Bank included.28 This unusual move launched
a wave of protest in Iceland, and InDefence, a grassroots movement, was
formed to protest the freezing orders. InDefence formed the largest peti-
tions in Icelandic history by posting photographs of thousands of Iceland-
ers online, under the heading “I am not a terrorist”. Cultural critics in arts
and literature pointed to the racial undertones of using the faces of blonde-
haired and blue-eyed families to convey the message that theirs was not the
face of the Other. Kristín Svava Tómasdóttir derides these racial undertones
in the short poem “A Letter to Mister Brown”:
stundum eru augun í mér svo blá sometimes my eyes are so blue
að þau skelfa mig í speglinum that they startle me in the mirror
lít ég út fyrir að vera do I look like I’m a terrorist?29
hryðjuverkamaður?
In a short period of time, the Icelandic Viking myth morphed from public
cheerleading of the outvasions of the financial tycoons to the stay-at-home
Viking who defends his family and country from evil foreigners who wrong-
fully call “us” terrorists, freeze “our” accounts abroad and demand that
“we” pay the debts of the Vikings in full. I have in this chapter cited Berg-
mann’s careful account of the early days of the economic boom. Bergmann
indicates in the preface to the book that he was one of the founders of the
InDefence movement.30 He describes the campaign and the petition, but
omits the photographs and the criticism of the project.31 Bergmann meticu-
lously explains the postcolonial project of the outvasion Vikings and the
national cheerleading of their business ventures, but curiously omits the part
where the InDefence group contributed to the reinforcement of the Viking
values and exceptionalism.
Third space: postcolonial and poststructuralist perspectives

Bhabha reminds us that the discursive practices of addressing the “self-
hood” of a nation are formed by double-writing or dissemination, that is,
first, by positing this nation as different from other nations, and second, by
denying the heterogeneity and cultural difference of those that do not fit the
fictional national identity.32 A presidential address can thus be interpreted
as a discursive strategy of representing some of the nation’s identities. Public
speeches through which this symbolism is expressed are thus of importance
for those who are interested in the way national identities are built, dissemi-
nated, and built anew. Such discourse shapes the hopes, values, and desires
of people, and is as such a valuable and important resource for a theological
investigation.
Hardt and Negri maintain that the rhetoric of the national state and
international capitalism emerges through new empires of international
corporations:
The passage to Empire emerges from the twilight of modern sover-

eignty. In contrast to imperialism, Empire establishes no territorial
center of power and does not rely on fixed boundaries or barriers. It is
a decentered and deterritorializing apparatus of rule that progressively
incorporates the entire global realm within its open, expanding fron-
tiers. Empire manages hybrid identities, flexible hierarchies, and plu-
ral exchanges through modulating networks of command. The distinct
national colors of the imperialist map of the world have merged and
blended in the imperial global rainbow.33
Hardt and Negri thus explain the deterritorialisation of an Empire that mim-
ics the fluidity of the postmodern condition while simultaneously making
use of myths and metanarratives of national identities for its own purposes.
The presidential speech at the Walbrook Club reveals discursive strategies
of a myth of origin. Such myths shape national identities and reinforce the
glorification of the new financial tycoons, who peacefully explore and “out-
vade” new territories for the benefit of all. If empire is shaped by the fluent
currents of international currency, the Icelandic “Vikings” of the Icesave
bubble considered themselves to be the strange hybrid surfers of the capital-
istic wave, “a clear difference” in the muddy soup of postmodernity. Thus,
the presidential speech reveals a curious example of national identities that
rise in no relevant proportion to the nation’s boundaries, economy, popula-
tion, or production.
The economy of the world and the national economies are relational
affairs, some of which are addressed by other chapters of the book.34 Joerg
Rieger asks, “On which authorities, powers, and energies do we rely? What
is it that gives us ultimate hope, shapes our desires, and provides reason-
able levels of stability?”35 Loretta Napolioni reminds us, “Economics is the
unpredictable science of interdependency”,36 and Althaus-Reid points out
that “economics like theology is the old science of human relationships”.37
If Rieger, Napolioni and Althaus-Reid thus remind us of the mutuality and
interdependecy of the world’s economic systems, one might ask what con-
stitutes such joint assurances of trust, credence, and credit.
Sigurd Bergmann points out that the shift from exchanging physical
objects to trading commodities builds on what Marx called “fetishism of
commodities”, and consists of a separation between human labour and
its products.38 According to Bergmann, fetishism replaces the animistic
skill of relating to an interconnected physical place with the labour of the
individual. If economic theory is a science of relation, Bergmann reminds
us that economic systems build on relations that are decontextualised and
assymetrical.39 Rieger argues that economic models have produced their
own dogmas, sometimes called “market fundamentalism”. Dogmas such
as the optimistic idea of the self-organising freedom of the “free market”,
of the goodness of individualism, and the idea of wealth as breadcrumbs
that trickle proportionally down to the poor go almost undisputed under
capitalism.40 Rieger points out that the same people who have a fundamen-
talist view of religion are also likely to be uncritical of economic dogmas.41
Instead, Rieger proposes “the logic of downturn”, that is, practices that are
sensitive to the asymmetry of power and in solidarity with the poor, power-
less, and disadvantaged who live on the margins of the economy.
Marion Grau points out that
behind the use of the oracular term “the economy” in popular politi-
cal rhetoric stands the ancient theological term oikonomia theou, the
economy of God, describing divine agency within the cosmos, the way
in which the universe functions and develops throughout the course of
human history, specifically as it relates to redemptive agency.42
Grau argues that many contemporary theologies are too stuck in either/or
categories in economic structures to offer room for reflections on resistance,
agency and subversion. She writes,
Theological critiques of economic systems remain incomplete if they

simply replace one grand narrative of omnipotence with another, a
theological for an economic dominology. Attempting thus to address
both economic and theological oppressions, we must ask what kind of
oikonomia serves as the basis for a reconstruction of economic theol-
ogy. Until we begin to ask that question, our position as contemporary
interpreters of Christian “economic” traditions may be dangerously
compromised.43
Grau proposes a “theology of countereconomy” and offers readings of

Christian narratives through the lenses of poststructuralist, feminist, and
postcolonial criticism. For Grau, a critical reading of the divine economy
reveals “that the line between economic justice and exploitation is not
comfortably located outside ourselves but goes right through our invest-
ments, theological, relational, and financial”.44 Such abundance and terrors
of scarcity, such mysteries of excess and lack blur the binaries of inside
and outside and shake up the very ideals, trust, values, and currencies
which build our ontological establishments of cultural, religious, politi-
cal, and national identity constituted through a “clear difference” from the
Other. Grau writes of her vision of the divine economy as finding “kinship”
with what Catherine Keller locates in the biblical beginning of creation:
the chaos that is “always already there, that is now being recognized as
an alternative order that had been so long mistaken for disorder”.45 Thus,
Grau is probing the abjected notion of the chaotic in the grand narrative
of the West, and finding ways of expressing its unruly power in political,
economic, and theological relations. If Rieger has suggested turning the
tables and getting to the margins of society, Grau is trying to stay put in the
third space between the lines, and between the opposites, in order to disrupt
the binaries between those in power and those without it. John Milbank
once remarked that “the Christian mythos . . . is able to rescue virtue from
deconstruction into violent, agonistic difference”.46 If Milbank proposes the
Christian narrative as the antidote to capitalism and its heretical, chaotic
connotations, Grau probes the anxieties and contradictions built into the
theological household, as well as its contemporary counterparts in neo-
classical capitalism and neo-Marxism. Grau proposes the sacred image of
the trickster as a theological “third space” metaphor to counter the false
stability of capitalism. Grau asks herself if her image runs the risk of being
connected to the image of the confidence man, or con man. She answers
her own question by pointing out that the interpretation and locality of the
figure is ambivalent and can point in many directions. For her, the trick-
ster imagery is attractive, because divine tricksters can “de-monstr-ate,
show forth the monstrous, perform perfidy, hail the hysterical, provide a
hyperbole, a syntax of sarcasm, and invent idioms of irony”.47 For Grau,
the mythological trickster image thus serves as an important reminder that
instability and chaos are a part of the messy relationships of human exist-
ence, the economy included.
If Milbank warns his readers against the “violent, agonistic difference” of
deconstruction, Chantal Mouffe welcomes the multiplicating agonies of the
political subject. Like Grau, Mouffe is looking for a “third way” to think
about relational and political economy. For Mouffe, Derrida’s “constitutive
outside” functions as a way to understand
the antagonism inherent in all objectivity and the centrality of the us/
them distinction in the constitution of collective political identities. . . .
In order to be a true outside, the outside has to be incommensurable
with the inside, and at the same time, the condition of emergence of the
latter.48
Mouffe opposes any easy return to dialectics of the inside/outside, friend/

enemy binaries, or “antagonism proper”. Instead, she advocates a Derridean
“third way”, which she calls “agonistic pluralism”, as the second and more
viable notion of antagonism leading to democratic politics. According to
Mouffe, agonism
involves a relation not between enemies but between “adversaries”,

adversaries being defined in a paradoxical way as “friendly enemies”,
that is, persons who are friends because they share a common symbolic
space but also enemies because they want to organize this common sym-
bolic space in a different way.49
Mouffe argues that relationality has been expressed too narrowly in terms
of ethical goodness and empathy. Instead, she wants to bring dark, antago-
nistic, and conflictual sides of sociability to the fore. For Mouffe the demo-
cratic role of agonistic pluralism is not to eliminate the antagonistic, but
rather to turn enemies into adversaries and “antagonism existing in human
relations into an agonism”.50
Grau and Mouffe are thus both trying to speak about economic and soci-
etal relations by holding together nonessential and ambiguous notions of
subjectivities – an economy of difference, as it were. Both thinkers con-
nect such a notion of human reciprocity to the mythological and biblical
concept of chaos. Mouffe writes, “Every consensus appears as a stabiliza-
tion of something essentially unstable and chaotic. Chaos and instability are
irreducible, but this is at once a risk and a chance, since continual stability
would mean the end of politics and ethics”.51
Moving from the third space of ambiguity, ethics, tricksters, and demo-
cratic agonism presented by Grau and Mouffe to the turmoil and cons of
current Icelandic politics, I turn back to the myths of the Icelandic economy
which so perplexed British business people and gave the president an exhila-
rating sense of mystery and revelation.
Recontextualising the meltdown

Havea’s method consisted of the five “cons”: the agendas of the stories we
choose to tell, the problem of linguistic interpretation, the trinity of power,
our relational borders, and finally the risk of false harmonies. The contex-
tual approach that Havea adheres to has been an inspiration to this chapter,
to question everything, even one’s own motives. I concur with Havea that
“the north still controls the game” in sorting and harmonising stories and
metanarratives in the proper language of the empire. I would add that the
geographical North also harbours its own anxieties and doubt of civility.
The indignant blue-eyed families posing for photos to convince the prime
minister of Britain that they were not terrorists because they look Western
provide an important example of this type of colonial exceptionalism and
fear of the other. “Clear Difference”, the slogan of Icesave, and the clear
waterfall included in the transaction are directly linked to the cultural and
economic representation of Icelandic bodies as white mythologies of natural
power-Vikings and their natural, powerful, pure, virgin land as different
from, purer, cooler than the bodies of anyone else. This same natural-power
identity exudes from the Prime Minister’s Office Report on Natural Power
and the image of Iceland. Clear Difference and Natural Power point to Ice-
landic Viking exceptionalism as a special nation, different from and superior
to other nations.
Havea’s kontextuality that “cons” contextual theology chimes with
Grau’s trickster. Grau has pointed us towards the divine trickster economy
as an ambivalent model of possibilities as well as crisis, of new hopes as well
as insecurities. In comparison to the Viking testosterone exuding from the
official reports and speeches in Iceland during the economic boom, Grau’s
trickster readings might help us to detect the vulnerability and anxiety of
such overcompensations in the deified relations of contemporary capitalism,
and write new identities which accept the hybrid as gatherings and identities
in their own right. Keeping in mind Havea’s cons and Althaus-Reid’s herme-
neutics of suspicion, I would pay careful attention to the type of accounts
and accountabilities that one chooses to tell of when identifying a context,
the economic meltdown in Iceland included. One should also be sensitive to
the stories that are omitted. “The symbol of God functions”, as Elizabeth
Johnson wrote.52 Likewise, the mythologies that are existentially meaning-
ful to us are resilient and tend to morph easily. More than a decade after the
crisis, several explanatory stories and selected contexts have emerged, some
criticising the Viking myth, others reinforcing it. Some of these explana-
tory stories put the blame for the financial crisis on the Icelandic public for
having caused the crash by buying flatscreens and SUVs during the boom
and having thus increased inflation in the economy. The so-called flatscreen
theory was first put forward by the majority owner and chairman of Lands-
banki, Björgólfur Guðmundsson, a few days after the crash.53 Other stories
have put the blame on particular individuals, corrupt politicians or reckless
tycoons. While none of these explanations necessarily excludes the others,
the focal choices may have a strong impact on the narratives of representa-
tion of national identity involved.
Does God bless Iceland, like the prime minister asked the divine to do? If
the economic meltdown in Iceland has theological relevance for those out-
side the island, what would be the possible lessons, images, and metaphors
drawn from the crash for contextual theology? The blame game in Icelandic
politics and finance almost automatically translates into the powerful mod-
els of sin-repentance-forgiveness registers in Christian theology. Do the peo-
ple need God’s forgiveness for driving around the golden calf in their SUVs
while watching flatscreen TVs? Who gains from such an interpretation of
the meltdown? Are the outvasion Vikings prodigal sons in disguise? Are the
Icelanders the Canaanites or the Israelites in the story? Is individual greed
presented as the problem, or the collective hubris? Should one accept such
models of translation or “push the contextual raft further” still?54
In this chapter, I have chosen to present a postcolonial reading of the
economic bubble exploring white Viking mythologies and exceptionalism
of a postcolonial nation in economic meltdown. Bevans maintains that the
incarnational, trinitarian, and sacramental character of theology coincides
with rooting theological enquiries in the diversity of contexts.55 Likewise,
Grau points to oikonomia theou, divine economy, as an appropriate meta-
phor for divine relationality, which counters some of the prevailing myths of
economic theory and dogma. For her, the trickster image serves as an incar-
national model of ambivalence and third space. Mouffe reminds us that
“continual stability would mean the end of politics and ethics”,56 which in
this context might mean that the ethical lesson to be learned from the crash
is to allow oneself the risk of deconstructing old, dangerous, and exclusive
narratives of the past. If Havea has provided us with indigenous “cons”
to challenge contextualities of the economic metdown, Sigurd Bergmann
likewise lays out a reconstruction of Christian pneumatology more sensi-
tive to animism and indigenous sensibilities of relation and spiritualities,
which might serve as an instance of countering the fetishisation of Viking
mythologies and exceptionalism. Might the theological work, perplexing
and bewildering as it is in the current context, lie in these broken images of
blue-eyed Vikings, natural power, and clear difference? Might the chaotic
spaces where new departures are born, and where past insecurities become
resources for dissemiNation, provide new cons for contexualisation? Per-
haps we ain’t seen nothing yet.
Notes
1 Eiríkur Bergmann, Iceland and the International Financial Crisis: Boom, Bust
and Recovery (London: Palgrave, 2014), 3.
2 Ibid., 17.
3 Ibid., x.
4 Ibid., 6.
5 Homi K. Bhabha, The Location of Culture (London: Routledge, 2004), 140.
6 Ibid., 140.
7 Stephen Bevans, “Contextual Theology as Practical Theology,” in Opening the
Field of Practical Theology, eds. Kathleen A. Cahalan and Gordon S. Mikoski
(Lanham: Rowman and Littlefield, 2014), 45–60, 45–46.
8 Ibid., 47.
9 Ibid., 47–48.
10 Marcella Althaus-Reid, Indecent Theology (London: Routledge, 2000), 4.
11 Ibid., 5.
12 Jione Havea, “The Cons of Contextuality . . . Kontextuality,” in Contextual
Theology for the Twenty-First Century, eds. Steven B. Bevans and Katalina
Tahaafe-Williams (Cambridge: Wipf & Stock and James Clarke & Co, 2011),
38–54, 39.
13 Ibid., 41.
14 Ibid.
15 Ibid., 44–46.
16 Kristín Loftsdóttir, “Belonging and the Icelandic Others: Situating Icelandic
Identity in a Postcolonial Context,” in Whiteness and Postcolonialism in the
Nordic Region: Exceptionalism, Migrant Others and National Identities, eds.
Kristín Loftsdóttir and Lars Jensen (Farnham: Ashgate, 2012), 57–72, 61.
17 Ibid., 60.
18 The transcript of the speech given at The Walbrook Club, London, 3 May 2005,
may be found at Ólafur Ragnar Grímsson, “How to Succeed in Modern Business:
Lessons from The Icelandic Voyage,” The Reykjavík Grapevine, October 10,
2008, accessed February 14, 2020, https://grapevine.is/mag/articles/2008/10/10/
how-to-succeed-in-modern-business-olafur-ragnar-grimsson-at-the-walbrook-
club/. The speech was available on the official website of the President of Iceland
until 2016, when President Grímsson resigned from office. Most of the former
president’s speeches are available electronically from www.forseti.is, but this one
seems to have been deleted. The speech was published in the magazine Grape-
vine two days after the financial crash in 2008.
19 Grímsson, “How to Succeed in Modern Business.”
20 Bergmann, Iceland and the International Financial Crisis, 85.
21 Ibid., 86.
22 The Prime Minister’s Office, Ímynd Íslands: Styrkur, staða og stefna (Rey-
kjavík: Forsætisráðuneytið, 7 April 2008), 4, accessed February 14, 2020, www.
stjornarradid.is/media/forsaetisraduneyti-media/media/Skyrslur/Forsaetisr_
arsskyrsla_END2.pdf.
23 Ibid., 25.
25 The Icelandic Society for Historical Research (Sagnfræðingafélag Íslands), “Let-
ter to the Prime Minister of Iceland,” Sagnfræðingafélag Íslands, June 12, 2008,
accessed February 14, 2020, www.sagnfraedingafelag.net/2008/06/12/11.34.26/.
26 www.icesave.co.uk, accessed April 22, 2009. The Icesave website closed down in
October 2009, but some of its online offers can be accessed on Wikipedia’s entry
on the Icesave dispute.
27 Haukur Már Helgason, “The End of Neo-Liberal Neverland,” The Reykjavík
Grapevine, April 3, 2009, https://grapevine.is/mag/feature/2009/04/03/the-end-
of-neo-liberal-neverland/.
29 Kristín Svava Tómasdóttir, Skrælingjasýningin (Reykjavík: Bjartur, 2011), 27.
30 Bergmann, Iceland and the International Financial Crisis, i.
31 Ibid., 141.
32 Bhabha, The Location of Culture, 148.
33 Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri, Empire (Cambridge: Harvard University
Press, 2001), xii.
34 On the dynamics of the financial system and the markets’ tendency to catalyse
greed to accumulate without limit, cf. Ulrich Duchrow’s Chapter 5 in this vol-
ume. On the power of greed in relation to economy and liberation theology, cf.
Atola Longkumer’s Chapter 6 in this volume. On Christian and Islamic theol-
ogy’s potential for critique of and resistance to oppression in global capitalism,
cf. Teresa Callewaert’s Chapter 8 in this volume.
35 Joerg Rieger, No Rising Tide: Theology, Economics and the Future (Minneapo-
lis: Fortress Press, 2009), 4.
36 Loretta Napolioni, Rogue Economics: Capitalism’s New Reality (St. Paul, MN:
Seven Stories Press, 2008), 7.
37 Althaus-Reid, Indecent Theology, 112.
38 Sigurd Bergmann, “Fetishism Revisited: In the Animistic Lens of Eco-
Pneumatology,” Journal of Reformed Theology 6 (2012): 195–215, 209.
39 Ibid., 210.
40 Rieger, No Rising Tide, 4–28.
41 Ibid., 10.
42 Marion Grau, Divine Economies: Refinancing Redemption (New York: T&T
Clark, 2004), 5.
43 Ibid., 37.
44 Ibid., 15.
45 Ibid., 5; Catherine Keller, Face of the Deep: A Theology of Becoming (New
York: Routledge, 2003), 28.
46 John Milbank, Theology and Social Theory: Beyond Secular Reason (London:
Blackwell, 1993), 376.
47 Grau, Divine Economies, 174.
48 Chantal Mouffe, The Democratic Paradox (London: Verso, 2000), 12.
49 Ibid., 13.
50 Ibid., 135.
51 Ibid., 136.
52 Elizabeth Johnson, She Who Is: The Mystery of God in Feminist Theological
Discourse (New York: Herder and Herder, 1992), 4.
53 Jón Trausti Reynisson, “Hann lagði þjóðina að veði,” Dagblaðið Vísir, Octo-
ber 28, 2008, 14, accessed March 1, 2020, https://timarit.is/page/6448436#page/
n13/mode/2up.
54 Havea, “The Cons of Contextuality . . . Kontextuality,” 39.
55 Bevans, “Contextual Theology as Practical Theology,” 47–48.
56 Mouffe, The Democratic Paradox, 136.
8 Reclaiming tradition as
critique of oppression
Teresa Callewaert
This chapter1 sets out to discuss if, why, and how theology should be used
for critique of and resistance to oppression. I will do this through an engage-
ment with two thinkers from the beginnings of what in Christian tradition
has been referred to as liberation theology, but which, for the purpose of
treating both Islamic and Christian thought, could be more aptly called lib-
erationism.2 The idea is, through such an engagement, to identify some of
the reasons these early thinkers had for choosing theological tools for their
resistance and to analyse their strategies. I will then move on to a couple
of contemporary thinkers who have also chosen to articulate resistance to
oppression through theological thought, and try to sketch how certain ten-
dencies evident in the early stages of liberationism have renewed relevance
for our current world.
When Gustavo Gutiérrez, the Peruvian theologian and priest who was one
of the first people to put Catholic liberation theology into writing, wrote A
Theology of Liberation in 1971, it was in the firm belief that Christian faith
and theology represented a tremendously important resource in the struggle
for human dignity and liberation, a struggle which to him involved a cri-
tique of, and revolution against, the power of global capitalism.3 At roughly
the same time, in an Iran ruled by the authoritarian regime of the Shah,
Ali Shariati, a Shiite Muslim public intellectual and mystic, developed ideas
about Islam being the only viable force for resisting the blatant oppression
and exploitation of capitalism and imperialism.4
There are important similarities between their approaches; most notably
for our discussion today, they have similar reasons for involving theology
in the struggle against oppression. To them, theology, or religious tradition
more generally, is a vehicle for conscientisation. That is, it can create aware-
ness of oppression, of the possibility of another world, and mobilise people
for the struggle. There are several reasons why theology can fulfil this task,
which can be roughly divided into two sets.
The first set of reasons centres around the fact that theology, or religious
tradition, is the tradition of the poor. This means that it is a tradition to
which the people already belong. A struggle starting from that tradition
uniquely restores the poor’s confidence in themselves and in what belongs to
Tradition as critique of oppression 127
them. In contrast to other modes of thought prevalent at the time – devel-
opmentalist, Marxist, capitalist – religious tradition is something the poor
can claim as their own. By starting from such a tradition, mobilisation can
be free from condescension, and can therefore build self-reliance, independ-
ence, and a sense of identity. Reliance on tradition is, to Shariati and Gutiér-
rez, empowering. Moreover, tradition represents a kind of entry point for
awareness. Because it is something already familiar and close to their hearts,
its revolutionary content can be discovered by the poor as something in
a sense already embraced and believed, although not consciously so. This
is the meaning of Gutiérrez’s concept of conscientising evangelisation. The
starting point in tradition makes the revolutionary message fundamentally
legitimate and believable to the poor.
But there is another set of reasons for relying on tradition when resisting
oppression, on which the first set of reasons depend. In order for theology
to fulfil a conscientising role, it must also in and of itself be morally and
philosophically viable and adequate for the task; that is, it must contain
insights and knowledge that are valuable to such a struggle. The claim made
by both Gutiérrez and Shariati is that theology has such a content, and indeed
that, when properly understood, it contains unique insights with relevance for
the resistance. The three central insights that theology delivers according to
both Shariati and Gutiérrez, although in slightly different ways, are these:
1 That God considers the poverty that people live in to be an abomina-

tion. Shariati makes this argument by relying on the doctrine of tawhid.
This is one of the most important – one could claim the most funda-
mental – doctrine of Islamic thought: the oneness of God. Because God
is one, humanity is called to mirror this oneness through equality and
social justice. Since there is but one God, all of the world belongs to
God, the material world no less than the spiritual. This means that God
is concerned with the realisation of human dignity in material terms,
and that poverty is a kind of blasphemy.5 Gutiérrez develops his argu-
ment from creation, also highlighting the importance of material reali-
ties: God has created the world, and the world in its material aspects is
of concern to God. Moreover, God created human beings in his image
and with the intention that humans should have life in abundance. Pov-
erty constitutes a defilement of the face of God, because the image of
God, given in creation and confirmed in the incarnation of Christ, is
sullied. The incarnation, God taking flesh, teaches us to see God in our
neighbour and to abhor the destitution of the poor.6
2 That the cause of poverty is exploitation and oppression. For both
Gutiérrez and Shariati, this point leads to a critique of theologies
and religious authorities that describe poverty as either natural and
inevitable, or lamentable but sorting itself out. Such theologies legiti-
mise poverty by obfuscating its origin, and should, according to these
writers, be understood as part of and serving oppressive structures.
128 Teresa Callewaert
Shariati speaks with condemnation of the spread of ignorance, quiet-
ism, and superstition among the conservative religious authorities of
his day. The ulama, i.e. those learned in traditional Islamic sciences,
betrayed the trust put in them by the people. Instead of preaching the
Islam of resistance, he claimed that they encouraged conservatism and
withdrawal from political life.7 Gutiérrez criticises hierarchical church
structures and theologies that legitimise those in power. The church, in
his view, should be a church that is poor and stands with the poor. In
the particular situation in Latin America of his day, the church must
take a stand against power in order to break with an age-old complicity
with the rich and the powerful. Gutiérrez claims that its legacy of legiti-
mising power puts the church in a position where it must visibly choose
the other side so as not to lapse into a silent assent to the status quo.
That means speaking the truth about the nature of exploitation, and
turning away from theologies that treat poverty as a normal state of
affairs. Both Shariati and Gutiérrez thus attack both theology’s political
quietism and the theological distinction between spiritual and material
that underpins it.8
3 That the poor are able to become subjects of their history and success-
fully fight exploitation and oppression, and change their world. Shariati
claims that the liberation of the oppressed is promised by God in the
Quran – that at the very core of Islamic faith is its revolutionary spirit.
The oneness of God means that human beings are subordinate to no one
but God, and that they are free to revolt against all despotic or authori-
tarian powers. Muslims have a unique source of hope and confidence
because they know that God is always on the side of the oppressed and
that victory is promised by God to every group which struggles for its
rights.9 For Gutiérrez, the theological figure of the kingdom of God
plays a vital role in explaining the position he takes on struggle. Faith in
the kingdom, Gutiérrez claims, shows the provisional character of any
human order. Nothing that is built by humans is everlasting, oppressive
orders included. Although the obstacles might seem insurmountable,
the struggle for justice is possible because it is sustained by the gratui-
tousness of God, closely connected to the freedom of God which makes
possible what to humans is unforeseeable.10 The works of solidarity
and the struggle for justice must be practised with humility, because
the kingdom of God always goes beyond what humans can achieve and
imagine. But it can also be practised with hope, because the kingdom is
present in and enables the temporal processes of liberation.
These three insights – that poverty is an abomination, that its cause is

exploitation and oppression, and that the poor can successfully fight the
oppression to which they are subject – are all contained in their respective
religious traditions as Shariati and Gutiérrez understand them. But more
than that, these insights receive their urgency from the fact that they are
insights about what God wants for humanity, and thus insights of ultimate
importance for believers.
Gutiérrez calls the tasks of theology denunciation and annunciation. The
church is called to denounce the present conditions of oppression and injus-
tice and announce the good news of God’s love, the coming of the kingdom
and the task of furthering God’s purposes in the present through the strug-
gle against degradation of his creations. In Gutiérrez’s understanding, the
whole truth about human liberation, the nature of sin, and the nature of
salvation is available only in Christ.11
Shariati understands Islam as an ideology, in the Gramscian sense of
a worldview that can demystify oppressive relations and make resistance
possible.12 In Shariati’s understanding, Islam is in fact the most powerful
resource against oppression and colonialism. It is a tool of critique and anal-
ysis of both society and religion, a lens through which the world is under-
stood and can be changed. Shariati claims that concepts such as oppression,
justice, and righteous leadership receive their most lucid articulations in
Islamic tradition. Through Islam as a worldview, critique of the injustice
of society as well as visions about an alternative order can be articulated.13
It might be interesting enough to dwell on this comparison. One could
discuss the reasons for the similarities in the Zeitgeist of these two writers,
a time imbued with ideas from the Bandung conference, the revolution in
Cuba, the non-aligned movement, and so on. As examples of contextual
theologies, the works of Gutiérrez and Shariati are interesting because the
context of oppression, poverty, and struggle is formulated and openly dealt
with. This is often highlighted in discussions about what I have called libera-
tionism. The designation “contextual” should, however, be problematised,
given that their theology is no more contextual than any other. One could
easily claim, starting from the very similarity between their approaches, that
liberationist thought was, at least at the time, remarkably universal and
more global, in its explanatory power and ability to resonate with experi-
ence, than what was produced at seminars in Europe at that time. Further-
more, what makes their contribution interesting is precisely the fact that
they claim not only to articulate what their tradition is about in a particular
time and place, but rather to impart something belonging to the very core of
that tradition without which it would lose its soul.
A comparison of these writers also brings into focus what traditions can
bring to reasoning as an endeavour. There are important differences in their
thoughts, despite the similarities in context and political thrust. These intri-
cate patterns of particularities can be analysed and shown to arise from how
different resources in the respective traditions are actualised when resistance
to capitalism is articulated through them.14
Something about how theology matters to the entire understanding of a
particular political problem can be gauged from how these writers wrestle
with their respective traditions in their particular contexts, understood not
only as time and place and political situation, but more importantly as the
texts, practices, beliefs, and reasons that make up the context of theological
thought within a particular tradition. Such questions could be productively
treated by delving deeper into, for example, Gutiérrez’s understanding of
the incarnation as the act that completes and universalises the bond between
God and the neighbour, such that every act in the secular realm can be
defined as an act toward Christ as we meet him in the face of the destitute.15
In Shariati, a vital role is rather played by the central dogma of tawhid,
the oneness of God, in criticising all spiritualisation of religion and insist-
ing on the necessity of understanding God’s justice to concern the material
world of the here and now. While these writers are, in many ways, situated
in similar contexts historically and socially, and arguing for similar poli-
tics, they do so by working with something quite central to their respective
traditions’ theology. And conversely, the things they have to struggle with,
to redefine or explicate in new ways, also depend on the elements of their
tradition that are central enough to demand answers from their perspective.
Thus, Gutiérrez struggles with the ideal of poverty in Catholic tradition,
which leads him to redefine evangelical poverty as solidarity with the poor,
in order to be able to condemn material poverty as against God’s purposes.16
Shariati wrestles with the interpretation of religious practices and duties and
defines them as requiring a responsible subject with adequate resources. In
Shariati’s understanding, spirituality is understood as closely connected to
morality, and morality requires solidarity with and fulfilment of duties to
the poor. Because you need to have in order to be able to give, he can articu-
late the material welfare of the believer as the foundation of spirituality and
a prerequisite for giving an account of oneself on the day of judgement.
A person’s dignity requires the means to show solidarity to others.17
However, one might also ask, who cares? If the understanding of Christ
or of tawhid was once a matter of life and death, or at least something to
which people partaking in political reflection and practice were expected to
be able to relate, today it might seem as though these questions are marginal
footnotes in the discussions of increasingly irrelevant religious organisations
and some weird people in academia. One could, of course, argue that this is
not globally the case – that in the world outside supposedly secular North-
western Europe religion as a motivating and legitimising force is not only
alive but thriving. But in the context of contextual theology of Sweden,
home of the religiously illiterate? One could argue that, increasingly, the rest
of the world is here too, both materially and digitally. One could argue that
the forces of darkness, of nationalist chauvinism and closed borders, are
making a grab for the local religious heritage and we would do well not to
retreat from the battlefield.
There is an even better reason, however. Even if the first set of assump-
tions of Shariati and Gutiérrez – the ones about theology being the primary
language of the oppressed and destitute, uniquely positioned to raise aware-
ness and instil confidence – do not hold and are not relevant in our context,
I would claim that the second set of assumptions – the ones about insights
to be had from theological reflection – are still worth taking seriously. The-
ology still offers particular insights. Perhaps these are not in each and every
case the most lucid, but nonetheless, they enable us to see things we did not
before. Theological articulations of human life as profoundly social and cre-
ative, for example, might be needed to counter increasingly utility-centred
understandings of human beings. Accounts of the dignity of the person
as envisioned by the Enlightenment, resting on a particular ability such as
rationality, are increasingly in trouble, and might need anchoring in ideas
of being redeemed and loved, or being responsible on the day of judgement.
The case for theology as a resource for resistance is strengthened, I believe,
by the realisation of postmodern philosophy of the impossibility of drawing
sharp boundaries between secular and religious thought, but even more so
by the insight that there is no view from nowhere. There is no outside, from
which we can look in on the world and prescribe remedies.
This might mean that we need traditions in order to be able to think at
all, and that traditions are not mere vehicles or empty vessels to be filled
with the same original or purely human content. Traditions are avenues for
thought; they are methods through which we proceed painfully and piece-
meal, to discover something about being human, about justice, truth, and
God. Because traditions are contingent, messy, beautiful, and complicated,
and not at all alike, it is a dangerous position to limit one’s partners in
conversation and solidarity to one or a couple of ones that are related, say
the traditions of Enlightenment, liberalism, secular humanism, and human
rights.
But, in order for traditions to fulfil this role, as avenues for thought,
through which conceptual resources are developed by which we can articu-
late critique, there might be a need to revisit the starting points of theologies
of liberation. I would claim that there are at least two such starting points.
In the writings of Gutiérrez and Shariati, and in theologies aspiring to lib-
eration generally, I would claim that there is sometimes a tendency to place
oneself outside tradition as its critic, relying on tools from, for example,
Marxist, feminist, or queer theory. Perhaps this should rather be termed to
place oneself beside tradition, since we just concluded that one is never out-
side tout court – one is always assuming some kind of vantage point. From
the perspective of tradition, however, one is outside.
This tendency to assume an outside starting point is manifested in Gutié-
rrez’s use of some aspects of social theory of Marxist varieties. While
nowhere near as indiscriminate as the Congregation of the Doctrine of the
Faith claimed,18 the use of such theories is nevertheless not in every instance
justified by tradition. I am not saying that such justification would not be
possible. I am merely pointing out that while Gutiérrez takes great care to
show how the aspirations of the poor and of liberation theology are firmly
anchored in the Gospel’s ideas such as the preferential love of God for the
poor, he does not perform the same justification when it comes to the Marx-
ist view of the laws of history, and so on.
Meanwhile, in Shariati’s writings, there is a tendency to bypass Islamic
fiqh, i.e. the rich heritage of jurisprudence that represents the development
of historical interpretations of Sharia in various law schools and historically
influential thinkers. Instead, Shariati often goes directly to the Quran, the
Sunna (the example of the Prophet), and the popular traditions surround-
ing the first Muslims, the Companions of the Prophet. This in a sense had
become a traditional move for Muslim reformers in his day, common among
the thinkers of the Islamic renaissance of the turn of the previous century.
However, it is also a move that conceives of much of tradition as a problem
and an encumbrance to be discarded, rather than a resource. As a strategy,
it can endanger the perceived identity and authority of the interpreter.
However, there is also in both writers the inverse impulse – to place them-
selves squarely inside tradition, insisting that the tools of tradition itself
are sufficient to develop a theology that is truly liberating, without sacri-
ficing any claims to identity or belonging, indeed claiming to represent a
more orthodox position than conservative religion. Assuming a position
that reclaims tradition does not necessarily entail accepting the limits and
boundaries of tradition, but rather accepting that one has to constructively
relate to such limits, even while transgressing limits or pushing boundaries
further. This can be done by reinterpreting tradition through quite regular
and orthodox interpretative methods of one’s tradition, maybe expanding
them but with recourse to justifications that derive their authority from
inside tradition itself.
In the case of Shariati, it is important to both him and his followers that
he understands his reinterpretation of Islam as mandated by tradition itself,
indeed as an extraction and refinement of hidden resources. He insists that it
is by following the imperative of tradition that he has arrived at his radical
position. He vindicates his position by using the central Shiite theme of being
the defeated, martyred, and consequently hidden religious tradition, and
makes a vital dogma of Islam, tawhid, the oneness of God, the supreme van-
tage point from which to judge what constitutes faithfulness to tradition.19
To Gutiérrez, it is the Gospel itself as the good news to the poor that
justifies his understanding of what Christian faith entails and the concomi-
tant engagement with struggle for both a more just world and a more just
Church. He constantly refers to the workings of the Spirit through quite
orthodoxly authoritative channels such as the magisterium of the Second
Vatican Council. His notion that theology grows out of a reflection on
Christian faith and practice is quite a traditional one; it assumes its specif-
ics in Gutiérrez’s account because the practice in question is situated in the
struggle for justice.20
As remarked by Christian feminist theologian Jenny Daggers, while the
very notion of theological orthodoxy is sometimes understood as antithetical
to the struggle for liberation, others have remarked that critique of power is
in itself a thoroughly orthodox Christian position.21 I believe that the latter
tendency, to reclaim tradition, to understand one’s reinterpretation as not a
critique from the outside but rather as a higher order of faithfulness man-
dated by tradition itself, is the one that also holds out the greatest potential
for the context of the religiously illiterate. In a situation where the political
position of religious tradition and theological interpretation on any given
issue does not immediately and necessarily concern everybody, there is in
a way even more reason to insist on giving voice to distinctly theological
insights. This is necessary if theology is to contribute to the contemporary
critique of oppressive orders, and not just be a cognitive detour ultimately
making the same claims as secular critique, although in another language
or for another audience, or be confined to supplying motivational force and
legitimacy to a struggle we already have decided to be right.
But this in turn requires maintaining confidence in the possibility of
reforming tradition through its own tools and methods. If there is no uni-
versal rationality that can set standards and be the arbiter between inter-
pretations, plausible methodology and norms of interpretation must be
articulated from within traditions. Of course, it is not possible to com-
pletely distinguish and separate tools, methods, or interpretative measures
as originating outside or inside tradition. Religious traditions of thought
have a long history of interaction, overlap, and intermingling with both
philosophical and political thought, as well as social movements. Traditions
are dynamic, not monolithic, and what is perceived as the centre of tradition
or as heresy is constantly undergoing change, even if slowly. While the very
concept of tradition implies evolution, traditions are also homes to a certain
continuity-in-difference, a directionality that one can aspire to be faithful to
without being conservative. For this to be possible, tradition must somehow
be respected as an avenue for thought that contains its limitations, methods,
concepts, and resources. Not all boundaries need be respected, but they
need to be related to in some constructive way that makes their transgres-
sion a matter justified by recourse to tradition itself.
In the field of liberation theology today, among feminist theologians,
queer theologians, disability theologians, and critics of capitalism, there are
aspects of both the approaches that I have identified in my treatment of
Shariati and Gutiérrez, although I would say that the strategy to reclaim
tradition from the inside is gaining ground. It is present, for example, in
the practice of hadith criticism of Muslim feminists such as Amina Wadud-
Mushin and Fatima Mernissi, theologians such as Virginia Burrus or Amy
Hollywood, and the analysis of the traditions about the Prophet Lut by
queer Islamic thinker Scott Siraj Al-Haqq Kugle.22
An example which highlights the importance of orthodoxy to the project
of reclaiming tradition is queer Catholic theologian James Alison. He delib-
erately eschews standards and resources from outside tradition such as gay
experience or queer theory and relies firmly on Church authority. Alison
challenges the Catholic Church’s teaching on homosexuality on the basis of
the understanding of original sin, grace, and anthropology developed by the
Council of Trent of the 16th century.23
The Tridentine position, according to Alison, entails that human nature
is damaged, but not destroyed, by sin. Human desire is intrinsically good,
but always and everywhere experienced as accidentally disordered. Desire is
not, however, radically corrupt. That was precisely the Reformed position
the Council of Trent rejected. Rather, a Catholic understanding is that God’s
grace gradually transforms and orders desire so that persons are brought
to flourishing from where they are. Grace perfects nature; it does not abol-
ish or replace nature. All humans start out with a life that is moved by
disordered desire, and all humans can, from within that disordered desire,
learn what is good. Importantly, something about what is true and good
can be discerned through attention to human desire and what is conducive
to human flourishing.24
But, Alison claims, the Church’s teaching on homosexuality seems to
imply that, for homosexual people, there is no relationship between what
is desired and what is good. What feels natural is an “inclination that is
objectively disordered”, and only by complete rejection of what one longs
for can one come to know creation. This means, according to Alison, that
the Church’s anthropology has been fundamentally altered into a de facto
Reformed teaching. As such, it treats certain people as incapable of being
perfected by grace but rather in need of having their nature abolished.25 This
is grave because it is a failure of Catholicity. The Church has lost touch with
a Catholic understanding of original sin as something that affects everybody
but still leaves the person with some insight to be discerned and some desire
to be perfected.26
Alison understands the interpretative method he uses in relation to
Catholic teaching to be justified through the example of Jesus. Through
this method, what is currently understood as the orthodoxy of tradition
is exposed as being in contradiction to the deepest and most resilient ele-
ments of tradition. Such an understanding, claims Alison, challenges us not
to break with tradition, but to rediscover and make alive within tradition
that which enables the breaking out of the order of the world.27
Another good example, which is particularly interesting in relation to
Shariati’s tendency to bypass Islamic jurisprudence, is Islamic scholar Kecia
Ali’s insistence that Islamic feminists should reclaim the tradition of fiqh,
i.e. jurisprudence as done in the classical Islamic law schools, through tra-
ditional methodologies of interpretation. Ali discusses several issues raised
by feminists such as marriage, divorce, sex, female genital cutting, and
homosexuality. She claims not only that classical jurisprudence should be
addressed because its fundamental assumptions continue to affect regula-
tions and mindsets, but also that there are resources in the traditions of clas-
sical scholars that can be constructively brought to bear on the dissonance
experienced around these issues.28
One such resource is precisely the methodological sophistication of clas-
sical scholars in relation to the complex and heterogeneous intellectual and
textual legacy. According to Ali, jurisprudential methods can offer Muslim
feminists much because the ways in which jurists have related source texts to
social contexts demonstrates that the law they constructed is always already
subjected to interpretation.29 This interpretive precedent of early jurists can
authorise a similar adaptive effort today, which will allow, through a vari-
ety of very traditional legal manoeuvres and interpretive devices, a more
radical interpretation. The second resource pointed to by Ali is acceptance
of divergent perspectives. This is a central feature of classic jurisprudence.
In contrast, proponents of progressive politics often make problematically
grandiose and sweeping claims about what is Islamic and un-Islamic, which
reduce interpretive leeway and minimise attention to complexities and con-
texts. Ali asks whether it is acceptable and ultimately productive to engage
in methodologically problematic oversimplifications for strategic aims.
Instead, she advocates a detailed investigation of the layered jurisprudential
material, making use of various interpretive measures, such as relying on
traditional standards to determine the authority of rulings one wants to
challenge.30
Alison and Ali can both be understood as continuing the struggle to
reclaim tradition for a radical agenda. While their issue is not with global
capitalism, they are struggling with the forces of oppression of their con-
texts, and the theological thought that legitimises such oppression. Their
methods resonate with the claim of the early liberationists: a claim to a
greater faithfulness toward tradition and a more plausible understanding
of its implications than those that generally pass for representatives of the
traditional.
Making one’s intellectual enterprise dependent on the criteria, method-
ologies, and concepts internal to a specific tradition can be understood as
restricting one’s possibilities, as accepting certain limitations. While such
limitations are often feared as obstacles to full emancipation, they can also
act as bulwarks against a rampant conservatism masquerading as ortho-
doxy. Moreover, the constraints in themselves constitute possibilities in that
they open up certain avenues for thought and enable a certain kind of criti-
cal enterprise. The persistent effort to situate one’s thought inside tradition
by relating to its concepts, using and developing its method, justifying inter-
pretations through its criteria, and justifying one’s departures from them
or reinterpretations of them with recourse to the motifs and reasons that
tradition supplies makes a difference to what one is able to think. Traditions
form conditions of thought, which become evident in lingering emphases,
directions taken, perspectives adopted, and the specific shape of the solu-
tions to certain intricate problems. This can be understood as tradition’s
tendency to resist, and might lead to new and surprising things being discov-
ered. A certain stringency of method might be the prerequisite for allowing
tradition to exert its resistance, to realise the critical and transformative
potential of tradition.
While liberationist efforts will perhaps never reach the point where there
is no need for any foothold outside tradition in order to be able to develop
critique of tradition itself, it is increasingly recognised, precisely in our pre-
sent conditions, that tradition represents an outside to the horrendous suf-
fering and vacuous uniformity of modern global capitalism, that theological
thought can contribute another story about what human life and ultimate
purposes are about.
Notes
1 This chapter is based on a lecture delivered at the Centre of Theology and Reli-
gion in Lund, at the conference Liberating Theology – 25 years of Institute for
Contextual Theology, Sweden, November 24, 2017.
2 Where not otherwise indicated, I rely in my research on Gutiérrez and Shariati,
available in Teresa Callewaert, Theologies Speak of Justice: A Study of Islamic
and Christian Social Ethics (Uppsala: ACTA 2017).
3 Gustavo Gutiérrez, A Theology of Liberation: History, Politics and Salvation
(Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 1973).
4 Ali Rahnema, An Islamic Utopian: A Political Biography of Ali Shariati (Lon-
don: I. B. Tauris, 1998).
5 Ali Shariati, What Is to Be Done? The Enlightened Thinkers and an Islamic
Renaissance (Houston: IRIS, 1986), 43.
6 Gustavo Gutiérrez, On Job: God Talk and the Suffering of the Innocent (Mary-
knoll: Orbis Books, 1987), xiii.
7 Ali Shariati, Religion vs. Religion (Chicago: Kazi Publications, 2003), 32–36.
8 Gutiérrez, Theology of Liberation, 266.
9 Shariati, What Is to Be Done? 92–93.
10 Gutiérrez, On Job, 96.
11 Gutiérrez, Theology of Liberation, 105–8, 152.
12 Chantal Mouffe, “Hegemony and Ideology in Gramsci,” in Gramsci and Marx-
ist Theory, ed. Chantal Mouffe (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1979),
168–204, 190–93.
13 Shariati, What Is to Be Done? 50–53.
14 On the power of theology to resist (and overcome) capitalism, cf. also Ulrich
Duchrow’s Chapter 5 and Atola Longkumer’s Chapter 6 in this volume.
15 Gutiérrez, Theology of Liberation, 300–1.
16 Ibid., 287–302.
17 Shariati, What Is to Be Done? 23.
18 Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, “Ten Observations on the Theol-
ogy of Gustavo Gutiérrez” (1983) and Congregation for the Doctrine of the
Faith, “Instruction on Certain Aspects of the ‘Theology of Liberation’ ” (1984)
in Alfred T. Hennelly, ed., Liberation Theology: A Documentary History (Mary-
knoll: Orbis Books, 1990), 348–50 and 393–414, respectively.
19 Shariati, What Is to Be Done? 22.
20 Gutiérrez, Theology of Liberation, ix.
21 Jenny Daggers, “Girls and Boys Come Out to Play: Feminist Theology and Radi-
cal Orthodoxy in Lucid Encounter,” in The Poverty of Radical Orthodoxy, eds.
Lisa Isherwood and Marko Zlomislic (Eugene: Pickwick, 2012), 97–118, 98.
22 See for example Fatima Mernissi, “A Feminist Interpretation of Women’s Rights
in Islam,” in Liberal Islam: A Sourcebook, ed. Charles Kurzman (Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 1998), 112–26; and Amina Wadud-Mushin, “Qur’an
and Woman,” in Liberal Islam: A Sourcebook, ed. Charles Kurzman (Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 1998), 127–38; Virginia Burrus, “Queer Father: Greg-
ory of Nyssa and the Subversion of Identity,” in Queer Theology: Rethinking
the Western Body, ed. Gerard Loughlin (Oxford: Blackwell, 2007), 147–62; and
Amy Hollywood, “Queering the Beguines: Mechthild of Magdeburg, Hadewi-
jch of Anvers, Marguerite Porete,” in Queer Theology, ed. Gerard Loughlin
(Oxford: Blackwell, 2007), 163–75; Scott Siraj Al-Haqq Kugle, Homosexual-
ity in Islam: Critical Reflection on Gay, Lesbian, and Transgender Muslims
(Oxford: One World Publications, 2010).
23 James Alison, “The Gay Thing: Following the Still Small Voice,” in Queer The-
ology: Rethinking the Western Body, ed. Gerard Loughlin (Oxford: Blackwell,
2007), 50–62.
24 Ibid., 55–56; James Alison, Faith Beyond Resentment: Fragments Catholic and
Gay (New York: Crossroad Publishing, 2001), 226–28.
25 Alison, “The Gay Thing,” 57–59.
26 Alison, Faith Beyond Resentment, 96–99.
27 Ibid., 221.
28 Kecia Ali, Sexual Ethics and Islam: Feminist Reflections on Qur’an, Hadith and
Jurisprudence (Oxford: One World, 2006), 11–13.
29 Ibid., 154.
30 Ibid., 99–101.
9 “Speaking from experience”
Comparing Mahdawi and
Pentecostal approaches to
equipment for outreach
David Emmanuel Singh
Introduction
This chapter is partly about two paths and two journeys. “The image of
the Path” has been used by charismatics across religions. Schimmel has
written about the three-fold spiritual journey in Christianity, namely, pur-
gation, contemplation, and illumination,1 which has parallels with the Cam-
bridge History of Spanish Literature’s outline of purgation, illumination,
and union.2 The two are not necessarily different, since the nature of the
relationship and the extent of proximity (conveyed by the term “union”)
between God and the human subject is central to both classifications. Schim-
mel, however, goes a step further by comparing this journey with the Islamic
one: shari’a (lit. the main path), tariqa (lit. a branch of the main path), and
haqiqa (reality/the internal stages of this path). Those who travel this path
are therefore considered travellers journeying towards an intimate expe-
rience of God or union with God.3 Mahdawi, a Sufi-inspired sect,4 could
give one a more detailed view of this journey. Going beyond Schimmel’s
categories, the disciples of this sect do not aspire to “union” or “vision/
illumination” as the end in itself. The experience serves as a preparation or
certification of readiness for missionary outreach. The journey involves finer
steps: retreat/trust in God, remembrance-ritual, the vision/illumination, and
speaking from experience.
My early experiences as a Pentecostal explain my interest in charismatic
phenomena. I am interested particularly in the apparent similarities I see
between the Mahdawi case and memories of my own Pentecostal tradition.
Pentecostalism and Mahdawyya obviously belong to different religious
spheres and are marginal to mainstream Christianity and Islam respec-
tively; and yet both are expressions of millenarianism.5 In this light, my
aim here is to first present a simple comparative description of “the jour-
ney” using the Mahdawi case as a provisional template. The form of the
presentation in this section follows “comparative juxtaposition”;6 this is a
simple way of comparing apparently similar ideas or practices. The aim is
to look for theological meanings behind apparent similarities. In this sense,
this is a theological search. The inspiration for this approach comes from
“Speaking from experience” 139
Approaching God.7 Human effort in seeking nearness with God is not a
one-sided exercise; God reciprocates human effort at seeking him. Phenom-
enology involves comparative descriptions of the subjects’ experiences as
they appear or are presented to the researcher; theology presupposes the
reality of God and his initiatives and responses towards his creatures. This
is therefore a search for meaning by a student of Sufism and a Christian
traveller on a Godward journey.
Comparative juxtaposition
Retreat and trust

Both the notions of retreat and trust are associated in Sufism with asceti-
cism. Mahdawi dairas (communities) were open to receiving any number of
people who wished to submit to the rigorous conditions of the community
retreat leading up to the experience of God:
Anyone who intends to live in this world and does not depend on God,
God permits him to leave [the daira]. . . . God is merciful and forgiving.
He has not said that you should seek the world or desire it or go to the
houses of those who seek the world.8
Even friends or strangers could potentially lead the believers on this mis-
sion astray.9 Those who chose this path of experience were expected to
“die before death”.10 One did this not in isolation but in the context of a
community of likeminded aspirants and enablers: “in the suhbat (company)
of the [other] seekers of God (taliban-e khuda)”.11 The attitude of trust
involved two steps. The first step involved voluntary poverty or the absence
of personal possessions – absence of personal initiative for gathering food,
money, or property. The idea was not to engage in any immodest economic
activity or wealth generation. The examples of failures were meant to teach
the aspirants how not to live in the daira: “Hadrat Mahdi said, ‘whoever
[in the dairas] trusts in food, has not learned to trust God’. Hadrat Mahdi
[further] said, ‘Anyone who waits for gifts has not learned to trust God’ ”.12
The second step involved trust in God alone. Insaf defines trust in God as
the principal means by which the believers orient themselves towards God:
“Trust is the name for one’s release from the world (makhluq). It enables
you to turn your gaze upon God”.13
One can highlight cases of mainstream church-going Christians becom-
ing similarly conscious of the need for deeper trust in God. In writing about
the “pentecostalization of mainline churches” in Cameroon, for example,
Akoko argues that the “mass defections from the established churches”
were a way of “addressing spiritual and material needs of the followers”,
a way of finding “spiritual fulfilment” or a way of maintaining an existing
spiritual practice.14 Socio-economic research into Pentecostalism highlights
140 David Emmanuel Singh
not just the “taxonomies of prosperity” but also specific “case studies” in
the global charismatic movement.15 Before the influx of the idea of asking
“and you shall be given”,16 Wacker’s work reminds readers, “primitive Pen-
tecostalism” emphasised personal asceticism, a behaviour pattern inspired
by millenarianism.17 The tradition of Pentecostalism I grew up in also
enforced “symbolic fences” between the believers and the world out there,
and those excluded often included other Christian traditions. Gambling, alco-
hol, tobacco, and any practice involving amusement (including TV, cinema,
dancing, etc.) were banned. My list of several other banned luxuries coin-
cides with Wacker’s and includes any demonstration of wealth, even some-
thing as simple as wearing jewellery of any sort.18 Life in the privacy of the
family was not spared, and even the bedroom was not out of bounds in a bid
to control any urge for “excess” or “inordinate fun”. Those caught in any
such “immoral behaviour” could risk censure or even excommunication
unless they were willing to repent and reset their holiness through prayer
and deliverance from the devil. An instance of the absolute trust in God and
not human agency can be found in Lindhardt’s work on Chilean Pentecos-
talism; humans are utterly powerless and all good things are made possible
only through God’s agency.19 We lived life in the expectation of Jesus return-
ing unannounced and no one wished the believers to remain behind. Pen-
tecostalism has perhaps come a long way. It was seen to be “incompatible
with capitalist enterprise” or as a millenarian “ecstatic religion” of people
looking to “forget their failures”.20 Today, it is pointed out to be a religion
of “super-capitalists”; no more “the epitome of ‘primitive’ religion”, today
Pentecostalism is said to be a far cry from its old self, an “ultramodern”
religious movement.21
Remembrance-ritual
The ritual of remembrance (dhikr) among the Mahdawis distinguished a
“believer” from a “non-believer”.22 A believer was one who performed
the ritual at prescribed times, just as faithful Muslims performed the ritual
prayer: “the believer is one who remains turned towards God morning and
evening and in all circumstances”.23 Dhikr, it appears in this context, was
understood by Mahdawi leaders to be synonymous with ritual prayers but
exceeded it. Prayers said five times a day were considered “the abundant
dhikr”, but for those who had attained the state of perfection (those per-
forming eight dhikrs), a return to the five-time prayers and the accompany-
ing dhikr was tantamount to backsliding.24 This was “the new way of doing
the namaz”;25 dhikr was considered the “inner dimensions” of the namaz.26
The Mahdawi disciples were allowed to perform dhikr in whatever posture
they were in.27 Dhikr was seen to be not merely a simple repetition of words
(as in the namaz) but rather a means of accessing the deeper meanings of
the scriptures, “the batin of the Qur’an”.28 The following example might
suffice. In one of the sources, Sayyid Khundmir was asked if the reading
of the Qur’an was useful. The reading of the Qur’an as a mere intellectual
exercise was not adequate.29 The aim was to seek divine knowledge so as to
be able to speak from experience. This knowledge was gained not through
intellectual effort, but through unveiling (revelation of God). Even the illit-
erate could gain it. Thus, for instance, in the case of the Mahdi himself, it
was reported that God wipes out his acquired knowledge before filling him
with the hidden knowledge (batini ‘ilm). The dhikr worked like the longing
of lovers that draws them together. Pen, paper, and ink were not essential in
this process, for “it is a matter of ‘ishq (love), which a workplace (daftar)
cannot encompass”.30
There is possibly nothing comparable to the circadian ritual of the
dhikr in Pentecostalism or in charismatic Christianity in general. Perhaps
the ritual practice that comes closest to it was called the prabhu bhoj’, the
Lord’s Table in my tradition of Pentecostalism.31 It was a weekly affair and
involved a form and content not too dissimilar to other Christian traditions.
As a child, I was especially aware during this phase of a range of ritual prac-
tices. It was made to seem especially mysterious, and as a child, it fascinated
me more for its mystery than its significance as a means of remembering the
sacred substitutionary sacrifice of our Lord and as a celebration of the hope
of fellowship with Him. I was, for years, quite in dread of the ritual and do
not remember ever “unlawfully partaking” of the sacred objects for fear of
divine punishment. Unlike in the Muslim case, here this remembrance-ritual
did not necessarily play the role of a gateway to the experience of God. The
experience itself and its manifestations seemed rather ad hoc and dispersed.
Manifestations of the Spirit could happen without warning at any point in
the service, although times of prayer, preaching, healing segments and sing-
ing seemed like the most likely occasions for this. Thus, the experience of
God itself was dispersed rather than being logically arranged in a sequence
of cause and effect.
This does not mean, however, that Pentecostalism is bereft of rituals. Csor-
das’ work can help to illustrate my point about the lack of sequence. He clas-
sifies every event in a believer’s life as “Charismatic and Pentecostal ritual”.
To him, the “specific ritual practices” include speaking in tongues, laying on
of hands, and resting in the Spirit; his list of “ritual events” includes prayer
meetings, healing services, and revival meetings, and the “ritual language
genres” include prophecy, prayer, teaching, and witnessing.32 Ryle would
add reconciliation through repentance from sin to the list of rituals, based
on her work on the charismatic healing services led by a priest from India
in Fiji.33 The ritual life of Pentecostal believers has been a topic of an edited
volume by Lindhardt.34 Often the emphasis in commentaries is placed upon
the charismata, personal salvation and the second coming of Jesus; what is
often missed is the reality of what Lindhardt describes as “high degrees of
ritual activity”.35 Robbins too in his essay refers to the idea of “ritual activ-
ity” in all forms of charismatic Christianity. He sees the “high degree of
ritual activity” as the main feature of Pentecostalism.36
Experience of God
When the Mahdawi disciples saw God, they were considered perfect believ-
ers (mu’min). Mentoring by qualified teachers was the key to this end: “If
the seeker is faithful (sadiq) and murshid (teacher) is perfect (kamil) then he
(the seeker) will soon find Allah, the Most High”.37 It was believed that God
waited to be seen by the believers: “Where will God go except to be in front
of the seeker? This means that if there is a seeker, he will find God without
much effort”.38 The seeker’s experience of God was facilitated by a teacher;
the teacher’s responsibility was to enable the student to recognise God in
the experience, because “though people generally see God, often they do
not recognise him”.39 Despite being commonplace, the disciples’ declaration
of having seen God was an occasion worthy of celebration. One saw God
through a) the physical eyes, b) the eyes of the heart, or c) in a dream state.
Seeing God through the heart, or in dreams, was understood to be as real
as physical seeing: “if one does not see God through ‘the eyes in the head’
[physical eyes], or ‘the eyes of the heart’, or the dreams, he shall not be a
believer”.40 Seeing happened to those who, like lovers in the passion of love,
directed their hearts towards the supreme object of desire, God.41 The model
for such proximity and seeing was drawn from the Qur’anic and traditional
accounts of the prophet’s nocturnal journey and ascension (Surah 17.1) – a
journey that may happen in dreams or be unfolded upon the heart, or on
rare occasions through spiritual or bodily ascension.
My sources do not provide the details of exactly what the disciples saw.
We know from the writings of mystics like Ibn ‘Arabi, for example, that
this proximity was perhaps about witnessing the root of the entire affair in
God, or seeing the majesty of God, or about the experience of unity with
God. The disciples showed visible signs of their inner states, so the teachers
could make their declarations about their progress. We know one of the
external signs of the inner states of seeing was their loss of consciousness
(jazbas). This indicated their absence from the world and their proximity to
God. The teachers routinely debriefed their disciples. The disciples’ reports,
combined with the judgement of the teachers, probably played an important
part in deciding whether or not the seeing had occurred.
Mentoring also plays an important role in the Church of Pentecost in
Ghana (COP).42 Discipleship and leadership training models of the COP are
part of Tsekpoe’s ongoing doctoral research. In an unpublished paper on
the topic, Tsekpoe argues that direct mentoring is happening in an increas-
ingly institutionalised manner in his church.43 “Christ-like living and per-
sonal . . . devotion to God” is emphasised and, here, the aim is to enable
the disciples “know Christ in a personal way”.44 Various ritual events here
also include prayers for people to “receive the Holy Spirit and speak in
other tongues”.45 The mystical spirituality in Pentecostalism appears to be
fundamentally not about ascension, though dreams and visions may hap-
pen; it is about the descent of God through the Holy Spirit. Part of Pillay’s
research on Pentecostalism focused on Indian converts’ testimonies in South
Africa. All of them attributed their transformation to the experience of the
Spirit that was understood to be “real”. This resulted in their sense of God
being real like a person; knowing God and not about him; and God being
with them/in them and not just in heaven (immanent rather than trans-
cendent).46 Pillay argued that The Apostolic Faith Mission, the Full Gospel
Church of God South Africa and the Assemblies of God all had “identical
positions regarding the baptism of the Holy Spirit”.47 The baptism of the
Holy Spirit was, for them, not a sign of regeneration but a consequence of
it; it was to enable the believers to achieve a higher level of preparedness
and empowerment, as promised in the scriptures (Luke 24:49, Acts 1:5–8,
etc.). All believers had the potential and indeed the privilege “to receive this
supernatural experience” and this was distinguished from the conversion
experience or “the experience of the new birth”.48 Pillay offers what he calls
“descriptions typical of the experience of ‘having the Spirit’ ”, who reaches
out to the believers:49 the Spirit is experienced as “the power from heaven”;
“immersion in the Spirit”; the Spirit entering “the soul of a person” and
filling “his whole life”;50 overtaking the disciples’ will and motivating the
believers’ lives. This experience was expressed outwardly through glossola-
lia, a moment in this encounter when the believers conversed with God. The
believers’ life following this (in service, healing, prophecy, etc.) manifested
this state of communion.51
Missional engagement
In the Muslim case I investigated first, the experience of God as described
previously was not the end in itself. It was like achieving the qualification
and equipping for missional engagement through going out into the world
and preaching. The word used for this phase was hijrat (exodus). I expect
similar evidence in the Pentecostal cases, although I understand there will
be variations.
Going out into the world

Muhammad’s hijrat (exodus) and the Sufi practice of engagement in society52
provided a model for going out. This was also a model for the growth of the
sect I investigated. The aspirants who successfully completed their terms in
their mother community began their own communities, usually by going out
voluntarily, but also sometimes due to persecution, differences of position,
or outright excommunication.53 The onset of the jazbas heralded their readi-
ness to speak: “you ought to know that after the jazbas the message from
God came to Hadrat Imam [the Mahdi] that, ‘O Sayyid Muhmmad, perform
the hijrat for Us’ ”.54 Stories immediately following this quotation suggest
that the Mahdi used the principle of hijrat to preach in different locations.
He won his early converts in these locations. Some of the outstanding early
converts became the Mahdi’s immediate successors.55 The hijrat was linked
with the starting of the dairas with one of the newer disciples in control. The
shawahid testifies to the newly qualifying disciples performing the hijrat to
as distant a region as the Deccan in the south of India from Gujrat in the
northwest of India. The shawahid also speaks of the king of Deccan wel-
coming the muhajirs and inviting others, “like the saints” he has met from
Gujrat, to settle in the Deccan.56 Miyan Mulk, an early disciple, is said to
have attracted several hundred “seekers of God”; these were people leaving
their homes and beginning to live around him. The reason for the unusual
following of Miyan Mulk was his perceived extraordinary ability to speak.
That is, he had “something new to tell each day” to his disciples and what
he told his disciples each day was said to be “from God”.57
We know from the COP’s example58 that schisms within a rapidly grow-
ing church probably help rather than stunt growth. These schisms afforded
an opportunity to similarly gifted leaders to strike out on their own and lead
and grow the movement more rapidly than would have been possible other-
wise.59 Disciples who were understood have completed their apprenticeship
were “posted to the field”;60 disciples with different manifest gifts under-
stood to have been equipped “for the work of ministry” were expected to
replicate this model of director mentoring. The ability to speak in tongues
was considered merely “the initial evidence of this experience”.61 This was
the external sign of the believers’ experience of God through the Spirit. Pil-
lay also notes the exceptional case of Bethesda (the Indian branch of the Full
Gospel Church). Whereas in the AOG churches public speaking in tongues
followed a ritualised process involving prayers, fasting, and pursuit of holi-
ness (also accompanied by ecstasy, convulsions, etc.), in the Bethseda com-
munity, speaking in tongues was rare in public and was not expected as
evidence of the experience of the Holy Spirit. It was seen to be a possible
initial sign of the Spirit, and the baptism of the Spirit was understood to be
much bigger than mere speaking in tongues.62 This experience was distin-
guished from both regeneration/conversion and baptism into the church.
Consequently, the gifts of the Spirit generally meant for all believers were
distinguished from the gifts of the Spirit following the Baptism of the Holy
Spirit. Again, it was clear that the purpose of the experience and the gifts
that accompanied it was neither just for the subjects nor for the mere edi-
fication of the community to which the subjects belonged, but for “the
enlargement of the church”; it was to provide “divine direction” and to
infuse those having the experience with “spiritual power for service” and for
going out to engage.63 Bialecki’s work on “Quiet Deliverances” stresses the
socio-anthropological description of Pentecostalism in terms of both experi-
ence and embodiment. He presents the concrete example of the Vineyard to
illustrate this point. A Pentecostal denomination, the Vineyard originated in
California and is now global. It combines “both Pentecostal and Evangeli-
cal practice” in that its emphasis on embodiment derives from experience;
going out to plant churches is the very purpose and end of the experience
of God.64 Robbins observed too that “it is . . . Pentecostalism’s promotion
of ritual to the centre of social life that has allowed it to travel so well and
to build institutions so effectively”.65 Thus Pentecostalism’s ability to spread
globally and build institutions is owed to its “ritualised approach to social
life”.66 Ritual creates opportunities for people to travel or gather in order
“to experience ritual” (e.g. revival); the experiences generated by this were
then replicated elsewhere; rituals generated trust in people who would oth-
erwise be socially distant – something necessary for movements.67
Speaking as a revelatory process

It was evident that a Mahdawi person who had been through the process
outlined was qualified to preach.68 Preaching involved three interrelated
aspects: plain report or testimony (a witnessing role), the eloquent exposi-
tion of the scriptures (an interpretive role), and expressing God’s revelation
(a prophetic role).
“PLAIN REPORT” AND TESTIMONY
Chapter 2 of the shawahid contains a brief “history” (tarikh) from Adam

to Muhammad and Muhammad to the Mahdi; the term used to refer to this
tarikh is bayan, which in the context means “plain report” or “account”.69
The mysterious guide of Moses, traditionally called the Khidr, is presented
as passing on the guardianship (amanat) from Muhammad to the Mahdi;
the retelling of this experiential story of how the amanat is passed on to the
Mahdi is also called bayan; clearly bayan here means an account.70 Simi-
larly, the events relating to the Mahdi’s state of ecstasies (jazba) were called
“the account of the Mahdi’s jazbas”.71
It has been suggested that Pentecostalism is “pre-literate and oral based”.72
Lewis has noted, therefore (as have also many others he cites), that testimo-
nies play an important part in the emerging theology. Personal testimonies
also play a role in according positions to individuals in a dynamic “social
matrix” where aspirants can aspire to and gain progressively higher posi-
tions by testifying to their ever deepening experience of God.73 Testimony
plays another important role in “outreach to non-believers”; Lewis sees
this to be a characteristic of the relational oral cultures where narrative is
thought of “as the source of knowledge”. Knowledge is gained relationally
“within the relationship with God”; what one sees or hears is what one
speaks, and there is no sense of dichotomy between the subject and the
object of experience.74
EXPOSITION OF THE SCRIPTURES
The Mahdi is said to have given a bayan (exposition) on Sura al-Fatiha in

a manner unsurprisingly judged by Mahdawiyya as “perfect eloquence”, so
that the critics simply could not find any faults in any of his utterances. Fur-
ther, this bayan was alleged to have been presented in such a skilful manner
of weaving the utterances with what the critics knew from their schools
of law (madhhabs) and commentaries (tafsirs) that their carefully prepared
questions and arguments became unnecessary. The power of his words was
believed to be so great and the depth of his knowledge so vast that he was
able to hold the attention of people and sustain their interest in the exposi-
tion on Sura al-Fatiha for the whole period between the two ritual prayers.
True to the form of other similar narratives of the Mahdi’s encounters with
ulama (religious scholars), the critics’ experiences led them to accept their
defeat: “our knowledge (‘ilm) is like the babble of children” and “no one
except Muhammad himself did the bayan in similar fashion”.75
Pentecostals have a high view of scriptures, and so hermeneutics as a “sci-
ence of understanding” plays an important role. Their experiential narra-
tives connect them to the world of the Bible. Pentecostals, therefore, belong
to neither a purely “literate” nor a “pure oral culture”.76 Pillay speaks of
four “basic tensions” in Pentecostal theology and here the first concerns
authority (scripture/revelation and Pentecostal hermeneutics).77 The antith-
esis here is not between experiences and the scripture, but between “literal
and non-literal approaches” to generating meanings. The Pentecostals nor-
mally hold on to the belief in the inerrancy and authority of the whole and
parts of the Bible. This does not mean that there is no space for interpre-
tation. Since the experience the believers have is that of the Spirit (who is
also the fount of the revelation), the meanings one uncovers are therefore
assumed to be aligned with the scriptural revelation and are thus declared
as “ ‘the plain’ meanings”; there are no creative readings rendered by the
application of methods such as historical criticism. Thus, the Bible’s author-
ity as “the final word” is maintained. Experiences the believers have of the
Spirit enable them to reconcile the authority of the Bible in its fixed textual
form and the orally expressed revelatory meanings.78 Gifford’s work on the
Bible in African Pentecostalism highlights not just the Spirit-filled “exposi-
tory preaching”, but also a use of the scripture that is “fairly loose”. The
preaching from the scripture is often “a launching pad for ideas that may
have a rather tenuous link back to the text”, but importantly both in his
mind and in the listeners’ the words emanate from the direct experience of
the Holy Spirit, and often the words are assumed to be God’s and not the
preacher’s.79
REVELATION FROM GOD
Speaking in the Mahdawi sect derived its authority from the belief that it
expressed the aspect of God’s revelation that remained hidden in the scrip-
tures or in the Prophet. The revelatory knowledge was passed on to the
disciples without involving any intellectual effort on their part.80 They
consequently did not need to be particularly qualified as experts. The
hagiographers of the Mahdi tell us that he was able to give Qur’anic “expo-
sitions” as he drew directly on the hidden aspects of revelation. This was
considered to be the essence (mahiyya) and the gist (muradan/murad) of
prophecy. The Mahdi also answered questions on the Qur’an that even the
great Sufi Shaykh Danyal struggled with.81 Even at the age of 12, he was
recognised among the ulama for his extraordinary abilities.
A report on Pentecostalism defines it as being “energetic and dynamic”;
the insiders are “driven by the power of God moving within them”. The
emphasis is laid upon “the baptism of the Holy Spirit” – which transforms
the believer and prepares them to “live a truly Christian life”. This “direct
experience of God” is manifested externally through “tongues, prophecy
and healing”.82 Thus this experience, leading to its expression, can be char-
acterised as “revelatory”, though presumably delimited by the scriptural rev-
elation. The Economist article on “Global Pentecostalism” highlights two
principal characteristics which are relevant here: “Ecstasy and Exodus”.83
In the article, Teju Hassan is said to be from a far country (Lagos, Nigeria),
a convert engaged in “reverse mission” in Ireland among a “multi-national
congregation”. His 100 followers are “people who seek an ecstatic experi-
ence”, through the “baptism of the Holy Spirit”. They are described here
as “charismatic”, and although their worship is apparently not as organised
in set stages as in the Mahdawi case I described, the key aspects of their
community lives are not too dissimilar: there is both ecstasy and exodus.
An ecstatic form of “Christianity thrives among people on the move”; it
“offers a sense of self-transcendence” among people cut off from their roots;
the experience of God through charismatic phenomena such as exorcising
of demons, miracles, visions/dreams and other forms of seeing, or hear-
ing or speaking (prophecy) provides stability and purpose in lives lacking
balance and certainty.84 An example of the revelatory nature of “speaking
from experience” comes from Coleman’s review of Kenneth Hagin Sr. (the
founder of Rhema Bible Training Center in the United States). A charismatic
preacher, Hagin justified similarities in the content of his words and E. W.
Kenyon’s by appealing to “a charismatic version of a Durkheimian con-
science collective” – the idea being they were both inspired by the same God
and thus their revelatory utterances were unsurprisingly similar.85
Comparative categories
I could easily be faulted for forcing a set of stages in the spiritual prepara-
tion of “speakers” from a tradition in Islam upon the Pentecostal context,
especially since a similarly structured ritual focus is lacking in the latter.
That would be a fair methodological critique; but what is clear is that
even though one could add or remove specific elements here and there, the
broader impulse for proximity to God or the Spirit of God and its observ-
able outcome in “speaking from experience” appear not to be too dissimilar.
Even if one is methodologically faulted for being inordinately reliant on or
privileging the Islamic case for deriving the categories for comparison, the
comparison itself says a lot more than the stages outlined. Thus, for exam-
ple, it highlights several underlying themes that are undeniably character-
istic of both traditions and hence worth a review. In order to identify these
themes, I used Microsoft Word to do the analysis for me. This analysis from
the data for the comparative description above brought to light three recur-
ring themes worth highlighting here which unsurprisingly apply to both tra-
ditions: community, scripture, and speaking (from experience).
Community
In a relatively brief chapter such as this, there were ten key references to
community. Social identity theory explains, among other things, “the bases
for differentiation and discrimination between groups”,86 but also condi-
tions under which individuals see themselves (self-categorise) as being part
of a group.87 Retreat from the world, understood to be different, even evil, is
often a standard means of differentiating oneself/one’s group from the oth-
ers. Here, the insiders or likeminded aspirants intermix with the enablers in
what can be said to be a repetitive ritual or a set of rituals in order to rep-
licate communally sanctioned experiences. The key aspects of community
life may be summarised by the two Es: “ecstasy” and “exodus”. As I have
observed before, based on Robbins’ work, charismatic phenomena appear
to flourish especially among people who are on the move. Experience is
therefore not just for the benefit of the individuals or the mother commu-
nity which nurtured them, but for the replication of this community. The
effect of this nurturing can thus be said to be “missional”. The experience
is embodied in the broader sense of becoming an extension of one’s mother
community, and this becomes an instrument or means of this community’s
lateral growth.
Scripture
Hermeneutics is understood simply as a means of interpretation, not just
of texts,88 but also of “verbal and non-verbal communication”.89 The term
is used in its broadest sense, which includes reading, performative practices
involving texts, or performances on their own. Hermeneutics in this sense
occurs on both the Mahdawi and the Pentecostal sides. The texts acquire a
dynamic reality, especially when they are performed in rituals or where the
texts feature as part of sacred performances. Those observing play a key
role in generating meaning, understanding, and knowledge of the performed
texts. The “reader” may appear to be at centre stage as someone engaged in
mining for meanings; however, he/she becomes a less central figure once the
connection between him/her and the source of revelatory knowledge (God)
is established. Just as in the jazba, the Spirit’s operation exhibited externally
through prophecy or tongues becomes not only a sign of regeneration but a
consequence of it; regeneration through conversion is thus a separate stage
in the disciples’ preparation for the baptism of the Spirit or seeing God. The
resultant phenomenon of “speaking” (preaching, teaching, tongues, proph-
ecy, testimony, etc.) is not seen to be unconnected to the scriptures; it is seen
to be bounded by it/its spirit and is often claimed to “expose” the scriptures.
The believers in both camps appear to have a high view of their sacred texts,
but it is their spiritual experiences that connect them to the very reality that
brings the scriptures into being. As noted before, one sees that the antithesis
is not between the experience and the scripture, but between literal and non-
literal “meanings of the scriptures”. The science of understanding/accessing
knowledge therefore involves being connected to God, who underlies the
scriptures.
Speaking (from experience)

There were about 45 references to experience in the comparative part of
this chapter. One could use different adjectives to make a finer point about
the nature of experience, such as “spiritual”, “sacred”, or “mystical”. Any
such experience remains largely subjective and unbounded until the subject
begins to describe it in words through testimonies or through the disparate
“signs” that accompany these testimonies. In classical Pentecostalism, as
also in the Islamic case here, asceticism involving retreat and absolute trust
in God could be advanced as one such sign (or prosperity and wellbeing in
certain other traditions of Pentecostalism).
In the Islamic case, the gateway to experience involves certain ritual prac-
tices, the most central of which is the remembrance or dhikr. In Pentecos-
talism, rituals are dispersed and therefore cannot be said to be a stage or a
means to experience, so prayer, preaching, healing, speaking in tongues and
singing, etc. are not as neatly organised as steps towards experience and
its exhibition. The cause and effect is not as clearly distinguished as in the
Islamic case. But ritual itself plays an equally significant role in Pentecos-
talism. In fact, Pentecostalism’s ability to become global is owed partly to
the “ritualised approach to social life”; this is why, it has been suggested,
the study of rituals should be “central to our approach to Pentecostal and
Charismatic Christianity”.90 Such rituals, however dispersed they may be in
community events, replicate the right environment for all to participate in
and with the experience that results from such a participation; this also gen-
erates trust and cohesion in the community. There is in both cases, however,
an intent, expectation, or even requirement to experience and report.
The experience of the Spirit (Spirit baptism) is to be distinguished from
the conversion experience or “the new birth” in Pentecostalism, as also
in the Islamic case – i.e., normally it is those who are already deemed to
be insiders that engage in the ritual performances and therefore are the
ones that interpret their experience or others like it in terms of the reli-
gious framework they subscribe to. In both cases, one of the main means
of outward manifestation is through word, as e.g. (at the risk of repetition)
through testimony, preaching, tongues, prophecy, etc. The words spoken
bear a revelatory authority. Although there is often a revealing word for
the insiders, the experience is not an end in itself; it is the starting point
for the “departure” for one equipped for outreach. One concrete example
from the Pentecostal angle may suffice: the Church of Pentecost (COP). The
COP exhibits different “mission models” which “depart from the general
pattern” of church-led missions; rather than being shaped by a specialised
mission organisation, it is the COP “members at the grassroots” who shape
what is described as “a mission from below”.91 What characterises these
models is the dynamic involvement of people on the move locally, region-
ally or beyond.92 White’s work gives us a better view of how “leaders” are
equipped for missional engagements. Each aspect of the five-fold ministry
(apostle, prophet, evangelist, pastor, and teacher) that this formation entails
involves speaking; each of these also involves a structured process of nurtur-
ing or mentoring to uncover both “one’s spiritual gift or calling” and also
theological knowledge.93
A theological rationale
It is one thing to engage in such an exercise involving a Christian tradition
on its own, but quite another to juxtapose this with another tradition. This
unsurprisingly raises more questions, not least of which is a fundamentally
theological one: how does one theologically justify a comparative approach
such as this – and to what end?
To begin with, I am not so naïve as to suggest that resemblance equals
sameness. If anything, the comparative juxtaposition has highlighted signifi-
cant differences between the ritual dimensions of the cases; if space allowed,
one could also have dug deeper into comparing the nature of the experience
of God and how it is differently controlled and justified. What I have high-
lighted is that the idiom of the “journey” is a helpful starting point; though
ritual plays an important role in both, in the Islamic case, the “journey”
was far more firmly structured (and therefore more easily comparable to
Christian mysticism) than in the Pentecostal tradition. This does not mean
that such a design or intent is lacking in Pentecostalism, as is evident from
Pentecostal theological schools focused on the “backend” task of training
and spiritual formation. These institutions arguably work in support of
churches’ ministry and mission. There is also evidence of emerging institu-
tionalisation of “direct mentoring” in the broader context of the congrega-
tions in some examples of Pentecostalism, such as the COP, which I shall
refer to in what follows.
My theological justification for the comparative framework arises from
both ontology and theology. Arguably, the idea of “the divine spark” in
Western mystical traditions comes from Gnosticism. The idea is that this
spark in human beings “derives from the divine realm, fallen into this world
of fate, birth and death, and needing to be awakened by the divine counter-
part of the self” and return to God (hence the idea of journey in mysticism).
This has been argued to be a parallel sort of revelatory tradition to the bibli-
cal and Qur’anic revelatory traditions.94 In Gnostic Christianity, Jesus was
seen to be the divine being who in the form of man was calling humanity
back to the Divine Light; this idea is picked up also from the Gospel of John
(John 1:1–5). A similar idea is also found in the equally ancient traditions
of philosophy from India. Atman (true self/spirit) resides in all beings. This
is the essence of people, and liberation involves recognising the true nature
of self and its affinity with the paramatman (the Great Soul/Spirit). Many
Indian Christian theologians have argued for what Sathianathan Clarke
calls “the cosmic potency of Jesus”.95 Panikkar came from a mixed Hindu
and Christian background and was deeply interested in forms of common
expressions in religious experiences. Christ, as the face of God for us, was
all important to him. This Christ was Lord of all and is present in Hinduism
as in Christianity, even though he often remains unknown.96 Unlike many
converts, Panikkar saw the best of the two religious faiths, and so a positive
image of encounters that defined his theology of religion was drawn from
the Indian notion of “sacred rivers” – “Christian waters and the Hindu
river”.97 The essence of the sacred waters was the unknown Christ whom
Hindus will encounter when the “rivers merge”. The notion of the univer-
sal Christ parallels the discourse on logos, which has its own history. This
discourse
compels Christian theology to clarify the relationship between . . . the

God of Jesus Christ and the discourse about God present in other reli-
gious traditions. The bond between Christ and the cosmos, which the
Christian faith confesses, precisely seeks to give the reason for that
universality.98
The context of Genesis 1 highlights for me humanity’s dignity and pre-

eminence in the created order, which has been conceptualised in terms of
homo imago dei. Psalm 8:5–9 is also relevant here, as it brings human beings
in close comparison to angels; here human persons’ dignity is affirmed in
terms of the idea of the crown of “glory and honour”. But is this meant
only to accord dignity to human beings in relation to creation, or does it
also have ontological substance? If the latter is true, then Christian theol-
ogy needs to take religious experience and beliefs seriously. Altman asks the
same question: is imago dei merely about the “dignity of human beings”, or
is this anchored more deeply? In the history of the imago dei’s interpreta-
tion, Christians have understood the phrase differently. Tarus has suggested
that their understanding ranges from “substantialist” to “relational” and
“functional” senses.99 Altman speaks of a view subscribing to the idea of
imago dei mainly in relation to Jesus (in line with II Corinthians 4:4; Colos-
sians 3:10; Ephesians 4:24; John 1:1–5) and only offers the distinction of
becoming an image of God through faith in Christ. Another view suggests
that although human beings were created in the image of God, they were
“destined to remain a man . . . liable to sin”; sin causes the loss of the image,
which can only be regained through faith and obedience.100 Altman also
points out that Calvin rejected the Platonic notion of “man as an image or
copy of God”.101
The substantialist approach is particularly significant for our understand-
ing of human dignity. This approach presupposes an ontological connec-
tion between humanity and God, and not merely one that is functional or
relational. This means that humanity is possibly good in essence (despite
being marred by sin). Some, like Mendelssohn, writing in the Enlighten-
ment context, emphasised the idea of “the essential goodness of man” and
“implicitly rejected the theological doctrine of original sin”.102 The Genesis
account seems unambiguous in supporting an essential understanding of the
image in humanity without abandoning the notion of sin: “God made man
in his own image” (Genesis 9:6); the Fall tarnished this, but we see that Paul
applies the distinction to all humans: “he is the image and glory of God”
(I Corinthians 11:7). Sin does not cause the image to be lost. This seems to
be a more wholesome position. The presence of the image in human beings
is by design and ontology. The image in humanity must be understood in
a non-deterministic sense; what this means is that there is room for sin-
ning, but also for being Godlike. The presence of the image is therefore
not acquired by effort; it is tarnished and suppressed, but humans never
cease to belong to God. The best example for this comes from the parable
of the Prodigal Son. When the son was away, despite his transgressions, in
his father’s eyes he was still his son, always welcome and deserving of the
privilege and distinction. It is true that the New Testament does not identify
those not in Christ as the children of God; but this is not because they are
not God’s children, but because they refuse to acknowledge God as their
father.103 In Islam, for example, the traditional conception of God as the
Master is only one aspect of the bigger picture. Sufi traditions are full of
imageries of intimacy and proximity to God even to the extent of consider-
ing God to be closer than one’s “jugular vein” (Surah 50.16). The ideas of
perfection, friendship, and unity of witness and being are not just debated,
but part of everyday living and spiritual practice.
Much of the 19th-century Christian missionary theology of religions was
rather unsympathetic and antithetical. Even scholars like Monier Monier-
Williams (1819–1899) and Frederick Fiske (1815–1850) – associated with
Oxford (1878) and Cambridge (1849) respectively – while understandably
favouring scholarship for the service of evangelisation, did not see much
comparative value in Hinduism or Islam. John Nicol Farquhar (1861–1929)
was exceptional in being one of the first in the late 19th/20th century to con-
struct a missionary theology not “on Christian assumptions alone but on
the belief that God speaks/acts universally and that this is evident also in the
universal witness of God”.104 He saw revival and reform in religions around
him which may have been owed to the challenges of colonialism and mis-
sionary enterprise, but for him these were also signs of the “steady advance
of the ancient faiths”.105 The reforms encompassed movements towards the
worship of one God, and excluded polytheism, mythology, idolatry, and
veneration of men; these reforms included a renewed interest in seeking con-
version and socialisation; these also included aspirations to broader socio-
religious transformations. For Farquhar, these movements were a sign of
the Spirit’s operation in religions.106 His sympathetic approach significantly
dwelt on commonalities rather than differences. His model of missionary
theology was not the only one; in 20th-century India, several other mission-
ary theologians such as C. F. Andrews (1871–1940) and E. Stanley Jones
(1884–1973) modelled their practice on this approach.
Roland Allen (1868–1947), a prominent missiologist, was a “radical
critic of the church”. He supported the idea that local churches should “be
adapted to local cultural conditions and not be mere imitations of Western
Christianity”. The lack of such indigenisation was due to missionary con-
trol over leadership and the paucity of trust in “the Holy Spirit to guide the
new church in its development”. These views were underlined through his
visit to India in the early 20th century.107 Allen’s approach sought “com-
monalities” and “common ground” rather than differences, and in this he
was inspired by Paul’s strategy towards the Athenian philosophers (Acts
17:16–34) and patristic apologists such as Justin Martyr.108 Rutt outlines
Allen’s approach to missionary theology developed particularly in the con-
text of China. This approach was based on what he saw as three basic char-
acteristics: a) conservative instinct – the tendency which attracts the Chinese
to remain attached to “the tried, the ancient, the historical” – and rather
than opposing this and “demonising” Chinese traditions, he recommended
missionaries work with these and even embrace them; b) love of propriety –
the tendency to favour authority structures and hierarchy, which involved
the question of linkages and connections with those higher up in the chain;
and c) love for union – with an emphasis on belonging to a community
with broader affiliation, rather than an “individualist doctrine” emphasising
mere personal salvation.109
This theological rationale relates to the simple comparative juxtaposi-
tion of the Mahdawi and the Pentecostal phenomena. Notwithstanding the
limitations of this approach, this theological discussion helps me (and hope-
fully the readers) to not just dismiss the apparent similarities in my cases
as mere accident. Religious experiences may be manifestations of human
attempts at seeking God; but if humans long for God and seek him, would
not God respond to them as those bearing his image (however tarnished
this may be)? Why would God not be reaching out to those who search
for him? Reforms in religions could therefore be seen as signs of a dynamic
response of God to a human cry to him. Visions and dreams that transform
individuals, families, and societies could also be God’s gifts to them as first
fruits of the fullness of the vision of God in Christ. If this is the case, should
we not accord greater dignity to other faiths and indeed the faithful seekers
belonging to them in seeing them as “the children of God” waiting for their
redemption in Christ? So, as readers can see, this remains an unrealised
theological quest, not least for me as a student of Sufism and a Christian
traveller on a Godward journey.
Conclusion
The search for understanding of the phenomenon of “speaking (from expe-
rience)” is rooted both in my background as a Pentecostal and in my train-
ing as a student of Sufism. My particular study of a millennial sect inspired
by Sufism focused on a structured programme involving experience or see-
ing of God which had a missional purpose. In investigating the Islamic case,
I highlighted five broad stages which provide a more detailed view of the
journey Schimmel speaks of in relation to both Christian and Islamic mysti-
cism. I understand that I am guilty of imposing the details upon the Pen-
tecostal case. The simple juxtaposition was, however, not fruitless. Three
themes emerged which were critically central to experiences across my cases:
a living community, the dynamic role of scriptures, and the experience of
God leading to missional engagement. Methodologically, my approach
drew from phenomenology and theology. What this chapter underlined was
that the human search for nearness with God is arguably never one-sided.
God does not abandon his creation; he reciprocates human effort at seek-
ing him. Phenomenology involves comparative descriptions of the subjects’
experiences as they appear or are presented to the researcher; theology pre-
supposes the reality of an all-powerful God who not only creates living/
feeling/thoughtful beings, but also expects them to seek communion with
him. The power and presence of God encompasses the world he has created
and, thus, there is no place and no genuine story of experience where he is
absent. Roland Allen’s insight is useful – there is in all religions the undeni-
able presence of a “conservative instinct”. This draws those that belong to
them back towards the ideas that are fundamental to them. The Christian
missionary can dismiss them and want to replace them, but this is where one
needs the mind of Christ and a cultivation of an attitude also informed by
the example of his servant Paul (Acts 17:22).
This is a continuing search for meaning – not one by a mere scholar, but
also by a believer.
Notes
1 Annamarie Schimmel, Mystical Dimensions of Islam (Chapel Hill: The Univer-
sity of North Carolina Press, 1975), 98.
2 David T. Gies, The Cambridge History of Spanish Literature (Cambridge Uni-
versity Press, 2004), 173.
3 Schimmel, Mystical Dimensions of Islam, 98.
4 There are an estimated 150,000–300,000 Mahdawi. A Mahdawi Murshid from
Hyderabad believes that the total number of Mahdawis today is around 10 mil-
lion, which appears grossly inflated. Mahdawiyya, an Islamic millenarian move-
ment, was founded by Sayyid Muhammad Jawnpuri (847/1443–910/1505),
the proclaimed Mahdi (henceforth the Mahdi), and continues until today in
pockets (see Jan-Olaf Blickfeldt, Early Mahdism: Politics and Religion in the
Formative Period of Islam (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1985); P. B. Clarke, Mahdism in
West Africa: The Ijebu Mahdiyya Movement (Avon: Luzac Oriental, 1995); and
Butt Qamaruddin, The Mahdawi Movement in India, IAD Oriental (original)
series 28 (Delhi: Idarah-e Adabiyat-e Dehli, 1985). Mahdawi sources highlight
Mahdawiyya’s connection to the mainstream Chishti brotherhood of Sufism
(Hadrat Burhan, shawahid al-wilayat al-muhammadiyya ‘al-aqawa‘ad al-hujjat
al-muhammadiyya (Hyderabad: Dar al-Isha‘at Salaf al-Salihin Jami‘a Mahdawi-
yya, 1379 AH/1959), 3.29). We know that the Mahdi’s teacher Shaykh Danyal
belonged to the Chishti order of Sufism (Burhan, shawahid, 4.31ff. and Hadrat
Yusuf, ma³la‘ al-wilayat (Hyderabad: Dar al-Isha‘at Salaf al-Salihin Jami‘a Mah-
dawiyya, 1374 AH/1954), 8 ff.) widely practised in South Asia.
5 Stephen Hunt, Christian Millenarianism: From Early Church to Waco (Bloom-
ington: Indiana University Press, 2001); Stephen Hunt, “Deprivation and
Western Pentecostalism Revisited: The Case of ‘Classical’ Pentecostalism,” Pen-
tecoStudies 1, no. 1 (2002): 1–32.
6 See the idea in Nelson Ndubisi, “Factors of Online Learning Adoption: A Com-
parative Juxtaposition of the Theory of Planned Behaviour and the Technol-
ogy Acceptance Model,” International Journal on E-Learning 5, no. 4 (2006):
571–91.
7 Patrick Masterson, Approaching God: Between Phenomenology and Theology
(New York and London: Bloomsbury, 2013).
8 Hadrat Wali, hashiya insaf nama, 2nd ed. (Hyderabad: Dar al-Isha‘at Salaf al-
Salihin Jami‘a Mahdawiyya, 1418 AH/1997), 31.
9 Ibid., 75.
10 Ibid., 214; D. E. Singh, “The Way of the Heart for Understanding Religious
Plurality,” Dharma Deepika 2, no. 2 (1998): 15–26.
11 Wali, hashiya, 45.
12 Ibid., 23, 64, 67–68.
13 Hadrat Wali, insaf nama (Hyderabad: Dar al-Isha‘at Salaf al-Salihin Jami‘a Mah-
dawiyya, 1407 AH/1987), 68; see also Hadrat Mahmud, Tark-e dunya- islam
awr mahdawiyyat: ta‘limat-e mahdi maw‘ud ‘alay al-islam, vol. 1 (Hyderabad:
Markazi Anjuman Mahdawiyya, 1407 AH/1986), 6.115, emphasis mine.
14 Robert Mbe Akoko, “ ‘Ask and you shall be given’: Pentecostalism and the Eco-
nomic Crisis in Cameroon” (Doctoral diss., Leiden, 2007), accessed July 19,
2018, www.researchgate.net/publication/28649259_Ask_and_you_shall_be_given_
Pentecostalism_and_the_economic_crisis_in_Cameroon.
15 Katherine Attanasi and Amos Yong, Pentecostalism and Prosperity: The Socio-
Economics of the Global Charismatic Movement (New York: Palgrave Macmil-
lan, 2012).
16 Akoko, “ ‘Ask and you shall be given’ ”.
17 Grant Wacker, “The Function of Faith in Primitive Pentecostalism,” The Har-
vard Theological Review 77, no. 3–4 (1984): 353–75.
18 Ibid., 371.
19 Martin Lindhardt, “When God Interferes: Ritual, Empowerment and Divine
Presence in Chilean Pentecostalism,” in Practicing the Faith: The Ritual Life
of Pentecostal-Charismatic Christians, ed. Martin Lindhardt (New York and
Oxford: Berghahn Books, 2011), 220–48.
20 Trad Nogueira-Godsey, “Weberian Sociology and the Study of Pentecostalism:
Historical Patterns and Prospects for the Future,” Journal for the Study of Reli-
gion 25, no. 2 (2012): 51–70, 66–67.
21 Nogueira-Godsey, “Weberian Sociology and the Study of Pentecostalism,”
51–70, 66–67. In further nuancing this, one needs to recognise that the “primi-
tive” forms continue well into our times, especially in India but also in many
movements in Africa and Latin America. Clearly not all are prosperity-oriented
or ultramodern. See Grant Wacker, Heaven Below: Early Pentecostals and
American Culture (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2003).
22 Mahmud, Tark-e dunya, 5.10–125.
24 Ibid.
25 Namaz is the five-time obligatory ritual prayer of Muslims.
26 Wali, insaf, 10.210.
27 Ibid., 11.239–40.
28 Ibid., 10.212–13.
29 Ibid., 10.209–11.
30 Ibid., 10.216; Hadrat Burhan, Hadiqa al-haqa’iq haqaqa al-daqa’iq, Book II,
Text with translation into Urdu by Sayyid Muhammad alias Rôshan Miyañ
(Hyderabad: Majlis-e Intezami, 1400 AH/1978), 134; Burhan, shawahid,
33.432; and Shaykh Gujrati, Makatib (Hyderabad: Dar al-Isha‘at Salaf al-Salihin
Jami‘a Mahdawiyya, 1414 AH/1993), 8, 105–6.
31 I grew up in an Assemblies of God (AG) church context in Northern India.
Both my parents were theological educators in a small AG seminary training
pastors and missionaries. My early years were immersed in charismatic environ-
ments and regular community worship and prayers. Witnessing the experience
of speaking in tongues, prophecy and other spiritual manifestations was a fairly
normal part of my upbringing. I am well past the phase of “rebellion”, but I feel
I have, to use Wacker’s image, “one leg still stuck in the tent”, and hence this
comparative work. See Wacker, Heaven Below, x.
32 Thomas J. Csordas, “Ritualization of Life,” in Practicing the Faith: The Ritual
Life of Pentecostal-Charismatic Christians, ed. Martin Lindhardt (New York
and Oxford: Berghahn Books, 2011), 129–51.
33 Jacqueline Ryle, “Laying our Sins and Sorrows on the Altar: Ritualising Catho-
lic Charismatic Reconciliation and healing in Fiji,” in Practicing the Faith: The
Ritual Life of Pentecostal-Charismatic Christians, ed. Martin Lindhardt (New
York and Oxford: Berghahn Books, 2011), 68–97.
34 Martin Lindhardt, ed., Practicing the Faith: The Ritual Life of Pentecostal-
Charismatic Christians (New York and Oxford: Berghahn Books, 2011).
35 Lindhardt, “Introduction,” in Practicing the Faith: The Ritual Life of Pentecostal-
Charismatic Christians, ed. Martin Lindhardt (New York and Oxford: Berghahn
Books, 2011), 1–48.
36 Joel Robbins, “The Obvious Aspects of Pentecostalism: Ritual and Pentecos-
tal Globalisation,” in Practicing the Faith: The Ritual Life of Pentecostal-
Charismatic Christians, ed. Martin Lindhardt (New York and Oxford: Berghahn
Books, 2011), 49–67, 50.
38 Hadrat ‘Alam, naqliyyat az-hadrat bandagi miyañ sayyid ‘alam (Hyderabad:
Dar al-Isha‘at Salaf al-Salihin Jami‘a Mahdawiyya, 1376 AH/1956), 52.
39 Ibid., 45; Wali, hashiya, 72.
41 Ibid., 75.
42 Christian Tsekpoe, “The Development of James McKeown’s Mission Models
and its Implication for the Church of Pentecost, Ghana,” paper presented at the
doctoral seminar at OCMS on 1 August 2018.
43 Christian Tsekpoe, “Direct Mentoring as a Discipleship and Leadership Train-
ing Model in the Church of Pentecost, Ghana,” unpublished paper presented at
OCMS, 1–5 August 2018.
44 Ibid., 2.
45 Ibid., 4.
46 Gerald J. Pillay, Pentecostalism among Indian South Africans (Pretoria: Univer-
sity of South Africa, 1994), 183–84.
47 Ibid., 196.
48 Ibid.
49 Ibid., 194.
50 Ibid., 195.
51 Ibid.
52 See Richard Eaton, Sufis of Bijapur, 1300–1700 (Princeton: Princeton University
Press, 2015). Sufis were part of their society, both Muslim and non-Muslim. In
this, they often came into conflict with the Ulema, the upholders of “orthodoxy”
and at times the state.
53 Yusuf, ma³la‘, 64, 66, 70–72.
54 Burhan, shawahid, 8.51.
55 Hadrat Husayn, Tadhkira al-salihin (Hyderabad: Dar al-Isha‘at Salaf al-Salihin
Jami‘a Mahdawiyya, 1381 AH/1961), 6–270.
56 Burhan, shawahid, 40.524–25.
57 Wali, insaf, 8.183.
58 Citing Christine Leonard, Robert Wyllie, and Kingsley Larbi, Tsekpoe (“The
Development of James McKeown’s Mission Models”) points out a British mis-
sionary; James McKeown was one of the first Apostolic Church missionaries.
The church experienced several schisms, which in a sense helped its expansion;
one of these indigenous Pentecostal churches in Ghana was led early on by
McKeown himself. This church is called the Church of Pentecost (COP), which
alone has over 20,000 congregations and over 3 million members.
59 Tsekpoe, “Direct Mentoring,” 1.
60 Ibid., 4.
61 Ibid.
62 Pillay, Pentecostalism among Indian South Africans, 197–98.
63 Ibid., 196.
64 Jon Bialecki, “Quiet Deliverances,” in Practicing the Faith: The Ritual Life
of Pentecostal-Charismatic Christians, ed. Martin Lindhardt (New York and
Oxford: Berghahn Books, 2011), 249–76.
65 Robbins, “The Obvious Aspects of Pentecostalism,” 50.
66 Ibid., 65.
67 Ibid., 62–63.
69 Burhan, shawahid, 2.23.
70 Yusuf, ma³la‘, 11.
71 Ibid., 15.
72 William MacDonald, “Pentecostal Theology: A Classical Perspective,” in Per-
spectives on the New Pentecostalism, ed. Russell Spittler (Grand Rapids: Baker
Book House, 1976), 58–74, 59.
73 Paul W. Lewis, “The Baptism in the Holy Spirit as Paradigm Shift,” Asian Jour-
nal of Pentecostal Studies 13, no. 2 (2010): 301–44, 317.
74 Lewis, “The Baptism in the Holy Spirit as Paradigm Shift,” 317–18.
75 Burhan, shawahid, 54–55.
76 Lewis, “The Baptism in the Holy Spirit as Paradigm Shift,” 318.
77 The other three are freedom (work and grace), history (chosen remnant and the
idea of church), and certainty (crisis of faith).
78 Lewis, “The Baptism in the Holy Spirit as Paradigm Shift,” 211–13.
79 Paul Gifford, “The Ritual Use of the Bible in African Pentecostalism,” in Practic-
ing the Faith: The Ritual Life of Pentecostal-Charismatic Christians, ed. Martin
Lindhardt (New York and Oxford: Berghahn Books, 2011), 179–97.
80 Hadrat Giroh, Jami‘ al-usul (Hyderabad: Jami‘a Mahdawiyya, 1402 AH/1982
AD), 5; Wali, insaf, 211, and Wali, hashiya, 10.
81 Burhan, shawahid, 5.38–39; Yusuf, ma³la‘, 11.
82 BBC, “Pentecostalism,” February 2009, www.bbc.co.uk/religion/religions/chris
tianity/subdivisions/pentecostal_1.shtml, accessed February 11, 2020.
83 The Economist, “ ‘Global Pentecostalism’: Ecstasy and Exodus,” January 23,
2016, www.economist.com/international/2016/01/23/ecstasy-and-exodus.
84 See “ ‘Global Pentecostalism’: Ecstasy and Exodus.”
85 Simon Coleman, “Voices: Presence and Prophecy in Charismatic Ritual,” in
Practicing the Faith: The Ritual Life of Pentecostal-Charismatic Christians, ed.
Martin Lindhardt (New York and Oxford: Berghahn Books, 2011), 198–219.
86 R. Spears, “Group Identities: The Social Identity Perspective,” in Handbook of
Identity Theory and Research, eds. S. J. Schwartz, K. Luyckx, and V. L. Vignoles
(New York: Springer, 2011), 201–24, 201.
87 S. A. Halsam, P. J. Oakes, J. C. Turner, and C. McGarty, “Social Identity, Self-
Categorization and the Perceived Homogeneity of Ingroups and Outgroups: The
Interaction between Social Motivation and Cognition,” in Handbook of Motiva-
tion and Cognition, vol. 3, eds. R. M. Sorrentino and E. T. Higgins (New York:
Guilford, 1995), 182–222.
88 William L. Reese, Dictionary of Philosophy and Religion (Sussex: Harvester
Press, 1980).
89 Joann McNamara, “Dance in the Hermeneutic Circle,” in Researching Dance:
Evolving Modes of Inquiry, eds. Sondra Horton Fraleigh and Penelope Han-
stein (Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 1998), 162–87, 167. Cf.
Joann McNamara, “From Dance to Text and Back to Dance: A Hermeneutics
of Dance Interpretive Discourse” (Doctoral diss., Texas Woman’s University,
1994).
90 See Robbins, “The Obvious Aspects of Pentecostalism,” 66.
91 Tsekpoe, “The Development of James McKeown’s Mission Models.”
92 See Daniel Okyere Walker, “The Pentecost Fire is Burning: The Models of Mis-
sion Activities in the Churches of Pentecost” (Doctoral diss., University of Bir-
mingham, 2010).
93 Peter White, “A Missional Study of Ghanaian Pentecostal Churches’ Leadership
and Leadership Formation,” Harvard Theological Studies 7, no. 3 (2015), http://
dx.doi.org/10.4102/hts.v71i3.2865.
94 Soren Giversen, Tage Petersen, and Jorgen P. Sorensen, eds., The Nag Hammadi
Texts in the History of Religions (Copenhagen: Kongelige Danske Videnskabernes
Selskab, 2002), 157.
95 Sathianathan Clarke, “The Jesus of Nineteenth Century Indian Christian Theol-
ogy,” Studies in World Christianity 5, no. 1 (1999): 32–46.
96 See Raimundo Panikkar, The Unknown Christ of Hinduism (London: Darton,
Longman and Todd, 1964); and Raimundo Panikkar, Salvation in Christ: Con-
creteness and Universality, the Supername (Santa Barbara: Privately Published,
1972).
97 Ibid., 144.
98 Giuseppe Tanzella-Nitti, “Jesus Christ, Incarnation and Doctrine of Logos,” in
INTERS – Interdisciplinary Encyclopedia of Religion and Science, eds. Giuseppe
Tanzella-Nitti, I. Colagé, and A. Strumia, 2008, http://inters.org/jesus-christ-
logos, doi:10.17421/2037-2329-2008-GT-2.
99 David Tarus, “Imago dei in Christian Theology: The Various Approaches,”
Online International Journal of Arts and Humanities 5 (2016): 18–25. “Sub-
stantialist” suggests that the image of God in humanity means we are like God
in some sense; “relational position” suggests that humanity acquires God’s
image by being in relation; and the “functional position” suggests that human-
ity has the role of being a representative of God over creation.
100 Alexander Altman, “Homo Imago Dei in Jewish and Christian Theology,” The
Journal of Religion 48, no. 3 (1968): 235–59, 257–58.
101 Ibid., 235–59.
102 Ibid., 258.
103 Interview with Damon So at OCMS on 3 August 2018.
104 J. N. Farquhar, An Outline of the Religious Literature of India (London and
New York: Oxford University Press, 1920), iii–iv.
105 J. N. Farquhar, The Crown of Hinduism (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
1913); and J. N. Farquhar, Modern Religious Movements in India (New York:
Macmillan, 1915), 387.
106 Farquhar, The Crown of Hinduism, 1915.
107 Gerald H. Anderson, Biographical Dictionary of Christian Missions (New
York: Macmillan Reference, 1998), 12.
108 Steven Richard Rutt, Roland Allen: A Missionary Life (Cambridge: The Lut-
terworth Press, 2018), 44.
109 Ibid., 44–48.
10 Theology in the Anthropocene –
and beyond?*
Sigurd Bergmann
Ever since the Stratigraphy Commission of the Geological Society of Lon-

don in 2008 made a case for incorporating the Anthropocene into the
geological time scale, the debate about the understanding of the Anthro-
pocene has made massive waves.1 The notion of “Anthropocene” implies
a shift from the Holocene to a new epoch in the earth’s history, where
human impacts since the so-called Industrial Revolution in the 18th cen-
tury have increased on such a scale that “The human imprint on the global
environment has now become so large and active that it rivals some of the
great forces of Nature in its impact on the functioning of the Earth system”
[Fig. 1].2 Among many other pieces of evidence, such as accelerating rates
of species invasion and extinction, [Fig. 2] increasing sea level, and human
disturbance of the climate system, [Fig. 3] the traces of human activities, such
as nuclear waste, plastic waste, and soot, on planet earth have increased on a
significant scale.
While scientists have enthusiastically embraced the suggestion, which,
it should be noted, was not developed by geologists, but by self-critically
aware geoengineers and chemists, others have criticised the implicit anthro-
pocentrism and the practice of human eco-management as an almost God-
and-nature-given imperative.4
How is religion, in general, and Christian theology, in particular, affected
by this discourse? A hint lies in my title’s “in”: religion and theology can-
not simply relate to the Anthropocene and its discourse, but are already
affected by it as faith unfolds as a practical and ideological human activ-
ity that in itself, for good and bad, affects the environment and history
of the earth. Theology, and religion (as we showed earlier5), necessarily
takes place today in the Anthropocene. Liberating theology needs to rein-
vent itself as a critical creation theology within, and as I will envision, also
beyond the Anthropocene. One of the significant contexts for doing theol-
ogy today is the ongoing anthropogenic change of the planet’s atmosphere
and life worlds.
In the following, I will, to begin with, discuss some critical arguments
against the triumphalist interpretation of the Anthropocene. As a second
step, I will try to formulate the central challenge within the discourse – for
faith communities as well as for other agents – and search for antidotes.
Theology in the Anthropocene – and beyond? 161
Figure 10.1 Key markers of anthropogenic change

Source: Waters et al., Figure 1
Finally, theological skills will be explored, in order to widen our vision from
the past and present to a future beyond the Anthropocene. In this way it
will move toward a contextual theopolitics of the earth experienced as the
Ecocene.
162 Sigurd Bergmann
Figure 10.2 Vertebrate species extinction

Source: Ceballos et al.3
Triumphalist eco-management or eco-justice?

the ambivalence of the Anthropocene narrative
After some initial hopeful optimism about the consensus that humans today
are impacting on all kinds of habitats on the “Earth, our home”,6 my feelings
have transmuted into an increasing ambivalence towards what now seems
to function as a homogenising concept and a problematically generalising
screen for projection.7 The normative ambitions of the Anthropocene nar-
rative remain ambivalent.8 The notion of Anthropocene appears as a Janus-
faced character.9
Three critical points should be emphasised.
First, will the insight into the all-embracing impact of humans lead to a
new humility towards both human and other life forms, or will it ferti-
lise a new triumphalist self-understanding of humankind and a utilitarian
agenda with regard to human technocratic and economic management?
Even if the introduction of the term, fortunately enough, has rather fol-
lowed the humble path, one can trace among earth system scholars a certain
degree of a self-aggrandising and, so to speak, socio-engineering attitude
to the human/cultural/social/spiritual spheres of life. The narrative about
Figure 10.3 Change in temperature and precipitation

Source: IPCC Climate Change 2014, Synthesis Report, Fifth Assessment Report, http://ar5-syr.
ipcc.ch/ipcc/sites/default/files/AR5_SYR_Figure_SPM.7.png, 16 November 2017
the Anthropocene does not, to put it plainly, produce any antidotes against
anthropocentric superiority and absolutism.
While the environmental humanities, to which ecotheology and the stud-
ies of religion and the environment also belong, reflect on nature as a source
of gifts and commons of life,10 regarding the human as an integral part of
nature, earth system analysis often, even if not in general,11 operates with a
poor reductionist understanding of the human and social, which is designed
in sharp contrast to its highly sophisticated model of complexity with regard
to natural processes. While religions compress the narrative into the lan-
guage of “respect towards”, “wisdom about” and “compassion and wonder
within” nature, science continues to take an external, somehow metaphysi-
cal position from which to describe nature. The fatal doctrine of nature as
(a market [?] for) “ecosystem services”, which is popular in economics and
some earth sciences, builds furthermore on the illusion that all life exists
mainly for the sake of humans. But is the sky really made for us? [Fig. 4]
A second criticism regards the lack of power analysis in the narrative.
Andreas Malm and Alf Hornborg rightly accuse the narrative of neglecting
164 Sigurd Bergmann
Figure 10.4 Clouds over Kattegatt

Source: photo by author, October 2017
the uneven distribution of wealth as a condition for the very existence of

modern, fossil-fuel technology, and of ignoring the fact that humans have
caused global warming over the course of their long history.12 Is Anthropo-
cene thinking simply extending the natural scientists’ worldviews to society?
Humans in general, in my view, do not exist; they always live and act
in particular, in concrete contexts. Given the fact that the majority of the
planet’s poor are suffering from the violence of ongoing climatic change
caused by a minority of countries that have become rich at the expense of
others, both human and non-human, one must ask if the Anthropocene nar-
rative can include the necessary reflection on environmental and climate
justice.13 The naturalness of a consensus about the human impact in general
tends to obscure the violation of justice, in the relational web of nature as
well as in the asymmetry of world society.
My third critical point focuses on the somewhat apocalyptic tone of the
Anthropocene narrative. Have we really reached the end? Is the whole of the
planet’s future from modernity onwards at the mercy of the humans now
and hereafter? Or might there be a new -cene [Greek cene = recent, new]
after the Anthropocene, and might there be other forces that affect our com-
mon future and our common earth?
Questions like these seem impossible to ask within the current narra-
tive. Theologically, we must therefore state that it breaks with an essential
understanding of eschatology. From a religious perspective, the future of
the Creation must always remain open, for the Creator and for Creation’s
own power of evolution. Time, as well as space and place, cannot simply be
confined by humans in the cage of technical models. However, much com-
puter monitoring is done in empirical scenarios; it is the bodily awareness
and perception of our environment that remains significant for what we feed
into the computers.14
Life as a gift cannot simply be turned into a scientific scenario, and it can
definitely not be turned into a commodity to be managed and exchanged
along the well-known paths of fetishising capitalism. The method of fet-
ishising and commodifying all that exists has certainly proven successful in
the history of capitalist forms of exchange ever since antiquity, but the so-
called price is destruction, injustice, violence, and a movement of the planet
towards an “un-inhabitable” earth for most creatures.15
The narrative of the Anthropocene therefore leads to a radically new
thinking about the human condition of being alive. And it demands not only
a new narrative but also a new understanding of visuality, as the production
of images now moves into the centre of our understanding of the world and
ourselves within it.16
From the perspective of the Abrahamic religions, with their belief in the
world as a creation of the One, the challenge is deeply painful. How can one
believe in a good Creator while his/her own creatures threaten the earth as
a habitable place to live? “Is God angry”17 at the humans, or does He/She
still love them all and the poor most of all? How can one continue to believe
in a good creation, and envision a creatio continua and creatio futura, the
Figure 10.5 J. M. W. Turner, The Deluge, 1805, oil paint on canvas, 142.9 × 235.6 cm
Source: Tate Britain, London, public domain: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Turner-
deluge.jpg, accessed 16 October 2019
166 Sigurd Bergmann
coming world, in such a situation? What will happen after the deluge, so
masterly depicted by Turner [Fig. 5]?18 How is the image of God connected
to the (scientifically designed) images of the world?
Delineating the spiritual pain so sharply should sufficiently convince us
not simply to regard the anthropogenic impact on the earth as a question of
environmental ethics, but to become aware that being alive in the Anthropo-
cene implies a radically new challenge to reconstruct one’s identity, world-
view, and image of God. No more, no less.
Antidotes
My critical questions for the Anthropocene narrative should not be mis-
understood. There is, of course, substantial value in a scientific consen-
sus about the depth and scope of the human significance for the further
course of the planet. Without such a general consensus, environmentalism
can rarely develop its transformative strength. It is further important to
acknowledge the variety and multivalence of the Anthropocene discourse.19
My point, nevertheless, is that the narrowness of some dominant voices in
the present narrative must be overcome, and that faith communities and the
environmental humanities seem to have a central role herein.
Among others, I can imagine four antidotes to be used in order to bridge
the abyss of the narrative’s “lack of power, history and ethics”.20
History and remembrance

Franz Mauelshagen and Dipesh Chakrabarty rightly state that the Anthro-
pocene narrative affects our understanding of history in general.21 Once
more, it reveals the clash between the cultures of science and the humanities
in a reification of the past and future.
Historically, the idea of an overarching impact of humanity on the earth
is not new at all. Vladimir Vernadsky coined in 1938 the notion of “noo-
sphere”, inspired by Teilhard de Chardin. Before him, Catholic geologist
Antonio Stoppani argued in 1873 for a new geological period. Alexander
von Humboldt’s understanding of nature as a painting, Naturgemälde, and
the earth’s surface as a living face offers a further early holistic view of the
earth affected by the human imprint [Fig. 6].22 While these early thinkers
were able to integrate spiritual, human, and cultural dimensions into their
fairly holistic approaches, contemporary earth scientists instead operate
with quite a poor understanding of the human.23
My first antidote, therefore, is to plead for a more complex historical
understanding of the interaction of socio-cultural and natural processes,
as it has been developed recently in the new discipline of climate history.
In particular, the discourse about memory and remembrance offers here a
much deeper understanding of the dynamics and diversity of continuities
and changes in history.24 Climatic change offers in such a view a radically
Figure 10.6 Friedrich Georg Weitsch, Humboldt and Aime Bonpland in the valley
of Tapia on the foot of the volcano Chimborazo, 1810, oil on canvas,
100 × 71 cm
Source: Schloss Charlottenburg, Berlin; public domain: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/
File:Humboldt-Bonpland_Chimborazo.jpg, accessed 16 October 2019
new Erinnerungsraum (space of remembrance).25 The history of religions

should also necessarily be included herein, as human ecology is intimately
interconnected with religious practices, values, and worldviews. Images of
the sacred impact directly on human thinking of and acting with and in
nature. Secularist modern and late modern environmental practices are also
driven by doctrinal forces, which again one can analyse by applying meth-
ods from cultural and religious studies.
Aesthetic wisdom
Another antidote regards the lack of self-critical thinking with regard to
ethics. Much has been said and written about environmental ethics in the
last 50 years, although unfortunately, not much has been applied in envi-
ronmental politics. Here I would only like to point to one contribution from
epistemology – the distinction between knowledge and wisdom.
Following Nicholas Maxwell,26 science, as well as the humanities, is pro-
ducing knowledge that is not simply the agglomeration of information into
168 Sigurd Bergmann
a computer model, but a qualitative synthetic process of bringing together
different kinds of observations and reflections. But how should one apply
knowledge? And how should one select the preferable among the many
insights?
Following Maxwell, wisdom is the art of reflecting on how one should use
knowledge. Wisdom includes rational reflections and moralities, and it also
integrates worldviews and values that can be anchored in a religious and/
or cultural context. With regard to nature, wisdom and wonder are deeply
interconnected.27
According to Tim Ingold, it is the perception of our environment and the
skills to become aware of what it means to be alive that are necessary to
achieve meaningful negotiations about what we should or should not do.
Liberation theology has, in a similar way, argued that seeing the poor rep-
resents a necessary presupposition for acting and thinking. The well-known
circle “Seeing-Thinking-Acting . . . and Seeing again” has served as a central
method for both pastoral and academic contextual theology, but it is in my
view the third bridge, from “Acting” to “Seeing (anew)”, that has received
far too little attention. Applied to the Anthropocene discourse, far more
wisdom is therefore needed in evaluating the empirical insights of scientists,
and a stronger aesthetic dimension is needed in perceiving and becoming
aware of the suffering of the victims, both in nature and society – the “poor
creatures”, so to speak.28
Complexity of the whole

A third antidote regards complexity and holism. Certainly, the environmen-
tal sciences and especially climatology, which is a driving force within the
Anthropocene narrative, interconnect a large variety of different empirical
data, methods, and theories. Earth systems analysis represents in itself an
enormous success of transdisciplinary research, and its results are impres-
sively differentiated and clear.29 Even if empirical observations are turned
into artificial, human-made, computer simulations that are limited by engi-
neering practices and thinking, one can without doubt rely on the conclu-
sions, as these are constantly empirically reviewed and verified with regard
to the ongoing process of change.
Nevertheless, human beings, local and regional populations, sociohistori-
cal developments, and unexpected so-called irrational behaviours are not
included to a satisfactory degree in the same complex and differentiated
way as the scientists’ investigation of the atmosphere. Although climatology
explicitly focuses on the anthropogenic impact, it seems to be fairly ignorant
about the complexity of its cause, that is, the human, cultural, historical,
and spiritual dimension of this impact.
In brief, the Anthropocene narrative deals with human impacts – but
unfortunately, not much with humans. The feedback impacts of climatic
change on human responses are not included in the scenarios, nor is the
complex diversity of human behaviour with regard to response to change
adequately monitored. In the last IPCC reports, some ethical aspects have
just started to be included, mainly due to the commitment of the economist
Ottmar Edenhofer and others.30
Furthermore, the concept of change in climate impact science seems phil-
osophically to build on a rather limited and narrow understanding. Change
is (as one can learn from Kandinsky’s rhythmic composition) never simply
a transfer from one state to another, but a multifaceted, hard-to-predict
movement of variation – but that is another discussion (which one could
approach, e.g. from becoming aware of the flux of weather with and beyond
modern meteorology).31 Kandinsky’s painting [Fig. 7] provides an intrigu-
ingly compound expression of motion, where colours are sounding with and
against each other, and where shapes and surfaces are transmuting and met-
amorphosing in a rhythm of flows, standstills, and interactions: an excellent
contrast to the streamlined simplifying concepts of change in scientific and
media debates about climatic change.
Social psychologist Harald Welzer has rightly recently criticised environ-
mental organisations and the committed political green parties for a frag-
mentation of the complex interconnectedness of environmental processes.
Environmentalist politicians often operate in what he calls a “reductive cul-
ture”,32 with a kind of problematic illusion of the technocratic doability of
Figure 10.7 Wassily Kandinsky, Composition VII, 1913, oil on canvas, 200 × 300 cm
Source: The State Tretyakov Gallery, Moscow, public domain: https://commons.wikimedia.
org/wiki/File:Vassily_Kandinsky,_1913_-_Composition_7.jpg, accessed 16 October 2019
170 Sigurd Bergmann
everything, and pretend that there are easy solutions. Let us reduce the num-
ber of cars; let us eat less meat, increase solar energy, etc. Of course, we need
not only an energy turn, but also a mobility turn, a food production turn,
an urban planning turn, etc. But as long as political agendas of the day only
focus on selected issues, they will never achieve the cultural revolution that
is needed to avoid the earth turning into an uninhabitable place. For many
regions, this turn is already in full swing, and climate and environmental
conflicts and migration waves are accelerating. The call for repentance
should therefore not be split up, but remain unified and comprehensive.
Conversion
To use a classic word from the Christian tradition to summarise Welzer’s
conclusion, what we need is conversion. Biblical Greek metanoia aims at the
conversion of the mind, but it certainly also includes the conversion of the
eye, the body, and the social modes of existence.
Especially in the Christian tradition, eschatology contributes to this ongo-
ing social communication of imagined futures with a specific capacity to act:
repentance and conversion. Both seem, if one follows the biblical sources,
to have their place at the beginning of a believer’s life in the eyes of God, as
well as needing to be practised continuously in daily life, as everyday con-
version. Leonard Cohen’s lyrics can provoke us with this constant challenge:
“When they said ‘repent repent’/I wonder what they meant”.33
Reading the Gospels, the act of conversion is directly connected to a spe-
cific quality of time, in the present time of the early Christian believers, that
is, the kairos, a time of challenge and conversion, connected to the cruel-
ties and life-threatening social processes of the Empire. Matthew’s “Repent,
for the kingdom of heaven has come near” (Matthew 3:2, NIV) is directly
located in Mark’s identification of the present time as kairos, a specifically
challenging time of crisis as well as of future-shaping decision: “The time
(kairos) has come” (Mark 1:15, NIV). The call to repentance is anchored
in the Jewish faith, where it was central in the Hebrew Bible and especially
in the prophetic tradition. Repentance was here anything but an individual
affair – it was a prophetic call for the whole people, and a clear resistance to
the fabrication of life- and faith-threatening idols.
A fourth antidote might be circumscribed as spiritual. Some theologians
and representatives of faith traditions are arguing that religion in general
offers salvation and solutions to problems, and that religious faith is nec-
essary for transforming this world for the better. I am rather sceptical, as
religions represent human practices – no more, no less – that can function
constructively as well as destructively. Faith carries the same pros and cons
as all other human practices, such as politics, culture, and economics, and
can therefore be regarded neither as absolutely good nor for that matter
absolutely bad (as many secularist voices like to preach). Life-enhancing
liberating and pathological life-threatening forces, rather, can walk hand in
hand. In the tradition of Reformation theology, 500 years later, one can cer-
tainly wonder what it means in the context of the environmental challenge
to be both a sinner and justified: simul iustus et peccator. Can Christian
sin-talk be of any value herein, and how should one apply it as a force for
conversion and liberation?34
Nevertheless, faith is, due to its specific skills, highly fruitful for over-
coming the Anthropocene narrative’s danger of turning into one more
imperialistic grand narrative of the universe.35 “Faith” offers, in my view,
a better technical term than “religion” or “spirituality”, as it does not pre-
tend that religion is a clearly separated and isolated social subsystem, or
that there is a separation of the spiritual from the bodily being alive. Faith
in the biblical sense implies vision, belief, hope, trust, and truthfulness, and
it manifests as a skill to relate and communicate. It departs from the exist-
ence of the sacred, whether that be a God, spirits, or an inspirited nature.
What we regard as sacred impacts on our feelings, perception, thoughts,
and acts.
Much could be said about the diverse contributions of faith communities
and spiritual wisdom with regard to the environmental challenge, and here
I will only refer to some recently published standard works, such as Ernst
Conradie, Willis Jenkins, John Hart, Laura Hobgood, and Whitney Bau-
man, and our Forum’s36 volume on “Religion in the Anthropocene”.37 The
new transdisciplinary research field of the environmental humanities is also
producing a wide range of insights.
Different theological approaches to the debate about the Anthropocene
are emerging at present. While some regard the Anthropocene as “a gram-
matised context” with high relevance for doing public theology,38 others
are emphasising the ethical dimension. Eschatology offers, without doubt,
certain tools for encountering the previously discussed lackings of the nar-
rative. While Marion Grau, for example, develops a petro-eschatology to
overcome the uninhibited use of fossil energy, I have designed a spatial
eschatology whereby the encounter with the life-giving Spirit in the topog-
raphies of social and environmental suffering moves into the spotlight.39
Assisted by such a spatial eschatology, one can also overcome the narrow
and apocalyptic timeline of the Anthropocene narrative, and envision the
Ecocene beyond the Anthropocene, or better the Ecocene that is growing
within the Anthropocene.
Another shared future: towards the Ecocene

My strongest objection to the Anthropocene narrative lies in the question
of how we imagine what we might meet beyond the Anthropocene. Is there
space to imagine a new geological era beyond the Anthropocene? Maybe the
“Ecocene”, where human and other life forms cohabit on earth in fully just
and peaceful entanglements?40 Or rather an era of apocalypse where humans
eradicate themselves from the planet, followed by an era of new genesis
172 Sigurd Bergmann
where evolution searches for new paths without human intervention? Or a
“post-technocene” where the fetishisation of money and machines has been
overcome and technical spaces have turned into lived spaces?41
Is there any thought about the future in the narrative of the Anthropo-
cene, or rather a total absence of utopia? While religions always operate
more or less strongly with images of the future, and some explicitly develop
so-called eschatologies, the narrative of the Anthropocene, as far as it is
negotiated at present in the Anthropocene Working Group, seems to lack
not only self-critical skills with regard to power, history, and ethics, but also
the skill to imagine a future beyond the present. How could it thereby make
politically evident its social and environmental relevance?
In my view, the notion of Ecocene offers the most constructive term for a
synthetic vision of an open shared future.42 While terms like “capitalocene”
or “post-technocene” operate with a limited focus, the notion of Ecocene
can include entangled dimensions and envision an epoch in which the col-
lective wisdom and interactions of all living beings in one common earth
system are at the core.
The term is in the air, so to speak, and has most recently entered the
discourse not so much in science but in other spheres such as architec-
ture, design theory, and theology. It refers to a geological period beyond
the Anthropocene, or rather a slow transformation from the one into the
other, where the whole of the ecological sphere embraces and integrates the
human. Design theorist Rachel Armstrong states that “there is no advantage
to us to bring the Anthropocene into the future. . . . The myth of the Anthro-
pocene does not help us . . . we must re-imagine our world and enable the
Ecocene”.43
For biologist Robert Steiner, it is “inevitable that the current Anthropo-
cene era will evolve into an ecologically sustainable era – which can be
called the ‘Ecocene’. The current trajectory of environmental and social
decline cannot continue much longer”.44 Consequently, he focuses on the
question of what comes beyond, as
indeed, the Anthropocene will be gone in the blink of geologic time.

The real question is: what will be left of the biosphere at the dawn of
the Ecocene, e.g. what species, including Homo sapiens, will survive the
Anthropocene evolutionary bottleneck?45
As we have seen, the contemporary discussion about the Anthropocene

suffers from a fatal lack of historical consciousness and a lack of including
the future, or better different futures, in its narrative. While scientists at
present mainly debate about the beginning of the so-called Great Trans-
formation, and its main reasons and driving forces, their discussion of
the future remains quite general. While some imagine it as an apocalypse
and cosmic disaster, others regard it as a promising new arena for socio-
engineering. The challenge in contrast is not to fall into either of these gaps,
but to imagine and negotiate our shared future,46 a just and sustainable
future that can be shared equally by all creatures.
It is probably this lack of a qualified reflection on potential sustainable
and unsustainable futures that accelerates the triumphalist danger of cel-
ebrating this new period as a new period of human geo-management. This
lack also seems to be part of a wider cultural shift whereby our ways of
imaging the future (and the past) are undergoing a radical shift in the mod-
ern time regime.47
Such an interpretation immediately produces a deep conflict with faith,
as the future in the Christian tradition must remain always open for the
Creator and Liberator to act in. According to Moltmann, God encounters
His/Her creation from the future, and I would add also from the past. Time
and history, as well as space and place, always remain transparent for the
Triune.
The Christian creed summarises this belief in its words about the new
world (aeon) to come, and this aeon can scarcely refer to today’s Anthro-
pocene, a time of human mismanagement and an uninhabitable place for
humans to live in as God’s images.
While apocalyptic thinking imagines the end as a future of chaos and dis-
aster, and manipulates and terrifies its audience, eschatology operates with
an integrated present and future dimension. It is not simply the interconnec-
tion of the now and then, but also develops, as Vitor Westhelle and I have
recently shown, as a spatial theory. The placial encounter with the God of
the Here and There and the God of the Now and Then transforms the places
in need of liberation. Climatic change represents such a place as it makes
it necessary to encounter the life-giving Triune Spirit who takes place both
now and then, and both here and there. Faith needs to be reconstructed,
faith in the Spirit hovering over the vibrating waters of chaos in the begin-
ning and the Spirit as the Giver of Life and as the source of the new creation
to come.
Applying such a spatial and liberative eschatology to the narrative of
the Anthropocene, it is impossible to imagine the future as a simple age of
the humans. “Eschatology as imagining the end”48 must necessarily stretch
beyond the life-threatening anthropogenic impact that the rich nations have
executed in the great transformation. Hope needs to flourish so that another
age might appear.
In my view, such a vision of the Ecocene fits perfectly with the biblical
vision of a creatio continua that flows into a creatio futura; that is, the
(ongoing) creation of the new heavens and new earth. Biblical imaginar-
ies for such an Ecocene are many: the heavenly Jerusalem as a truly eco-
urban life sphere, peaceful pastoral grazing of wild and other animals in the
meadows, the pastoral vision of God as good shepherd and the people and
creatures as a herd in a harmonious ecology, or the thanksgiving ritual after
the flood and climate change disasters when the bow in the sky turns from a
symbol of war to a colourful sign of peace between all created beings.
174 Sigurd Bergmann
Ethically, theologians have argued from such a vision for a future-oriented
human ethics of responsibility, following Dietrich Bonhoeffer.49 Personally,
I would prefer a discourse ethic model to a virtue or responsibility model,
but that could be worked out later.50
In short, it is the vision of another period beyond the Anthropocene
that allows a deepening and widening of the ambiguous Anthropocene
narrative and a transformation into another period when humans are no
longer masters and rulers of Creation, but subjects of Creation, no longer
shepherds but sheep in a flock, no longer alleged givers but true receivers
of life.
To sum up, one of many substantial critical and constructive contributions
to transforming the narrative of the Anthropocene is to nurture hope and to
establish practices that manifest this hope for the Ecocene. It envisions earth
as a home where justice, synergy, and peace can flourish, a world such as in
Giovanni Bellini’s Renaissance paintings [Fig. 8 and 9] that embraces most
of the movements in God’s history of salvation: the earth as a home where
the life-giving Spirit is taking place.
Figure 10.8 Giovanni Bellini, Saint Jerome Reading in the Wilderness (detail), 1505, oil
Source: public domain; https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Giovanni_Bellini_St_Jerome_
Reading_in_the_Countryside.jpg, accessed 16 October 2019
Figure 10.9 Giovanni Bellini, Sacred Allegory, circa 1490, oil

Source: public domain; https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Sacred_Allegory_by_Giovan
ni_Bellini.jpg, accessed 16 October 2019
God amidst popular problems

Finally, as this text was originally written for the 25th birthday celebrations
of the Swedish history of contextual theology, I would like to conclude with
a short gift in the form of a new definition of contextual theology. Allud-
ing to John B. Cobb Jr., theology is reflecting on what matters for Chris-
tians,51 and alluding to Leonard Cohen, popular problems are what we all
commonly struggle with: the problems of the people.52 Contextual theology
therefore is simply to reflect encountering the Triune God in the midst of
what matters among people’s popular problems (sic!). Following Dietrich
Bonhoeffer, God is not found where the church is, but the church must move
to the places where God acts; the church is only church in its “being-for-
others”.53 Lived spaces of anthropogenic climate change are such places.
Notes
* This text offers a revised version of my keynote address at the conference “Lib-
erating Theology – Institute of Contextual Theology in Lund 25 years”, Lund,
November 24, 2017. It also underlies a more extensive elaboration of the entan-
glement of Anthropocenic and atmospheric thinking in my monograph Sigurd
Bergmann, Weather, Religion, and Climate Change (London and New York:
Routledge, 2020), Chapter 8.
176 Sigurd Bergmann
1 For the present state of the debate and the understanding of “the Anthropo-
cene”, see Colin N. Waters, Jan Zalasiewicz, Colin Summerhayes, Anthony D.
Barnosky, Clément Poirier, Agnieszka Gałuszka, Alejandro Cearreta, Matt Edge-
worth, Erle C. Ellis, Michael Ellis, Catherine Jeandel, Reinhold Leinfelder, J. R.
McNeill, Daniel deB. Richter, Will Steffen, James Syvitski, Davor Vidas, Michael
Wagreich, Mark Williams, An Zhisheng, Jacques Grinevald, Eric Odada, Naomi
Oreskes, and Alexander P. Wolfe, “The Anthropocene is Functionally and
Stratigraphically Distinct from the Holocene,” Science 351 (2016): aad2622,
doi:10.1126/science.aad2622.
2 Will Steffen, Jacques Grinevald, Paul Crutzen, and John McNeill, “The Anthro-
pocene: Conceptual and Historical Perspectives,” Philosophical Transactions of
the Royal Society A 369 (2011): 842–67, 842, doi:10.1098/rsta.2010.0327.
3 Gerardo Ceballos, Paul R. Ehrlich, Anthony D. Barnosky, Andrés García, Rob-
ert M. Pringle, and Todd M. Palmer, “Accelerated Modern Human-Induced
Species Losses: Entering the Sixth Mass Extinction,” Science Advances 1, no. 5
(June 19, 2015): e1400253, doi:10.1126/sciadv.1400253.
4 Cf. Bonneuil’s description of four different Anthropocene narratives at work at
present and Pearson’s emphasis on moving the discourse from the age’s beginning
to the “possibility of endings” (9), from the apocalyptic to the eschatological.
Christophe Bonneuil, “The Geological Turn: Narratives of the Anthropocene,”
in The Anthropocene and the Global Environmental Crisis: Rethinking Moder-
nity in a New Epoch, eds. Clive Hamilton, François Gemenne, and Christophe
Bonneuil (Abingdon, Oxon: Routledge, 2015), 18–23. Clive Pearson, “Is It Too
Late? Doing Theology in the Anthropocene,” public lecture at the University of
Otago, December 17, 2015, accessed November 19, 2017, www.otago.ac.nz/
ctpi/otago419801.pdf.
5 Celia E. Deane-Drummond, Sigurd Bergmann, and Markus Vogt, eds., Religion
in the Anthropocene (Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock/Cascade, 2017).
6 Earth Charter Commission 2000, The Earth Charter, www.earthcharterinac
tion.org, May 25, 2015.
7 For a more detailed discussion of the criticism, see Sigurd Bergmann, “Is There a
Future in the Age of Humans? A Critical Eye on the Narrative of the Anthropo-
cene,” Consortium for the Study of Religion, Ethics, and Society Forum, Spring
2016, Indiana University, accessed November 19, 2017, www.iu.edu/~csres/
csres_archive_14Dec2016/www/forum.php#Bergmann.
8 Celia E. Deane-Drummond, Sigurd Bergmann, and Markus Vogt, “The Future
of Religion in the Anthropocene Era,” in Religion in the Anthropocene, eds.
Deane-Drummond et al. (Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock/Cascade, 2017), 1–15, 14.
9 Sverker Sörlin, Antropocen: En essä om människans tidsålder (Stockholm: Wey-
ler 2017), 209.
10 For a detailed theological discussion of the “commons”, see Catherine Keller,
Elias Ortega-Aponte, and Melanie Johnson-DeBaufre, eds., Common Goods:
Economy, Ecology, and Political Theology (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
2015).
11 An increasing number of earth scientists, however, seem to be becoming aware
of this, and some are engaging in more holistic approaches; see for example the
LOOPS activity, www.pik-potsdam.de/research/projects/activities/copan/loops,
and its Special Issue, www.earth-syst-dynam.net/special_issue18.html, Novem-
ber 27, 2019. For a reflection on “deeper human dimensions”, including reli-
gious ones, see Dieter Gerten et al.’s thought-provoking and forward-looking
argument: Dieter Gerten, Martin Schönfeld, and Bernhard Schauberger, “On
Deeper Human Dimensions in Earth System Analysis and Modelling,” Earth
System Dynamics 9 (2018): 849–63, https://doi.org/10.5194/esd-9-849-2018.
12 Andreas Malm and Alf Hornborg, “The Geology of Mankind? A Critique
of the Anthropocene Narrative,” The Anthropocene Review 1, no. 1 (2014):
62–69, 64.
13 For a theological exploration of social and environmental justice, see Rasmus-
sen’s elaboration of “creation justice”. Larry L. Rasmussen, “From Social Justice
to Creation Justice in the Anthropocene,” in The Wiley Blackwell Companion to
Religion and Ecology, ed. John Hart (Hoboken, NJ: John Wiley & Sons, 2017),
239–55.
14 Cf. Karolina Sobecka, “The Atmospheric Turn,” in Arts and Religion Respond-
ing to the Environment: Exploring Nature’s Texture, eds. Sigurd Bergmann and
Forrest Clingerman (Leiden: Brill Rodopi, 2018), 43–58.
15 Cf. the widely distributed and debated article by David Wallace-Wells, “The
Uninhabitable Earth: Famine, Economic Collapse, a Sun That Cooks Us: What
Climate Change Could Wreak – Sooner Than You Think,” New York Maga-
zine, July 9, 2017, accessed November 19, 2017, http://nymag.com/daily/intelli
gencer/2017/07/climate-change-earth-too-hot-for-humans.html.
16 Irmgard Emmelhainz, “Images Do Not Show: The Desire to See in the Anthro-
pocene,” in Art in the Anthropocene: Encounters among Aesthetics, Politics,
Environments and Epistemologies, eds. Heather Davis and Etienne Turpin (Lon-
don: Open Humanities Press, 2015), 131–42.
17 Rolita Machila, “Why Are Earth and God Angry?” Thinking It Over 20
(August 2008), pamphlet published by the Lutheran World Federation (LWF),
www.lutheranworld.org/sites/default/files/DTS-Thinking-20.pdf.
18 For a detailed interpretation of this and other works of Turner, see the chapter
“Inventing Weather: Conveying the Mysteries of Alteration in J. M. W. Turner’s
Painting” in Bergmann, Weather, Religion, and Climate Change.
19 Maria Antonaccio, “De-moralizing and Re-moralizing the Anthropocene,”
in Religion in the Anthropocene, eds. Deane-Drummond et al. (Eugene, OR:
Wipf & Stock/Cascade, 2017), 121–37, 128.
20 Celia E. Deane-Drummond, Sigurd Bergmann, and Markus Vogt, “The Future
of Religion in the Anthropocene Era,” in Religion in the Anthropocene, eds.
Deane-Drummond et al., 1–15, 2.
21 Franz Mauelshagen, “Redefining Historical Climatology in the Anthropocene,”
The Anthropocene Review 1, no. 2 (2014): 171–204, 172. Dipesh Chakrabarty,
“Verändert der Klimawandel die Geschichtsschreibung?” Transit. Europäische
Revue 41 (2011): 143–63.
22 Cf. Sigurd Bergmann, “Religion at Work within Climatic Change: Eight Percep-
tions about Its Where and How,” in Religion in the Anthropocene, eds. Deane-
Drummond et al. (Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock/Cascade, 2017), 67–84.
23 Cf. for example the excellently differentiated analysis of the human signature on
earth’s history by Waters et al., where “humans” and “humanity” throughout
the whole investigation are simply treated in the singular and in general, prob-
ably due to the interest in geology and earth system analysis and the fact that the
methods used are exclusively for large-scale exploration.
24 Cf. Aleida Assmann, Erinnerungsräume: Formen und Wandlungen des kul-
turellen Gedächtnisses (München: C. H. Beck, 1999); Jan Assmann, Religion
und kulturelles Gedächtnis: Zehn Studien (München: Beck, 2000/2006); Pierre
Nora, “Between Memory and History: Les Lieux de Mémoire,” Representations
26 (Special Issue: Memory and Counter-Memory) (1989): 7–24.
25 One might therefore construct a new analytical method for exploring trans-
disciplinarily – with combined methods from climate impact science, geogra-
phy, and environmental humanities – what I have called the “lived spaces of
climatic change”, that is, the specifically changing environments where processes
178 Sigurd Bergmann
of anthropogenic external impacts and local human adaptations, which again
produce new kinds of impacts, can be studied in one common “Funktionskreis”.
S. Bergmann, “Religion in Climatic Change” (unpublished application to the
ERC, March 2011).
26 Nicholas Maxwell, From Knowledge to Wisdom: A Revolution in the Aims and
Methods of Science (Oxford: Blackwell, 1984); Nicholas Maxwell, “Can Scien-
tific Method Help Us Create a Wiser World?” in Practical Wisdom in the Age of
Technology: Insights, Issues and Questions for a New Millennium, eds. N. Dalal,
A. Intezari, and M. Heitz (London: Gower, 2016), 147–61.
27 Cf. Celia E. Deane-Drummond, Wonder and Wisdom: Conversations in Science,
Spirituality and Theology (London: Darton, Longman & Todd, 2006).
28 On “the poor among other creatures” (die armen Naturen), see Sigurd Bergmann,
Geist, der Natur befreit: Die trinitarische Kosmologie Gregors von Nazianz
im Horizont einer ökologischen Theologie der Befreiung (Mainz: Grünewald,
1995), 20 (Russian edition, Arkhangelsk, 1999; revised English edition Crea-
tion Set Free: The Spirit as Liberator of Nature (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans,
2003), 2).
29 Cf. http://ipcc.ch/, accessed February 19, 2020.
30 Cf. Ottmar Edenhofer and Michael Jakob, Klimapolitik: Ziele, Konflikte, Lösun-
gen (München: C. H. Beck, 2017), 118–23.
31 Cf. Bergmann, Weather, Religion, and Climate Change.
32 Harald Welzer, Selbst Denken: Eine Anleitung zum Widerstand, 7th ed.
(Frankfurt/M.: Fischer, 2016), 133.
33 Leonard Cohen, The Future, Columbia 472498 2, 1992, compact disc.
34 For a deeper exploration of such questions, see Ernst M. Conradie, Redeeming
Sin? Social Diagnostics amid Ecological Destruction (London: Lexington Books,
2017).
35 The Anthropocene narrative might also offer an analogy to some of the negative
dimensions of the so-called New Cosmology and (grand) Story of the Universe
as it has been critically investigated. Cf. Lisa H. Sideris, Consecrating Science:
Wonder, Knowledge, and the Natural World (Oakland: University of California
Press, 2017).
36 www.religion-environment.com/, accessed February 19, 2020.
37 Ernst Conradie, S. Bergmann, C. E. Deane-Drummond, and D. Edwards, eds.,
Christian Faith and the Earth: Current Paths and Emerging Horizons in Ecothe-
ology (London and New York: Bloomsbury, 2014); Willis Jenkins, Mary Evelyn
Tucker, and John Grim, eds., The Routledge Handbook of Religion and Ecology
(London and New York: Routledge, 2017); John Hart, ed., The Wiley Blackwell
Companion to Religion and Ecology (Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2017); Laura
Hobgood and Whitney Bauman, eds., The Bloomsbury Handbook of Religion
and Nature (London and New York: Bloomsbury, 2018).
38 Johann-Albrecht Meylahn, “Doing Public Theology in the Anthropocene
Towards Life-Creating Theology,” Verbum et Ecclesia 36, no. 3 (July 2015):
a1443, doi:10.4102/ve.v36i3.1443. While Meylahn pleads for us “to seek God
in the text, or rather as part of the grammatisation” (italics in original) and to do
contextual theology about God in the Anthropocene (rather than about a God
beyond), my approach here implies both doing this and encountering God in the
not-yet-seen future and space beyond the age of the humans.
39 Marion Grau, “The Revelations of Global Climate Change: A Petro-Theology,”
in Eschatology as Imagining the End: Faith between Hope and Despair, ed. Sig-
urd Bergmann (London and New York: Routledge, 2018).
40 The notion of “Ecocene” might enhance positive visions of the future and
include entangled dimensions, envisioning “an epoch in which not one single
species determines the future of the Earth but the collective wisdom and interac-
tions of all species and the bio- and geophysical world”. Arjen E. J. Wals, Joseph
Weakland, and Peter Blaze Corcoran, “Preparing for the Ecocene: Envisioning
Futures for Environmental and Sustainability Education,” Japanese Journal of
Environmental Education 26, no. 4 (2017): 71–76, 72.
41 For the notion of “technocene”, see Alf Hornborg, “The Political Ecology of the
Technocene: Uncovering Ecologically Unequal Exchange in the World-System,”
in The Anthropocene and the Global Environmental Crisis: Rethinking Moder-
nity in a New Epoch, eds. C. Hamilton, C. Bonneuil, and F. Gemenne (London:
Routledge, 2015), 57–69. For the notion of “technical space”, see Sigurd Berg-
mann and Tore Sager, eds., The Ethics of Mobilities: Rethinking Place, Exclu-
sion, Freedom and Environment (London: Routledge, 2008).
42 For a more extensive discussion of the Ecocene concept, I refer to my final chap-
ter “Atmosphere and Anthropocene” in Bergmann, Weather, Religion, and Cli-
mate Change. Cf. also Keller, who has recently started to reflect on the Ecocene
as “a time of agonized attention to the interdependence of humans with the
planetary plenum of nonhumans”. Catherine Keller, Political Theology of the
Earth: Our Planetary Emergency and the Struggle for a New Public (New York:
Columbia University Press, 2018), 161.
43 Rachel Armstrong, “Architecture for the Ecocene,” Architecture Ukraine,
July 31, 2015, accessed November 20, 2017, https://architectureukraine.org/
rachel-armstrong-architecture-for-the-ecocene/. Cf. Joanna Boehnert, Design,
Ecology, Politics: Towards the Ecocene (London and New York: Blooms-
bury, 2018). Cf. Joanna Boehnert, “Naming the Epoch: Anthropocene, Capi-
talocene, Ecocene,” EcoLabs: Design, Ecology, Politics blog, May 22, 2016,
accessed November 20, 2017, https://ecolabsblog.com/2016/05/22/naming-the-
epoch-anthropocene-capitalocene-ecocene/.
44 Robert Steiner, “From Anthropocene To Ecocene By 2050?” Huffington Post,
October 23, 2017, www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/from-anthropocene-to-
ecocene-by-2050_us_59e7b66ce4b0e60c4aa3678c.
45 Ibid. Thomas Berry had earlier coined the term ecozoic era to overcome anthro-
pocentrism, but the notion of an Ecocene includes not only living beings, but all
planetary forms.
46 On the significance of “shared future” in the context of “making onself at home
in the future”, see Scott and Rodwell in their introductory chapter “Dialogues
of Place and Belonging,” in At Home in the Future: Place and Belonging in a
Changing Europe, eds. John Rodwell and Peter Manley Scott, Studies in Reli-
gion and the Environment 11 (Berlin: LIT 2016), 9.
47 Aleida Assmann, Ist die Zeit aus den Fugen? Aufstieg und Fall des Zeitregimes
der Moderne (München: Hanser, 2013), 247.
48 Cf. Bergmann, ed., Eschatology as Imagining the End.
49 Robert Vosloo, “Time Out of Joint and Future-Oriented Memory: Engaging
Dietrich Bonhoeffer in the Search for a Way to Deal Responsibly with the Ghosts
of the Past,” Religions 8, no. 3 (2017): 42, doi:10.3390/rel8030042.
50 For an environmental ethic in the frame of discourse ethics see Konrad Ott,
Umweltethik zur Einführung, 2nd ed. (Hamburg: Junius, 2014); and for a dif-
ferentiated theological approach to such an environmental discourse ethics, see
Christof Hardmeier and Konrad Ott, Naturethik und biblische Schöpfungser-
zählung: Ein diskurstheoretischer und narrativ-hermeneutischer Brückenschlag
[Nature Ethics and Biblical Creation Story: Bridging the Gap through Discourse
Theory and Narrative Hermeneutics] (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2015). For a dis-
cussion of the pros and cons in an environmental ethics of responsibility vs.
an ecological discourse ethics, see Sigurd Bergmann, “Diskursiv bioetik – för
180 Sigurd Bergmann
offrens skull,” in Miljöetik – för ett samhälle på människans och naturens
villkor, eds. Uno Svedin and Anne-Marie Thunberg (FRN Rapport 94:2) (Stock-
holm: Miljödepartementet/Forskningsrådsnämnden, 1994), 68–89 [“Diskursive
Bioethik – um der Opfer willen,” in S. Bergmann, Geist, der lebendig macht:
Lavierungen zur ökologischen Befreiungstheologie (Frankfurt/M.: IKO, 1997)].
An environmental discourse ethics and an ethics of responsibility need not, of
course, contradict each other; both could be connected in a statement that might
follow Haber, Held and Vogt’s plea for a new culture of responsibility (“eine
neue Kultur der Verantwortung,” p. 13) that necessarily includes the qualities of
a non-violent dialogue as suggested in discourse ethics. Wolfgang Haber, Martin
Held, and Markus Vogt, eds., Die Welt im Anthropozän: Erkundungen im Span-
nungsfeld zwischen Ökologie und Humanität (München: oekom, 2016).
51 Cobb describes theology as “Christian reflection over important matters”. John
B. Cobb. Jr., “The Role of Theology of Nature in the Church,” in Liberating
Life: Contemporary: Approaches to Ecological Theology, eds. Charles Birch,
William Eakin, and Jay B. McDaniel (Maryknoll: Orbis, 1990), 261–72, 262.
52 Leonard Cohen launched the album Popular Problems on his 70th birthday.
Leonard Cohen, Popular Problems, Columbia 88875014292, 2014.
53 Dietrich Bonhoeffer, “Die Kirche ist nur Kirche, wenn sie für andere da ist,” in
Widerstand und Ergebung: Briefe und Aufzeichnungen aus der Haft, eds. Chris-
tian Gremmels et al., DBW, vol. 8 (München: Random House, 2011), 560.
11 Theology of “eco-anxiety” as
liberating contextual theology
Panu Pihkala
Introduction
I have an ever-worsening anxiety and terror of all this, the full destruction
which seems inevitable. I am paralysed. What can I say to my child, when
I have to? She’s so small, she doesn’t yet know anything about this, but it
feels like the end can be so near that she will still be small when all this
breaks down. And how will it happen, how fast? How long do I have to wait
for the end after the moment when nobody can escape the facts? It feels so
strange to live through these days which have been camouflaged to look like
normal, when there is nothing which one could expect – except that there
would come as many camouflaged days as possible.
– a Finnish person who suffers from eco-anxiety,
translation by the author1
In a 2012 volume on Religion and Climate Change, the editors Dieter Ger-
ten and Sigurd Bergmann stated,
How people can cope with large-scale suffering and, ultimately, death
as a consequence of climate change (due to short-term extreme events
such as floods and gradual processes such as rising sea levels or repeated
droughts) is a largely unexplored domain of research.2
In the 2010s, these impacts, vulnerabilities, and methods of coping – both

adaptive and maladaptive – have been studied in psychological and psycho-
social research.3 A major part of the psychological impact is “eco-anxiety”:
distress, worry, fears, and anxieties generated by the changing ecologi-
cal conditions and the inadequacy of human reactions in mitigation and
adaptation.4
Eco-anxiety has been defined as “a chronic fear of environmental doom”5
or “the generalized sense that the ecological foundations of existence are
in the process of collapse”.6 On my reading, the term can be used with
two interlinked meanings. First, it can refer generally to difficult emotions
and mental states related to the environmental crisis; second, it can be used
182 Panu Pihkala
to refer to more specific anxiety states. Most scholars use the term in the
first sense. Many different emotions, if they become repressed, can cause
anxiety-like symptoms. I use here the terms “difficult emotions” and “dark
emotions” instead of “negative emotions” because in industrialised socie-
ties there are problems related to over-emphasising the value of “positive”
emotions at the expense of the “negative” ones.7 In fact, this problematic
often worsens eco-anxiety, because grief and anxiety are simply labelled as
negative and not socially supported.
As I will discuss in more depth following, eco-anxiety is related both to
practical situations and to deep existential questions. The character of eco-
anxiety as existential anxiety makes it very closely tied to deep spiritual,
religious, and theological questions. People face troubling questions about
the meaning of life on a planet whose ecosystems seem to be heading for
one disaster after another. The ancient, disturbing, and elementary ques-
tions related to death and finitude are close at hand, but they are often
repressed or escaped from. In industrialised countries, people feel difficult
feelings of guilt and even shame because of the ways in which their lifestyle
and their societies are contributing to the damage done. Many people feel
sorrow because of the many losses involved: for humans, for other animals,
for places and ecosystems. The nature of ecological grief as disenfranchised
grief often makes eco-anxiety worse.
As the quote at the beginning of the chapter shows, people can have dev-
astating feelings of anxiety, alienation, and despair. This is why alleviation
of eco-anxiety can be profoundly liberating. There is always a danger that
this alleviation will become the kind of therapy which does not help to alle-
viate social and ecological problems, but this is a danger that can be avoided.
And on the other hand, any action against ecological damage or any growth
in resilience is very difficult if people are struck down by depression and
anxiety. There is a profound need to practise ways of living with anxiety
and ambivalence, so that hope and resilience can be strengthened. The mis-
sion of liberating people from paralysing eco-anxiety aims to increase psy-
chological wellbeing and resilience, but this also results in providing more
resources for empowerment and socio-ethical action.
In this chapter, I construct a model of theology of eco-anxiety as con-
textual theology done by people who are affected by the anguish related to
the environmental crisis and by those people who want to help them, out
of compassion or a sense of duty. There can be various forms of theologies
of eco-anxiety; I will focus especially on one, Finland-based, form of it.
The Finnish version, in whose development I have personally strongly taken
part, is in several ways quite extensive compared to many other countries
and contexts at the moment. However, I think it highly likely that more
forms of theology of eco-anxiety will be generated in the near future. It is
my hope that the Finnish version might offer some resources for creative
theological work for others, if and when they wish to develop their own
versions of such contextual theology.
Theology of “eco-anxiety” 183
There are several levels of contexts here. A wider “context” for theolo-
gies of eco-anxiety, as well as for ecotheologies in general, is the global
environmental crisis with all its local implications. I write “context” here
in quotation marks, since this is a rather special context: it touches practi-
cally everyone in the world. Ecosystems around the world have been dam-
aged, many of the so-called planetary boundaries are either exceeded or in
danger of being exceeded, and climate change is causing unstable weather
worldwide.8
However, even though the ecological crisis in some way touches everyone,
at the present moment there are vast differences in the levels of impact and
vulnerability that people face. Often the poorest people suffer the most from
the ecological crisis because they do not have as many resources to react to
the problems or try to prevent them. There are vast structural injustices in
relation to the ecological crisis and climate change, against which there are
growing movements of “eco-justice” and climate justice.9
The poorest and the most vulnerable also suffer most heavily from the
psychological impacts of environmental problems – including eco-anxiety.
Thus, the struggle for eco-justice and climate justice is also a struggle for
more psychic and psychosocial resilience. The task of liberation has both
physical and psychological aspects: people should be liberated from both
oppressive social structures and oppressive forms of eco-anxiety.
In this chapter, I discuss eco-anxiety first and foremost as related to those
people who do not yet suffer heavily from the physical impacts of envi-
ronmental problems. There is deep anxiety among those who do, but their
situation is somewhat different. For example, despite certain similarities,
it is a different matter to leave your homeland as a climate refugee and to
experience psychological turmoil in a European country because of climate
change.
I am myself a European and my proposal for a theology of eco-anxiety is
related to people close to me: this is one strand of explicit contextual theol-
ogy, done by a certain group of people in a certain context. In this chapter,
I will give an introduction to the phenomenon of eco-anxiety and discuss
various proposals that have been made in relation to it worldwide, but the
final and constructive part of my text is directed most of all to people in
industrialised countries. To give one example: there is ecological grief in
both of these general contexts – those who already suffer more and those
who as yet suffer less – but the grief is more intense in the first case and more
complicated or vague in the second case. Grief rituals and public recognition
help in both cases, but the nature of the rituals is different, because the grief
itself is of a somewhat different form.
The structure of the chapter runs as follows. First, I will provide an intro-
duction to the phenomenon of eco-anxiety and the ways in which it can be
alleviated. This is closely related to questions of hope and meaningfulness.
Second, I will discuss key proposals and initiatives which have been made to
deal with eco-anxiety. The work of the Buddhist activist and scholar Joanna
184 Panu Pihkala
Macy is of special note here, but I will also discuss perspectives from Chris-
tian theologies. Third, I will present my own constructive account of what
a contextual theology of eco-anxiety can be like, drawing from my experi-
ences in conducting such a praxis in Finland.
Eco-anxiety, meaningfulness, and hope
Eco-anxiety, denial, and social tensions

Eco-anxiety is anxiety which is generated in a significant manner by the
ecological crisis. It is often intertwined with other anxieties and life issues,
which sometimes makes it difficult to separate eco-anxiety from other anxi-
eties. For example, a major part of eco-anxiety is so-called climate anxiety,
anxiety due to climate change.10 And since climate change affects practically
everything, there is an element of climate anxiety in many ordinary anxie-
ties. I will mention two common examples from the Nordic countries. First,
many people are hesitant about which profession they should pursue, if
climate change is going to change societies in a radical way in the future.
Second, many young people feel anxiety about the idea of trying to have
children, since the fears related to future are so strong. In both of these
cases, there are other factors which also have a role, but still the ecological
crisis is having a clear effect.11
Eco-anxiety as a term surfaced around the year 2008 in several media
stories. Prominent users and developers of the term have been the Austral-
ian scholar and activist Glenn Albrecht, who has invented several names for
“earth emotions”,12 and social psychologists.13 Cossman provides a short
history of the use of the term before 2013 and discusses the ways in which
participatory social and environmental action can at the same time be a
form of “anxiety governance”.14
Since a landmark 2017 report15 about the mental health impacts of cli-
mate change, there has been growing public discussion about eco-anxiety.16
The raising of global consciousness about the ecological crisis and climate
change has inevitably had an effect on the fact that more and more people
feel a certain connection with the terms eco-anxiety and climate anxiety.
However, the discourses are very different in various parts of the world
and in various parts of societies. In some countries, such as Sweden and Fin-
land, there has been much public discussion about these anxieties, especially
since certain extreme weather events in 2018 and the ensuing publication
of the alarming climate change report by the Intergovernmental Panel on
Climate Change (IPCC) in October the same year.17 In some other countries,
there is not yet much public discussion about these dimensions, or the dis-
cussion is strongly characterised by conflicts and tensions. Such is the case,
for example, in Australia, where the physical and mental impacts of climate
change are already severe. In the Australian discussion, there is both strong
climate change denial (or disavowal) and pioneering initiatives to recognise
and alleviate eco-anxiety.18
The psychosocial dynamics related to denial and distancing are closely
tied to the phenomenon of eco-anxiety. The massive ecological crisis is by
its nature anxiety-provoking. Understandably but tragically, people wish to
avoid such disturbing thoughts and emotions. Denial and distancing are psy-
chological ways to keep the menacing ecological crisis further away. Denial
has many forms, of which literal denial, such as strong climate change deni-
alism, is only one part. Disavowal is much more common and probably
more dangerous, since it allows people to partly admit the problem and still
carry on business as usual.19 Denial and distancing can be called “maladap-
tive coping” or defences, depending on which psychological theories one
draws from.20 It has been noted that there are socially organised mecha-
nisms of denial in relation to the ecological crisis, which often makes it dif-
ficult to breach the silence around these issues.21 The result can be a vicious
circle whereby (partly repressed) anxiety breeds silence and silence breeds
more anxiety.
The symptoms of eco-anxiety include restlessness, deep despair and
depression, and psychosomatic symptoms such as sleep disturbance.22
Anxiety can lead to “eco-paralysis”,23 a frozen state when action becomes
stalled. At its worst, eco-anxiety can lead to destructive behaviour.24 How-
ever, it should be emphasised that eco-anxiety is primarily a sensitive reac-
tion to the troubling state of the planet’s ecosystems. If the symptoms are
severe and if eco-anxiety is not recognised, it can be a serious problem, but
basically, eco-anxiety is a healthy reaction which tells of the need to adapt
and mitigate.25 This message is especially important because those who feel
eco-anxiety, such as young people, are often ridiculed by those who prac-
tise cynicism or denial (such as many of the so-called climate sceptics).26 As
a result, many people who feel eco-anxiety have often felt that they have
somehow failed if they cannot stand the condition of the world. This is
oppression and must be challenged.
Eco-anxiety as both existential anxiety and practical anxiety

I propose that eco-anxiety can be best understood by characterising it both
as existential anxiety and as related to practical situations. Anxiety scholar
and philosopher Charlie Kurth recently (2018) proposed a model of anxiety
as a biocognitive emotion. Kurth emphasises that anxiety is often a very use-
ful emotion: it helps individuals to recognise that a certain situation needs
attention, and it generates vigilance which helps them to perform well in that
situation. Kurth divides anxiety into three types: “environmental anxiety”,
“punishment anxiety”, and “practical anxiety”. He does not discuss eco-
logical problems, per se: his “environmental anxiety” means anxiety about
any perceived potential physical danger.27 However, there are ecological
186 Panu Pihkala
situations of this kind, for example, when the potential danger comes from
a direct ecological problem such as a toxic spill.
In fact, all three types of anxiety as categorised by Kurth can be applied
in the context of ecological problems and eco-anxiety. Punishment anxiety
is related to “the possibility of receiving negative evaluations or sanctions
from others”, while practical anxiety is “anxiety about the correct or appro-
priate thing to do”.28 Eco-anxiety has a social dimension: many people feel
anxiety about their practical choices as regards environmental issues. They
fear embarrassment in front of others if they behave against the social rules
of their group or of the wider community. Sociologists and other scholars
have studied the social dimensions of environmental behaviour,29 but more
work is needed in order to integrate the depth of eco-anxiety dynamics into
these studies. In different situations, both guilt and pride can motivate peo-
ple into sustainable action.
Kurth’s term “practical anxiety” can be used to capture the practical,
and ethically and psychologically necessary, dimension of eco-anxiety. As
an emotion, anxiety guides people to act in more constructive ways. The
problem is not anxiety itself, but the cases when there is too much or too
little anxiety.
Kurth discusses existential anxiety only briefly, but I regard it as essential
to eco-anxiety. Philosopher and theologian Paul Tillich’s model of existen-
tial anxiety can be applied into eco-anxiety:
1 Anxiety about fate and death.

2 Anxiety about emptiness and meaninglessness.
3 Anxiety about guilt and condemnation.30
In small-group work within a therapeutic and safe setting, it has been noted
that environmentally worried people bring up “existential fears about
impermanence, death and non-existence”.31 I have noticed this also in my
own work as a leader of workshops which provide a safe space for shar-
ing deep thoughts and emotions related to the ecological crisis. The strong
feelings of guilt have been noted in many studies; shame has been much
less studied and further research on “eco-shame” would be very important,
since there are strong hints of its significant existence.32 The concerns about
the significance or meaning of life, on the one hand, are deep existential
questions on their own, but on the other hand, they are also closely linked
with some often-discussed problems related to environmental behaviour.
Individuals often believe that their actions do not have any significance in
the face of global environmental problems. It is easy to feel powerless, help-
less, and insignificant.33
Tillich thought that death anxiety is a kind of basic anxiety which has con-
nections to all other anxieties.34 All human life, all creature life, takes place
within the limits of mortality. The connections between death anxiety and
eco-anxiety have been less studied, but the so-called Terror Management
Theory has been applied to this point. It has been shown that the ecological
crisis often reminds people of death or the possibility of death, which can
cause people to utilise primitive defences against such messages and situa-
tions.35 Because of this, “education in mortality”, or death education, can
be a profound way to help people to face the ecological crisis. Scholars of
environmental education have only recently started to probe this important
question.36 As I will discuss following, this is an area in which the religious
communities, with their long experience of encountering mortality, have
many possibilities.
Closely related to eco-anxiety is ecological grief: sorrow because of losses
related to ecological problems. Ecological grief, sometimes called environ-
mental grief, has recently become a field of study of its own.37 Unprocessed
grief often transforms into anxiety. Thus, in order to enable people to live
with eco-anxiety without being overcome by its negative effects, there have
to be opportunities and resources for encountering (ecological) grief. This is
yet another area where religious communities have long-term general expe-
rience, which now needs to be explicitly adapted into ways of dealing with
eco-anxiety and ecological grief.38 As Clinebell has already observed, mourn-
ing practices connected to natural environments and ecological themes help
with both eco-anxiety and general death anxiety.39
Empowerment, meaning-making and hope

Many people have felt that it is more efficient to approach issues through
positivity and by emphasising things other than difficult emotions and anxi-
ety. Would it not be better to be more positive and to stress that the prob-
lems can be solved? This debate between optimism and “doom-saying”
has been underway for a long time in environmental communication and
philosophy.40
On one hand, I agree on the importance of empowerment and a sense of
efficacy, but on the other hand, I strongly emphasise the need to encounter
dark and difficult emotions. People have them already: we cannot avoid
anxiety simply by ignoring its existence. Silence about difficult emotions
causes much distress for many people.41 Therefore, the way forward towards
more empowerment and efficacy goes through the terrain of the dark emo-
tions. Emotions are part of life and while there can be movement from, for
example, (ecological) trauma to posttraumatic growth, the challenge of liv-
ing with dark emotions is lifelong. It is possible to move forward from para-
lysing eco-anxiety, but at least milder forms of eco-anxiety will continue to
manifest themselves.42
This is even more evident because the ecological problems seem to grow
rapidly. There is careful scholarly work which shows the tendencies among
many scientists, not to mention politicians, to underestimate the risks related
to climate change and other ecological problems.43 The current scientific
evidence from around the world shows that climate change is proceeding
188 Panu Pihkala
much more rapidly than had been presumed. Thus, at the moment, it seems
highly likely that there will be a growing need to be able to deal with anxi-
ety produced by ecological and social circumstances which are getting more
difficult.
What is required can be called meaning-making: the ability to maintain
resilience and a sense of meaning in difficult circumstances. This is closely
related to hope. Among the many different conceptions of hope, I, along
many other environmentalists, emphasise the need for “resolute hope”,
which is differentiated from pure optimism.44 Hope which is linked with
meaningfulness, even though we cannot know if there will be success, can
sustain us even in dark times. This kind of hope has been called “authentic
hope” or “radical hope”.45
The psychologist and environmental education scholar Maria Ojala has
done a great deal of research on climate change attitudes and emotions,
especially among young people. She distinguishes between “false hope”,
which means wishful thinking, and “constructive hope”, which is more real-
istic and is linked to personal participation in adaptation and mitigation.
Ojala advocates “meaning-focused coping”, a combination of problem-
focused and emotion-focused coping, whereby the key point is to maintain a
sense of meaning.46 I agree with Ojala and emphasise the need for existential
hope; many people have pursued this through Victor Frankl’s approach of
meaning-making.47
Thus, there are two imperatives: there must be enough ways to encoun-
ter dark emotions and enough opportunities for action. Both are related
to meaning-making and hope. Resilience, the ability to survive sufficiently
intact through changes, includes the dimensions of emotional resilience48
and existential resilience.49
Previous theology and spirituality related to eco-anxiety

Before describing and delineating my own constructive approach to a liber-
ating contextual theology of eco-anxiety, I will first give an introduction to
certain existing resources for such a theology and spirituality.
Ecotheology and eco-anxiety

Christian environmental theology, comprising both thought and action, is
often called ecotheology (or ecological theology). A wider ecotheological
movement was generated gradually from 1970 onwards, but in my earlier
studies, I have shown that in the first half of the 20th century there were
already significant, albeit often scattered, forms of Christian ecotheology.50
There has been much ecotheology which has been explicitly contextual.
Ecumenical ecotheology in general has been much influenced by some
famous (explicitly) contextual theologies, such as theologies of liberation
from South America. While there have been scattered discussions about
dealing with difficult emotions related to the suffering of creation, overall
the themes of eco-anxiety and ecological grief have received surprisingly
little attention in ecotheological writing or in studies about religion and
ecology.51 Psychology has not featured as a major discussion partner in eco-
theology, with the few exceptions that I will discuss following.
Regarding existential anxiety, the so-called “existential theologians”
(theologians who apply existential philosophy and related themes; his-
torically, for example, Rudolph Bultmann) would be, in principle, well-
equipped to discuss eco-anxiety as existential anxiety, but to my knowledge
this has not yet happened to any great extent. One of the reasons, besides
general socially constructed silence about eco-anxiety, is the fact that many
existential theologians have not had much in the way of ecological sensi-
bilities. However, there are exceptions, starting with Paul Tillich. Although
this is not well known, Tillich discussed environmental concerns to a sig-
nificant extent, and he even ventured to ponder on shame and environmental
problems.52
Joanna Macy
The single most important pioneer in developing psychosocial and spiritual
tools for dealing with eco-anxiety has been Joanna Macy. Macy is a writer,
scholar, activist, and spiritual leader, who has worked on several continents.
Originally Christian, Macy later became a Buddhist, and she links both sys-
tems theory and Buddhism into her Deep Ecology53-oriented thought. How-
ever, there is a certain openness towards various spiritualities and religions
in her thought, such as the poetic and sometimes radical Christian theology
of Rainer Maria Rilke and indigenous spiritualities.54
Macy’s approach bears strong similarities to the so-called Creation
Spirituality-style ecotheology (for example, Matthew Fox, Thomas Berry,
Brian Swimme), which has an elementary emphasis on interconnectedness
and what Willis Jenkins calls ecological subjectivity.55 The sacred is encoun-
tered amidst natural life in all its variety.
The threat of nuclear pollution became a key interest for Macy in the
1970s and 1980s, and in 1983 she published a book called Despair and
Personal Power in the Nuclear Age.56 “Nuclear anxiety” and eco-anxiety
do have much in common.57 The work that Macy and her colleagues did
in producing ways to encounter difficult emotions, such as despair, took
seed in many countries and later developed into forms which explicitly dealt
with other ecological concerns as well. Originally, this work was explicitly
linked to Deep Ecology, but later it was named “The Work that Recon-
nects”. An extensive manual on leading workshops and sessions was pub-
lished, websites were created, and education for facilitators was provided.58
The influence and impact of Macy’s work has been enormous. Her ideas
about the need to face what she calls “our pain for the world” are found, in
one way or another, in the background of nearly all later forms of materials
190 Panu Pihkala
and activities which have been designed to deal with difficult emotions
related to the ecological crisis.59
Key words related to difficult emotions in these materials were grief,
despair, and pain; not exactly anxiety, but in substance, Macy’s work deals
extensively with what others call anxiety. The dark emotions that Macy con-
fronts are exactly those which easily cause anxiety if they are not encoun-
tered and “held” in a safe space. The model developed by Macy has four
stages, which can be repeated over and over:
1 Coming from gratitude.

2 Honouring our pain for the world.
3 Seeing with new eyes.
4 Going forth.60
In Macy’s model, there is encouragement to action, but this is closely tied

to the emotion-processing activities. Macy highlights the importance of
“holding actions” which try to prevent damage to ecosystems through non-
violent resistance which is strengthened by a spiritual connection to the
universe.61
Christian resources
An early pioneer in applying insights from Macy and other ecopsycholo-
gists was Howard Clinebell (1922–2005), an influential pioneer of pastoral
psychology. In his later years, Clinebell published a book called Ecotherapy,
which is a comprehensive account of the psychological tasks for ecotheol-
ogy. This very creative book, which also includes discussion about “eco-
logical angst”,62 was ahead of its time and is unfortunately not very widely
known. It includes a lot of material and many exercises which are still most
relevant, and I warmly recommend this book. Its major focus is on the need
for healing, but the dimension of environmental action is also included.
Another Christian writer who has ventured deep into the existential
dimension of the ecological crisis is the Scottish activist and writer Alistair
McIntosh. His book Hell and High Water: Climate Change, Hope, and the
Human Condition probes deep into the psychosocial aspects of the era of
climate change. McIntosh does not use the term eco-anxiety, but he dis-
cusses numerous themes which are related to it, such as despair, guilt, and
the need to find forgiveness.63 Robert C. Saler has developed certain similar
themes in his articles.64
Two writers who have addressed ecological grief (without using this exact
term) from Christian perspectives are Douglas Christie and Steven Chase.
Christie provides a book-length discussion of contemplative practice in the
era of ecological crisis, drawing from patristic theology and environmental
transcendentalists such as Henry David Thoreau. Christie offers resources
for ecological grief and death education.65 Chase has written a two-part
book entitled Nature as Spiritual Practice, creatively combining traditional
Christian spiritual practices with ecological themes. His books include exer-
cises for writing ecological lamentations, as well as songs of gratitude for
what still remains.66
From among social theologians, I mention Cynthia Moe-Lobeda’s book
Resisting Structural Evil. The main focus of the book is on ethical action
and on the need to see the structural, systemic nature of the problems, but
the dimension of emotions and healing is also present, especially as regards
grief and guilt.67 Among pastoral theologians, Ryan LaMothe has called for
more emphasis on “ecological trauma” and the ways in which the ecological
crisis affects the whole discipline.68
There are evidently other important authors who have written on related
themes. I believe that much good would come from a project which would
apply the wisdom generated in various (explicitly) contextual theologies
to theology of eco-anxiety. For example, there might be rituals and small-
group work in theologies of liberation which touch upon eco-anxiety and
ecological grief; there simply is no common international field yet in which
information about such resources could be shared. It should be remembered
that this is at the same time anxiety and grief related to both humans and
other life forms.
A constructive theology of eco-anxiety

Theology of eco-anxiety is liberating in several ways. People, even in the
industrialised countries, are in many ways oppressed by the current global
economic and political system: it is generating damage to both ecosystems
and people, and this damage includes psychological impacts. Dealing with
eco-anxiety through both action and emotional work can be profoundly
liberating. In addition, there are several groups of people who are especially
burdened by eco-anxiety, such as young people69 and environmentalists.
Environmentalists have extensive exposure to eco-anxiety and ecological
grief, but often very little opportunity to share difficult emotions.70
Explicit contextual theology of eco-anxiety is on the rise in several coun-
tries. There have been scattered activities relating to it in the United States.
In Spring 2019, for example, the GreenChristian organisation in the United
Kingdom organised activities for encountering eco-anxiety and ecologi-
cal grief,71 and there was a session in Australia about “Climate Pastoral
Care”.72 I earlier developed a model of eco-anxiety as a pastoral challenge,
based on ecumenical and Lutheran theology.73
Internationally, in the new environmental movement called Extinction
Rebellion, there has been from the start a focus on dealing with the emo-
tions as well. One of the principles and values of the organisation is that
“we avoid blaming and shaming: We live in a toxic system, but no one
individual is to blame”.74 In addition to civil disobedience activities, ses-
sions have been organised where people can share difficult emotions. Many
192 Panu Pihkala
Christians have participated in Extinction Rebellion activities and the sup-
port for the movement by the former Anglican Archbishop Rowan Williams
has been noted.75 Personally, I have led workshops on emotional work relat-
ing to eco-anxiety for Extinction Rebellion Finland.76
Finnish theology of eco-anxiety

As I mentioned in the introduction, I focus in this chapter on the context
of industrialised countries, on people who are not the poorest and the most
marginalised, and especially in the Finnish context. In what follows, I will
describe the Finnish movement related to eco-anxiety, hope, and theology,
and I will provide an agenda for a theology of eco-anxiety. However, I wish
to emphasise that there is a need for other takes on theology of eco-anxiety,
written and practised by people from various contexts. For example, there is
profound climate anxiety in the Pacific Islands where the sea level is rising,
but I am not the right person to write about that.
A liberating contextual theology of eco-anxiety recognises the need to
encounter dark emotions, and dares to hope and act at the same time. It
is built on “authentic”, “realistic”, or “radical” hope: hope which is not
optimism, but finds life meaningful even in dire circumstances. My proposal
for such a theology has been partly influenced by ecumenical ecotheology,
which has its own roots in various explicitly contextual theologies, and by
the so-called “realist theologians” from the mid-20th century, such as Dan-
iel Day Williams, the Niebuhr brothers, and Joseph Sittler.77
During recent years, I have witnessed the birth of a vague but notable
movement in Finland which has practised an explicit contextual theology
of eco-anxiety and hope. The leading figures have been few, a handful of
people, but the message has spread widely and many people have joined in
organising various activities. This has been a people’s movement, although
I have spent a lot of energy on leading and developing it. Sometimes this
movement has operated in the frames of openly Christian theology, some-
times in a manner more like “secular theology”: theology-based reflections
and activities, which have been offered without an explicit Christian frame.
The majority of Finns still belong to Christian churches, although they are
usually not active participants. Thus, in public sessions which deal with eco-
anxiety, there are practically always Christians present.
Important elements of this Finnish activity have been
• Giving voice to the voiceless, this time meaning those who suffer from
eco-anxiety and ecological grief, but who have suffered from socially
constructed silence. This has been done by writing stories about eco-
anxiety in all kinds of journals and newspapers, large and small, and
by several leading figures of the movement (most extensively myself)
participating in television and radio interviews. In the background has
been the attention gathered by my book about eco-anxiety and hope,
published in Finnish in October 2017.78
• Developing and conducting small-group sessions, both in congrega-
tional spaces and in public libraries, where people have received the
chance to discuss and share their dark ecological emotions in a safe
space.
• Designing and leading grief rituals for both acute loss and anticipated
loss in relation to ecological themes. In Finland, the theme has often
been lament, either for felled forests or for climate change.
• Public witness to politicians, members of the parliaments, business peo-
ple, and various non-governmental organisations (NGOs). This has
happened through media, various conferences and seminars, and by
designing sessions fit for special NGOs.
As a result of this and endeavours by psychologists, there is now a national

discussion and growing recognition about eco-anxiety in Finland, and some
influence of this has spread to other countries.79
Among Finnish Christians, there have for a long time been various forms
of environmentalism, although the situation has been complex. The main
Christian church in Finland, the Evangelical Lutheran, has so many mem-
bers that there are various opinions about environmental issues. Still, there
has been Christian endorsement for nature preservation since the late 19th
century. This was started especially by Zacharias Topelius, a Lutheran edu-
cator and churchman, and continued by others in the 20th century.80 In the
1980s, more institutional support for ecotheology was gained in the church.
Since the 1990s, there has been an active group of people working for the
greening of the congregations, with the support of the Church Council.81
Scholars of theology and religion from both the University of Helsinki and
Åbo Akademi have participated in ecotheological efforts. The recent activity
as regards eco-anxiety and hope has found many proponents and supporters
among these people, who have already had an environmental interest, but
new recruits have also appeared.
Elements of a Christian theology of eco-anxiety and hope

On the one hand, Christians can benefit from many of the activities and
approaches which have been developed in the general movement related
to eco-anxiety. For example, many of Joanna Macy’s activities can, and
have, been used in Christian congregations. However, Christians have
some strengths of their own (and of course, some challenges of their
own) for such activities. Following, I describe several key points related
to various elements of Christian theology and congregational life as
regards eco-anxiety and hope. Because there is already much literature
on the possibilities for practical environmental action in congregations,
194 Panu Pihkala
I focus here on aspects which have a strong dimension of dealing with
the emotional side of the issues.
Encountering suffering, grief, and mortality

Christian theology and congregations have much experience of living with
suffering, practising compassion for those who are in sorrow, and providing
people with resources to deal with the fact that they are mortals. These skills
are not prevalent in the general atmosphere of industrialised societies, which
makes the potential contributions of Christians very powerful. The “pas-
siological skills”, which Sigurd Bergmann has discussed,82 are very much
needed amidst the ecological crisis.
Skills of encountering mortality have been discussed in relation to ecolog-
ical grief by the aforementioned writers Chase and Christie, and in relation
to eco-anxiety by myself.83 The ancient Christian attitude of remembering
human mortality and practising joy and compassion at the same time is in
high demand in the current ecological crisis. There has begun to appear gen-
eral literature about “learning to die in the Anthropocene”, but this litera-
ture, albeit insightful, is very stoic in nature.84 There is a need for Christian
interpretations of the same existential challenge.
Spiritual care and pastoral care

Numerous people are in need of spiritual and pastoral care because of the
ecological crisis.85 Christians have a profound task and opportunity to help
people. However, this requires understanding of the predicament which
humanity is now in. Both action and rest are needed. Spiritual care in our
times should not be just therapy which lets unsustainable practices be, but
neither should its only purpose be to increase capacity for sustainable con-
sumption choices. There is a need for deeper encounters with the dark emo-
tions. For example, hidden eco-shame presents difficulties. A lot of people
suffer from always feeling inadequate. Simply telling them that they are
righteous or forgiven does not work; in Tillich’s phrasing, people should be
able to “accept that they are accepted”.86
In the history of Christian faith, there have been many ways in which
believers have provided each other pastoral care; it has not been the task
of only the pastors.87 Since the communal aspects of finding meaning and
mutual acceptance are so crucial amidst the ecological crisis, there is a need
for strengthening both pastor-led and mutual pastoral care in relation to
eco-anxiety.
Diakonia
The ancient Christian notion of service now applies to both humans and
other creatures, towards Creation.88 Those people who suffer greatly from
eco-anxiety and are rendered weak or voiceless are targets of “diakonia”.89
However, “diakonia” can also be a channel which offers people opportuni-
ties to help others. This strengthens resilience and a sense of efficacy, which
are elementary for psychological survival and wellbeing. The kind of activi-
ties which Macy calls “holding actions” have been taken by Christians in
many parts of the world, including Christians protesting against the oil
pipeline plans in North America or against the cutting down of the rainfor-
ests in South America.
There are several kinds of possible actions, and providing emotional and
spiritual support is also one of these. Not everyone feels at home in dem-
onstrations, but there are other possible tasks available, such as helping
children to cope with climate anxiety or assisting local adaptation and miti-
gation activities. This can be framed as increasing both individual resilience
and community resilience.90 In these tasks, spirituality and religious com-
munities have been perceived to be in an important position.91
Education
There is a need and a possibility to integrate environmental education which
includes both a sense of tragedy and a sense of hope and meaningfulness
into religious education. There are resources available in the field of envi-
ronmental education for this,92 but there is work to do for Christians in
integrating theology and practical Christian spirituality into them.93
Worship
Because Christians have a hope that is related to both the visible and invis-
ible world – one which is eschatological, both immanent and transcendent –
they have special resources for practising radical joy and compassion amidst
the growing ecological crisis. This joy and compassion should inform Chris-
tian education and worship life. Liturgy has always comprised both joy and
sadness; now these elements resonate within a world characterised more and
more by climate crisis and other ecological catastrophes. The efforts towards
“greening” Christian worship life should be explicitly integrated with an
increased understanding of the seriousness of eco-anxiety, ecological grief,
and “eco-guilt”.94 The recent work in studies on religion and ecology about
ritual and ecological emotions provides important resources for this work.95
Bible studies, study groups

The biblical texts offer many moving and deep depictions of various dark
emotions and of people finding hope in the midst of difficult circumstances.
There are many possibilities for Bible studies and study groups on themes
related to eco-anxiety and hope. Some resources for this can be found in
existing literature on ecological hermeneutics.96
196 Panu Pihkala
Places, spaces, and art
Congregations have many spaces which they can use creatively to provide
people with opportunities to engage with eco-anxiety and hope. Because
eco-anxiety can be difficult to face, holistic and embodied methods can help
in this. Various forms of art and architecture can enable easily accessible but
profoundly moving instances of encountering difficult emotions.97 There are
resources for this in art-based environmental education.98
Concluding remarks: towards the future

It is impossible for me to express how much this discussion about eco-
anxiety has helped me.
– feedback from a reader of my book on eco-anxiety99
In this final section, I will briefly discuss the present and future challenges
of the Finnish theology of eco-anxiety and its public implications. For this
purpose, I also have to dwell a bit on recent history.
I have not collected actual academic data of the liberating results of my –
and our – work on the theology of eco-anxiety, but I have several email mes-
sages and many personal experiences where people speak of profound relief.
Especially in the winter of 2017–2018, a major change happened: socially
constructed silence about climate change and eco-anxiety, including climate
anxiety, was shattered in Finland. Lots of people were greatly relieved to
be able to finally speak of their ecological emotions. The very fact that one
receives public recognition for eco-anxiety can be uplifting. Many people
have also sent or expressed feedback for the practical tips I have offered (for
example, “10 Recommendations for People with Eco-Anxiety”100).
In 2019, I and several other members of our vague eco-anxiety movement
took part in organising more public advocacy, social support, and research
projects. Various organisations, both in the social and health sectors and
in education, have now started to offer support structures for people who
suffer from eco-anxiety. Many groups or segments of people have provided
contextual versions of their own for the alleviation of eco-anxiety, often
drawing from the resources produced by me and others. For example, young
climate activists have developed forms of eco-anxiety self-care and organ-
ised social gatherings where various dark emotions, including climate grief,
have been shared and processed. We now have some research on the various
emotions that Finns have in relation to eco-anxiety and climate anxiety.101
On one hand, we have witnessed liberating effects of theology of eco-
anxiety (and its secular versions). But, on the other hand, there has also
been backlash. Especially in winter 2019, several right-wing populists
framed eco-anxiety and climate anxiety as something unnecessary and fool-
ish. This is linked to wider phenomena which are studied in the field of
political emotions.102 There are explicit and implicit norms and power struc-
tures related to emotions and the public expression – or non-expression – of
them. Certain groups of people have desired to portray almost any public
expression of emotion as non-rational and foolish. Eco-anxiety and climate
grief, to name two examples, have been challenged by some groups of this
kind. This is usually linked to views that it is not necessary to make any
rapid changes in environmental behaviour or legislation.
Reality is always complex, but if generalisations are made, certain factors
related to people become connected with resistance towards recognition of
eco-anxiety. For example, such recognition has been difficult for many older
people and many men. These phenomena have direct implications for eco-
anxiety discussions in such contexts as schools or congregations.
In schools and educational institutes, there have been both bold new ini-
tiatives in encountering eco-anxiety and resistance towards encountering
the whole issue. In Finnish congregations, many of the active members are
elderly people. Thus, in congregations, there have also been both initia-
tives and resistance. Some pastors, for example, have organised discussions
and liturgies related to encountering ecological emotions in confirmation
school camps. But many members of the parish councils – the local decision-
making bodies – are sceptical of the validity of eco-anxiety, or at least they
insist that younger people should move rapidly from anxiety into action.
I mention these examples because I presume that similar things may well
happen in other countries where eco-anxiety will become a wider topic of
discussion. It remains to be seen what the relationship of various strands of
Christianity with environmental issues and eco-anxiety will be. Psychosocial
pressures are rising as environmental damage and the impacts of climate
change intensify. Which groups of people will turn towards denial, disa-
vowal, and distancing? And which groups of people will bravely try to face
the situation with honesty and effort?103
In the Finnish theology of eco-anxiety, we – and I – have stressed the need
both for acknowledging ambiguity and for action. This makes it possible to
avoid black-and-white thinking and increases the ability to feel both grief
and joy. Regardless of what the future brings, there is potential to find hope
in the sense of meaning-making in the common struggle for human rights
and ecological flourishing. This kind of hope is movingly summarised by
Vaclav Havel: “Hope, in this deep and powerful sense, is not the same as joy
that things are going well . . . but, rather, an ability to work for something
because it is good”.104
Notes
1 Panu Pihkala, Päin helvettiä? Ympäristöahdistus ja toivo (Helsinki: Kirjapaja,
2017), 89.
2 Dieter Gerten and Sigurd Bergmann, “Facing the Human Faces of Climate
Change,” in Religion in Environmental and Climate Change: Suffering, Values,
198 Panu Pihkala
Lifestyles, eds. Dieter Gerten and Sigurd Bergmann (New York: Bloomsbury
Publishing, 2012), 3–15, 3–4.
3 Susan Clayton, Christie Manning, and Caroline Hodge, Beyond Storms and
Droughts: The Psychological Impacts of Climate Change (Washington, DC:
APA and ecoAmerica, 2014); Inka Weissbecker, ed., Climate Change and
Human Well-Being: Global Challenges and Opportunities (New York: Springer,
2011); Graham L. Bradley, Joseph P. Reser, A. Ian Glendon, et al., “Distress and
Coping in Response to Climate Change,” in Stress and Anxiety: Applications
to Social and Environmental Threats, Psychological Well-being, Occupational
Challenges, and Developmental Psychology Climate Change, eds. K. Kaniasty,
K. A. Moore and S. Howard (Berlin: Logos Verlag, 2014), 33–42.
4 Panu Pihkala, “Eco-Anxiety, Tragedy, and Hope: Psychological and Spiritual
Dimensions of Climate Change,” Zygon 53 (2018): 545–69.
5 Susan Clayton, Christie M. Manning, Kirra Krygsman, and Meighen Speiser,
Mental Health and Our Changing Climate: Impacts, Implications, and Guidance
(Washington, DC: APA and EcoAmerica, 2017), 68.
6 Glenn Albrecht, “Psychoterratic Conditions in a Scientific and Technological
World,” in Ecopsychology: Science, Totems, and the Technological Species,
eds. Peter H. Kahn and Patricia H. Hasbach (Cambridge: MIT Press, 2012),
241–64, 250.
7 Robert C. Solomon and Lori D. Stone, “On ‘Positive’ and ‘Negative’ Emo-
tions,” Journal for the Theory of Social Behaviour 32 (2002): 417–35; Miriam
Greenspan, Healing through the Dark Emotions: The Wisdom of Grief, Fear,
and Despair (Boulder: Shambhala, 2004).
8 For a prosaic account of this, which also discusses science, see Dahr Jamail, End
of Ice: Bearing Witness and Finding Meaning in the Path of Climate Disruption
(New York: The New Press, 2019).
9 For an overview of climate justice, see Tahseen Jafry, ed., Routledge Handbook
of Climate Justice (London and New York: Routledge, Taylor & Francis Group,
2019); for the Christian roots of eco-justice movements, see Dieter T. Hessel,
“Eco-Justice Ethics,” Forum on Religion and Ecology at Yale, 2007, accessed
February 20, 2020, http://fore.yale.edu/disciplines/ethics/eco-justice/.
10 See my report for the Finnish Mental Health Society: Panu Pihkala, Climate
Anxiety (Helsinki: MIELI Mental Health Finland, 2019), https://mieli.fi/en/
raportit/climate-anxiety.
11 For case studies (in Finnish), see Hanna Nikkanen, ed., Hyvän sään aikana: Mitä
Suomi tekee kun ilmastonmuutos muuttaa kaiken (Helsinki: Into Kustannus,
2017).
12 Glenn Albrecht, Earth Emotions: New Words for a New World (Ithaca: Cornell
University Press, 2019).
13 Clayton, Manning, and Hodge, Beyond Storms and Droughts; Clayton, Man-
ning, Krygsman, and Speiser, Mental Health and Our Changing Climate.
14 Brenda Cossman, “Anxiety Governance,” Law and Social Inquiry 38 (2013):
892–919.
15 Clayton, Manning, Krygsman, and Speiser, Mental Health and Our Changing
Climate.
16 For examples, see Zoë Schlanger, “We Need to Talk about ‘Ecoanxiety’: Cli-
mate Change Is Causing PTSD, Anxiety, and Depression on a Mass Scale,”
Quartz, April 3, 2017, accessed February 20, 2020, https://qz.com/948909/
ecoanxiety-the-american-psychological-association-says-climate-change-is-
causing-ptsd-anxiety-and-depression-on-a-mass-scale; Dave Fawbert, “ ‘Eco-
Anxiety’: How to Spot It and What to Do about It,” BBC, March 27, 2019,
accessed February 20, 2020, www.bbc.co.uk/bbcthree/article/b2e7ee32-ad28-
4ec4-89aa-a8b8c98f95a5.
17 See, for example, Heidi Väärämäki, “Stressiä luonnosta,” Helsingin Sanomat,
February 8, 2019, accessed February 20, 2020, www.hs.fi/hyvinvointi/art-
2000005993260.html; Maria Ojala, “Eco-Anxiety,” RSA Journal 4 (2019):
10–15, https://medium.com/rsa-journal/eco-anxiety-323056def77f.
18 Albrecht, Earth Emotions; Anna Kelly, “Eco-Anxiety at University: Student Expe-
riences and Academic Perspectives on Cultivating Healthy Emotional Responses
to the Climate Crisis,” Independent Study Project (ISP) Collection 2642 (2017),
http://digitalcollections.sit.edu/isp_collection/2642; Alex Fletcher, “Humans
in the Headlights: Frozen in the Path of a Climate Catastrophe,” The Sydney
Morning Herald, March 22, 2019, www.smh.com.au/national/humans-in-the-
headlights-frozen-in-the-path-of-a-climate-catastrophe-20190320-p515uv.
html; Australian Psychological Society, Coping with Climate Change Distress,
[sine anno], accessed February 10, 2020, www.psychology.org.au/getmedia/
cf076d33-4470-415d-8acc-75f375adf2f3/coping_with_climate_change.pdf.pdf.
19 See Sally Weintrobe, ed., Engaging with Climate Change: Psychoanalytic and
Interdisciplinary Perspectives (London: Routledge, 2013), and especially Sally
Weintrobe, “The Difficult Problem of Anxiety in Thinking about Climate
Change,” in Engaging with Climate Change, ed. Sally Weintrobe (London:
Routledge, 2013), 33–47.
20 Joseph P. Reser, Shirley A. Morrissey, and Michelle Ellul, “The Threat of Cli-
mate Change: Psychological Response, Adaptation, and Impacts,” in Climate
Change and Human Well-Being, ed. Inka Weissbecker (New York: Springer,
2011), 19–42.
21 Kari Marie Norgaard, Living in Denial: Climate Change, Emotions, and Eve-
ryday Life (Cambridge: MIT Press, 2011); Matthew Adams, Ecological Crisis,
Sustainability and the Psychosocial Subject: Beyond Behaviour Change (Lon-
don: Palgrave Macmillan, 2016).
22 Clayton, Manning, Krygsman and Speiser, Mental Health and Our Changing Cli-
mate; Thomas J. Doherty, “Mental Health Impacts,” Climate Change and Pub-
lic Health, eds. Barry Levy and Jonathan Patz (Oxford and New York: Oxford
University Press, 2015), 195–214.
23 Albrecht, Earth Emotions.
24 Susan Bodnar, “Wasted and Bombed: Clinical Enactments of a Changing Rela-
tionship to the Earth,” Psychoanalytic Dialogues 18, no. 4 (2008): 484–512.
25 Pihkala, Climate Anxiety.
26 There is plenty of evidence of this in the public discussion in Finland and Sweden,
but as yet not much research. For climate change denial, see Kirsti Jylhä, “Denial
Versus Reality of Climate Change,” in Encyclopedia of the Anthropocene, vol. 1:
Geologic History and Energy, eds. D. DellaSala and M. Goldstein (series editors),
Scott Elias (volume editor) (Kidlington, Oxford: Elsevier, 2018), 487–92.
27 Charles Kurth, The Anxious Mind: An Investigation into the Varieties and Vir-
tues of Anxiety (Cambridge and London: MIT Press, 2018), 67–99.
28 Ibid., 69.
29 For an overview, see Katherine White, Rishad Habib, and David J. Hardisty,
“How to SHIFT Consumer Behaviors to Be More Sustainable: A Literature
Review and Guiding Framework,” Journal of Marketing 83 (2019): 22–49.
30 Paul Tillich, The Courage to Be (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1953).
31 Sally Gillespie, “Climate Change Imaginings and Depth Psychology: Reconciling
Present and Future Worlds,” in Environmental Change and the World’s Futures:
Ecologies, Ontologies and Mythologies, eds. Jonathan P. Marshall and Linda H.
Connor (New York: Routledge, 2017), 181–95, 187.
32 Donna Orange, Climate Change, Psychoanalysis, and Radical Ethics (New
York: Routledge, 2017); Robyn K. Mallett, “Eco-Guilt Motivates Eco-Friendly
Behavior,” Ecopsychology 4 (2012): 223–31.
200 Panu Pihkala
33 See the case studies in Renée Aron Lertzman, Environmental Melancholia:
Psychoanalytic Dimensions of Engagement (Hove and New York: Routledge,
2015).
34 Tillich, The Courage to Be, 14, 42.
35 See the discussion in Adams, Ecological Crisis, 109–28; Janis L. Dickinson,
“The People Paradox: Self-Esteem Striving, Immortality Ideologies, and Human
Response to Climate Change,” Ecology and Society 14 (2009): 1–17.
36 Panu Pihkala, “Environmental Education after Sustainability: Hope in the
Midst of Tragedy,” Global Discourse 7 (2017): 109–27, 115–17; Joshua Rus-
sell, “ ‘Everything Has to Die One Day’: Children’s Explorations of the Meanings
of Death in Human-Animal-Nature Relationships,” Environmental Education
Research 23, no. 1 (2017): 25–90, doi:10.1080/13504622.2016.1144175; Ram-
sey Affifi and Beth Christie, “Facing Loss: Pedagogy of Death,” Environmental
Education Research 25, no. 8 (2019): 1143–57, doi:10.1080/13504622.2018.
1446511; Elin Kelsey, “Propagating Collective Hope in the Midst of Environ-
mental Doom and Gloom,” Canadian Journal of Environmental Education 21
(2016): 23–40.
37 Ashlee Cunsolo Willox, “Climate Change as the Work of Mourning,” Ethics and
the Environment 17 (2012): 137–64; Ashlee Cunsolo Willox and Karen Land-
man, eds., Mourning Nature: Hope at the Heart of Ecological Loss and Grief
(Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2017).
38 Cf. Benjamin M. Stewart, “What’s the Right Rite? Treating Environmental Deg-
radation as Sickness or Sin,” Currents in Theology and Mission (Online) 43
(2016): 3–8.
39 Howard John Clinebell, Ecotherapy: Healing Ourselves, Healing the Earth:
A Guide to Ecologically Grounded Personality Theory, Spirituality, Therapy,
and Education (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1996), 110–12.
40 Cheryl Hall, “Beyond ‘Doom and Gloom’ Or ‘Hope and Possibility’: Making
Room for Both Sacrifice and Reward in Our Visions of a Low-Carbon Future,”
in Culture, Politics and Climate Change: How Information Shapes Our Com-
mon Future, eds. Deserai A. Crow and Maxwell T. Boykoff (London: Routledge,
2014), 23–38; Susanne C. Moser, “Whither the Heart(-to-Heart)? Prospects for
a Humanistic Turn in Environmental Communication as the World Changes
Darkly,” in Handbook on Environment and Communication, eds. Anders
Hansen and Robert Cox (London: Routledge, 2015), 402–13.
41 Molly Young Brown, “Supporting Children Emotionally in Times of Climate
Disruption,” in Education in Times of Environmental Crises: Teaching Children
to Be Agents of Change, ed. Ken Winograd (New York and London: Routledge,
2017), 195–209; Ken Winograd, “There’s No Time to Waste: Teachers, Act with
Courage and Conviction!” in Education in Times of Environmental Crises, ed.
Ken Winograd (New York and London: Routledge, 2017), 262–67.
42 For ecological trauma and climate trauma, see Panu Pihkala, “The Cost of Bear-
ing Witness to the Environmental Crisis: Vicarious Traumatization and Dealing
with Secondary Traumatic Stress among Environmental Researchers,” Social
Epistemology 34, no. 1 (2020): 86–100, doi:10.1080/02691728.2019.1681560;
Zhiwa Woodbury, “Climate Trauma: Towards a New Taxonomy of Trauma,”
Ecopsychology 11, no. 1 (2019): 1–8, doi:10.1089/eco.2018.0021; Robert J.
Brulle and Kari Marie Norgaard, “Avoiding Cultural Trauma: Climate Change
and Social Inertia,” Environmental Politics 28, no. 5 (2019): 886–908, doi:10.1
080/09644016.2018.1562138.
43 David Spratt and Ian Dunlop, Existential Climate-Related Security Risk: A Sce-
nario Approach (Melbourne, Australia: Breakthrough – National Centre for Cli-
mate Restoration, 2019).
44 See the discussion about varieties of hope in Darren Webb, “Modes of Hoping,”
History of the Human Sciences 20, no. 3 (2007): 65–83.
45 David W. Orr, Down to the Wire: Confronting Climate Collapse (Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 2009).
46 Maria Ojala, “Hope and Anticipation in Education for a Sustainable Future,”
Futures 94 (2017): 76–84; Maria Ojala, “Facing Anxiety in Climate Change
Education: From Therapeutic Practice to Hopeful Transgressive Learning,”
Canadian Journal of Environmental Education 21 (2016): 41–56; Maria Ojala,
“Regulating Worry, Promoting Hope: How do Children, Adolescents, and
Young Adults Cope with Climate Change?” International Journal of Environ-
mental and Science Education 7 (2012): 537–61.
47 Tamasin Ramsay and Lenore Manderson, “Resilience, Spirituality and Posttrau-
matic Growth: Reshaping the Effects of Climate Change,” in Climate Change
and Human Well-Being, ed. Inka Weissbecker (New York: Springer, 2011),
165–84; Viktor Frankl, Man’s Search for Meaning (Boston: Beacon Press, 2006
[1946]); Sigurd Bergmann, ed., Eschatology as Imaging the End: Faith between
Hope and Despair (London and New York: Routledge, 2018).
48 Leslie Davenport, Emotional Resiliency in the Era of Climate Change: A Clini-
cian’s Guide (London: Jessica Kingsley Publishers, 2017).
49 Panu Pihkala, Mieli maassa? Ympäristötunteet [Feeling Down? Ecological Emo-
tions] (Helsinki: Kirjapaja, 2019).
50 Panu Pihkala, Early Ecotheology and Joseph Sittler, Studies in Religion and the
Environment 12 (Zürich: LIT Verlag, 2017); Cf. Roderick Frazier Nash, The
Rights of Nature: A History of Environmental Ethics (Madison: University of
Wisconsin Press, 1989).
51 For introductions to the field of religion and ecology, see Willis Jenkins, Mary
Evelyn Tucker, and John Grim, eds., Routledge Handbook of Religion and Ecol-
ogy (London and New York: Routledge, 2016), accessed February 10, 2020,
www.religionandnature.com.
52 See Pihkala, Early Ecotheology and Joseph Sittler; Pihkala, “Eco-Anxiety, Trag-
edy, and Hope.”
53 Deep Ecology is a movement and strand of thought which emphasises that
humans need a very deep understanding of the interconnectedness of humans
and the rest of nature, and of the intrinsic value of non-human nature. This
results in a profound emphasis on environmental protection, and is separated
from “shallow ecology”. The key historical figure of Deep Ecology was the Nor-
wegian eco-philosopher Arne Næss (1912–2009). See further Bron Taylor and
Michael Zimmerman, “Deep Ecology,” in The Encyclopedia of Religion and
Nature, ed. Bron Raymond Taylor (New York: Continuum, 2005), 456–60.
54 Craig S. Strobel, “Macy, Joanna (1929–),” in The Encyclopedia of Reli-
gion and Nature, ed. Bron Raymond Taylor (New York: Continuum, 2005),
1019–20; Joanna Macy and Krista Tippett, “Joanna Macy: A Wild Love for
the World,” interview on On Being with Krista Tippett, original air date Sep-
tember 16, 2010, accessed February 10, 2020, https://onbeing.org/programs/
joanna-macy-a-wild-love-for-the-world/.
55 See Willis Jenkins, Ecologies of Grace: Environmental Ethics and Christian The-
ology (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2008).
56 Joanna Macy, Despair and Personal Power in the Nuclear Age (Philadelphia:
New Society Publishers, 1983).
57 See Robert Jay Lifton, The Climate Swerve: Reflections on Mind, Hope, and
Survival (New York and London: The New Press, 2017).
58 Joanna Macy and Molly Young Brown, Coming Back to Life: The Updated
Guide to the Work that Reconnects (Gabriola Island: New Society Publishers,
2014 [1998]), https://workthatreconnects.org.
59 Cf., for example, Theodore Roszak, Mary E. Gomes, and Allen D. Kanner, eds.,
Ecopsychology: Restoring the Earth, Healing the Mind (Berkeley: Counterpoint,
1995), 240.
202 Panu Pihkala
60 Macy and Brown, Coming Back to Life; Joanna Macy and Chris Johnstone,
Active Hope: How to Face the Mess we’re in without Going Crazy (Novato:
New World Library, 2012).
61 Macy and Brown, Coming Back to Life, 6–9; Macy and Johnstone, Active Hope,
28–29.
62 Clinebell, Ecotherapy, 13, 31–32.
63 Alastair McIntosh, Hell and High Water: Climate Change, Hope and the Human
Condition (Edinburgh: Birlinn, 2008).
64 Robert C. Saler, “The Earth, the Road, and the Tomb: The Mortality of the Earth and
Care for Creation,” The Cresset LXXVII (2013): 50–52, http://thecresset.org/2013/
Lent/Saler_L2013.html; Robert C. Saler, “Pastoral Care and Ecological Devastation:
Un-Interpreting the Silence,” Journal of Lutheran Ethics 16, no. 2 (2016), https://
elca.org/JLE/Articles/1140?_ga=1.206386259.1572275884.1459845670.
65 Douglas E. Christie, The Blue Sapphire of the Mind: Notes for a Contemplative
Ecology (New York: Oxford University Press, 2013).
66 Steven Chase, Nature as Spiritual Practice (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2011);
Steven Chase, A Field Guide to Nature as Spiritual Practice (Grand Rapids:
Eerdmans, 2011).
67 Cynthia D. Moe-Lobeda, Resisting Structural Evil: Love as Ecological-
Economic Vocation (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2013).
68 Ryan LaMothe, “This Changes Everything: The Sixth Extinction and Its Impli-
cations for Pastoral Theology,” Journal of Pastoral Theology 26, no. 3 (2016):
178–94, doi:10.1080/10649867.2016.1275929.
69 Ojala, “Eco-Anxiety.”
70 Pihkala, “The Cost of Bearing Witness to the Environmental Crisis”; Paul Hog-
gett and Rosemary Randall, “Engaging with Climate Change: Comparing the
Cultures of Science and Activism,” Environmental Values 27 (2018): 223–43.
71 See https://greenchristian.org.uk/responding-to-climate-grief-and-eco-anxiety-
could-you-help/, April 4, 2019, accessed February 10, 2020.
72 See https://ume.nswact.uca.org.au/event/climate-pastoral-care-training-201905
28/, April 10, 2019, accessed February 10, 2020.
73 Panu Pihkala, “The Pastoral Challenge of the Eco-Reformation: Environmental
Anxiety and Lutheran ‘Eco-Reformation,’ ” Dialog: A Journal of Theology 55
(2016): 131–40.
74 https://rebellion.earth/the-truth/about-us/.
75 Matthew Taylor, “Rowan Williams Says Pupils Are Right to Protest over Climate,”
The Guardian, March 10, 2019, www.theguardian.com/environment/2019/
mar/10/rowan-williams-school-pupil-climate-protests.
76 Panu Pihkala, “Extinction Rebellion, Eco-Anxiety and Christian Faith,” Plan-
etwise Blog, A Rocha International, April 18, 2019, https://blog.arocha.org/en/
extinction-rebellion-eco-anxiety-and-christian-faith/.
77 See Pihkala, Early Ecotheology and Joseph Sittler; Pihkala, “Eco-Anxiety, Trag-
edy, and Hope.”
78 See, for example, Antti Tiainen, “Ilmastonmuutos ja luonnonkatastrofit ahdista-
vat lähes kaikkia – Liian moni sivuuttaa nämä tunteet, vaikka juuri ne ovat rat-
kaisu, sanoo tutkija Panu Pihkala,” Helsingin Sanomat 7, no. 10 (2017): C1–3,
also www.hs.fi/elama/art-2000005398521.html; Pauliina Tolvanen, “Ahdis-
taako ilmastonmuutos? Hyvä, sillä tutkijan mukaan tunteet voivat pelastaa mei-
dät,” YLE National Broadcasting Company, September 22, 2018, https://yle.fi/
uutiset/3-10409930.
79 Tyee Bridge, “Climate Strikes & the Youth Mental Health Crisis,” The National
Observer, May 2, 2019, www.nationalobserver.com/2019/05/02/opinion/
climate-strikes-youth-mental-health-crisis; Kaj Aalto, “Teolog: ‘Kristna måste
ta miljöhänsyn,’ ” Dagen, November 7, 2018, www.dagen.se/livsstil/teolog-
kristna-maste-ta-miljohansyn-1.1229646?paywall=true.
80 Panu Pihkala, “Maailmankatsomukset ja kristinusko ympäristökasvatuksessa,”
Kasvatus & Aika 5, no. 4 (2011), www.kasvatus-ja-aika.fi/site/?lan=1&page_
id=439; Pihkala, Early Ecotheology and Joseph Sittler, 254–55; cf. Mika Vähä-
kangas, “Nordic Theologies & Lars Levi Laestadius,” in Creation and Salvation:
Volume 2: A Companion on Recent Theological Movements, ed. Ernst M. Con-
radie (Zürich: Lit Verlag, 2012), 145–51.
81 Ilkka Sipiläinen, “Environmental Challenges in Finland and in the Lutheran
Church,” in Making Peace with the Earth: Action and Advocacy for Climate
Justice, ed. Grace Ji-Sun Kim (Geneva: WCC, 2016), 44–51.
82 Sigurd Bergmann, “Religion at Work within Climatic Change: Eight Perceptions
about Its Where and How,” in Religion in the Anthropocene, eds. Celia Deane-
Drummond, Sigurd Bergmann and Markus Vogt (Eugene: Cascade Books,
2017), 67–84.
83 Chase, Nature as Spiritual Practice; and Chase, A Field Guide to Nature as Spir-
itual Practice; Christie, The Blue Sapphire of the Mind; Panu Pihkala, “Death,
the Environment, and Theology,” Dialog 57 (2018): 287–94.
84 Cf. Roy Scranton, Learning to Die in the Anthropocene: Reflections on the End
of a Civilization (San Francisco: City Lights Publishers, 2015); Robert Bring-
hurst and Jan Zwicky, Learning to Die: Wisdom in the Age of Climate Crisis
(Regina, Saskatchewan: University of Regina Press, 2018).
85 Cf. Ernst Conradie, Christianity and Ecological Theology: Resources for Further
Research (Stellenbosch: African Sun Media, 2006), 186–87.
86 Paul Tillich, The Shaking of the Foundations [Sermons] (New York: C. Scrib-
ner’s Sons, 1948).
87 For Protestant perspectives on this, see Reijer J. de Vries, “Models of Mutual
Pastoral Care in the Footsteps of Martin Luther,” NTT Journal for Theology
and the Study of Religion 72 (2018): 41–56.
88 Cf. Clive Ayre, “Ecology and Service (Diakonia): Putting Words into Action,”
in The Church in God’s Household: Protestant Perspectives on Ecclesiology and
Ecology, eds. Clive W. Ayre and Ernst M. Conradie (Pietermaritzburg, South
Africa: Cluster Publications, 2016), 54–74.
89 Diakonia is a Christian theological term from Greek that encompasses the call to
serve the poor and oppressed. A diaconia was originally an establishment built
near a church building, for the care of the poor and distribution of the church’s
charity.
90 Cf. Thomas J. Doherty, “Individual Impacts and Resilience,” in Psychology and
Climate Change: Human Perceptions, Impacts, and Responses, eds. Susan Clay-
ton and Christie Manning (London: Academic Press, 2018), 245–66; Daniel A.
Chapman, Carlie D. Trott, Linda Silka, Brian Lickel, and Susan Clayton, “Psy-
chological Perspectives on Community Resilience and Climate Change: Insights,
Examples, and Directions for Future Research,” in Psychology and Climate
Change, eds. Clayton and Manning (London: Academic Press, 2018), 267–88.
91 Ramsay and Manderson, “Resilience, Spirituality and Posttraumatic Growth.”
92 Pihkala, “Environmental Education after Sustainability”; Elin Kelsey and
Carly Armstrong, “Finding Hope in a World of Environmental Catastrophe,”
in Learning for Sustainability in Times of Accelerating Change, eds. Arjen E. J.
Wals and Peter Blaze Corcoran (Netherlands: Wageningen Academic Publishers,
2012), 187–200; David E. Selby and Fumiyo Kagawa, “Teetering on the Brink:
Subversive and Restorative Learning in Times of Climate Turmoil and Disaster,”
Journal of Transformative Education 16 (2018): 302–22; Ojala, “Facing Anxi-
ety in Climate Change Education.”
204 Panu Pihkala
93 For Christian environmental education (in Finnish), see Panu Pihkala, Luonto
ja Raamattu: Kristillisen ympäristökasvatuksen juurilla (Helsinki: LK-kirjat,
2010).
94 For the greening of worship life, see H. Paul Santmire, Ritualizing Nature:
Renewing Christian Liturgy in a Time of Crisis (Minneapolis: Fortress Press,
2008); Gordon Lathrop, Holy Ground: A Liturgical Cosmology (Minneapolis:
Fortress Press, 2009); Benjamin M. Stewart, A Watered Garden: Christian Wor-
ship and Earth’s Ecology (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2011); Norman C. Habel, H.
Paul Santmire, and David M. Rhoads, The Season of Creation: A Preaching
Commentary (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2011). For guilt, cf. Ernst Conradie,
“Confessing Guilt in the Context of Climate Change: Some South African Per-
spectives,” Scriptura 103 (2010): 134–52.
95 Ronald L. Grimes, Rite Out of Place: Ritual, Media, and the Arts (Oxford and
New York: Oxford University Press, 2006), 131–46; Sarah M. Pike, “Mourn-
ing Nature: The Work of Grief in Radical Environmentalism,” Journal for the
Study of Religion, Nature and Culture 10 (2016): 419–41; Sarah E. Fredericks,
“Online Confessions of Eco-Guilt,” Journal for the Study of Religion, Nature
and Culture 8 (2014): 64–84.
96 See, for example, Elizabeth Boase, “Desolate Land/Desolate People in Jeremiah
and Lamentations,” in Ecological Aspects of War: Engagements with Biblical
Texts, eds. Anne Elvey, Keith Dyer, and Deborah Guess (London and New
York: T&T Clark, 2017), 97–115.
97 For reflections on environmental themes, Christianity, and places, with some
discussion about difficult emotions, see Sigurd Bergmann, Religion, Space, and
the Environment (New Brunswick: Transaction Publishers, 2014); Jeff Wild
and Peter W. Bakken, Church on Earth: Grounding Your Ministry in a Sense of
Place (Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 2009).
98 Jan van Boeckel, “Arts-Based Environmental Education and the Ecological
Crisis: Between Opening the Senses and Coping with Psychic Numbing,” in
Metamorphoses in Children’s Literature and Culture, eds. Barbara Drillsma-
Milgrom and Leena Kirstinä (Turku: Enostone, 2009), 145–64.
99 Personal communication from a young adult, October 2017, related to Pihkala,
Päin helvettiä?
100 Panu Pihkala, “10 Recommendations for People with Eco-Anxiety,” Eco-
Anxiety and Hope blog, October 4, 2018, http://ecoanxietyandhope.blogspot.
com/2018/10/10-recommendations-for-people-with-eco.html.
101 For an overview, in Finnish, see Panu Pihkala, “Ilmastokasvatus ja tunteet
[Climate Education and Emotions],” Biologian ja maantieteen opettajien liitto
BMOL ry [BMOL Association of Biology and Geography Teachers], Decem-
ber 2019, https://toivoajatoimintaa.fi/ilmastokasvatus-ja-tunteet/; for a nation-
wide study, see Jaakko Hyry, “Ilmastotunteet 2019 – kyselytutkimuksen
tulokset [Results of a National Study on Climate Emotions],” Sitra, June 24,
2019, https://media.sitra.fi/2019/08/21153439/ilmastotunteet-2019-kyselytut
kimuksen-tulokset.pdf.
102 For an introduction to this field, see Simon Clarke, Paul Hoggett, and Simon
Thompson, Emotion, Politics and Society (Basingstoke and New York: Pal-
grave Macmillan, 2006).
103 John Foster, ed., Facing up to Climate Reality: Honesty, Disaster and Hope
(London: Green House Publishing, 2019).
104 Quoted in Orr, Down to the Wire, 182.
12 Contextualisation through
the arts
Volker Küster
Contextualisation matters1
The term contextualisation emerged from discussions around the third man-
date programme of the Theological Education Fund (TEF; 1970–1977),
then closely related to the World Council of Churches. The TEF argued that
seminaries in the Third World should be equipped with library resources
and encouraged to develop theological curricula that are relevant to the
local context. The copyright on this term may well be ascribed to its direc-
tor, Taiwanese theologian Shoki Coe (1914–1988), mentor of his interna-
tionally much better known fellow countryman C. S. Song (b. 1929), one of
the pioneers of contextual theology in Asia. Coe criticises the earlier con-
cept of indigenisation as static and backward-oriented, and opts for a more
dynamic view of the interaction between text and context.2
Typology of contextual theology

The phenomenon that Coe is addressing on a theoretical level was already
flourishing simultaneously all over the Third World in the early 1970s, in
the aftermath of secular emancipation movements. While Africa and Asia
were decolonised in the course of the reorganisation of the world after
World War II, they were immediately entrapped in neo-colonial structures
with their former colonisers or the new superpowers of the Cold War era.
Latin America, which had already gained independence from the Spanish
and Portuguese crowns in the 19th century, was infiltrated by a neo-colonial
US imperialism that regarded these countries as their “backyard”. The new
coordinate system in the second half of the 20th century was shaped by the
East-West and North-South conflicts, with bloody surrogate wars in the ter-
ritory of the Third World. Christian intellectuals were under pressure to jus-
tify why they kept the religion of the coloniser and still wanted to contribute
to nation building. The result was theological identity reconstructions in the
colonial twilight that fostered cultural renaissances and denounced poverty
and oppression under military regimes and the Western capitalist market
system.3
206 Volker Küster
While the term contextualisation has a Protestant background, the phe-
nomenon it describes is ecumenical. In the aftermath of the reform of liturgy
central to the Second Vatican Council (1962–1965), Catholic missiology
coined the term inculturation, which also pays attention to the dynamic
interaction between Gospel and culture, and diverges from the older accom-
modation model. The latter regards Gospel and culture as static entities
(kernel and husk model) and promulgates a certain optimism that the
interaction processes can be controlled, and form and content kept sepa-
rate.4 More recent documents of the Vatican on mission, however, still use
the term inculturation but conceptually have turned back to the earlier
accommodation model.5 A term that is also frequently applied in regard
to these phenomena is syncretism.6 While historians of religion consider
intercultural-religious exchanges as inevitable and use the term in a neutral,
descriptive way, the evangelical wing of the missionary movement consid-
ers it heretical. Contextual theologians, finally, propagate a positive view.
Mercy Amba Oduyoye, for instance, talks about a “creative syncretism”
that enhances Christianity with African resources.7 For me, integration has
become an important criterion. Is a particular Christian community able to
integrate elements of another religion in a way that makes sense within the
overall Christian reference system?
I prefer the term contextualisation not so much for confessional reasons,
but because it suits well as an umbrella term for the two major schools of
contextual theology, namely liberation theologies that focus on the socio-
economic and political dimension of the context, and inculturation and dia-
logue theologies that engage with the cultural-religious dimension.8 Today,
gender, ethnic, and ecological dimensions are addressed as well. When
I started my research on contextual theologies, I soon came to the conclusion
that we need an intercultural theology as a frame of reference and platform
to engage in a dialogue among the different strands of contextual theologies.
The Ecumenical Association of Third World Theologians has been a vivid
laboratory for observing such intercultural interaction processes.
Methodology of contextual theology

While scope and generative themes vary by context, contextual theologies
share a methodological framework that I describe as the hermeneutical cir-
cle between text and context.
The hermeneutical circle

This is not the proverbial vicious circle, but a circulus progrediens. One never
returns to the same point where they started their theological journey. The
context is rapidly changing in the so-called developing countries. Contextual
theology by its very nature has to respond to these changes, which in turn
opens up new perspectives on the text. The rich reservoir of meaning of the
Contextualisation through the arts 207
Figure 12.1 The hermeneutical circle
text can never be exhausted by one interpretation. Therefore, the context is

the variable in the hermeneutical circle and the text is the relational constant
[Fig. 1]. Nevertheless, not everything goes “interpretation-wise”; the text itself
sets the limits of its interpretation. I distinguish two criteria in the production
of contextual theology. The message of the text will only be understood if it
unfolds a certain relevance in the particular context. Checks and balances are
guaranteed, in the first place, by the identity criterion, which applies the text
again to measure whether the theology formulated is in line with it. On top
of this there is a third criterion – the dialogue among the global community of
storytelling and interpretation that Christianity is today. Text, in my under-
standing, is not only the biblical text but the Christian tradition, which
can be understood as different layers of interpretation of the text. There is
always at least a twofold question with respect to the context, namely the
context of the author and the reader respectively. Since it is a circular process,
it does not matter whether one enters into it via the text or the context.
Hermeneutics of suspicion
Latin American liberation theologian Juan Louis Segundo (1925–1996)
introduced in his Harvard lectures a hermeneutics of suspicion,9 a concep-
tion that was soon embraced by feminist theologian Elisabeth Schüssler-
Fiorenza. While liberation theologians were suspicious of the interpretation
of the text but not of the text itself, feminist theology also addressed the
208 Volker Küster
Figure 12.2 Hermeneutics of suspicion
Figure 12.3 The hermeneutical prism
patriarchal bias of the text. Postcolonial theologians should follow that path
by laying open imperialist texts in the Bible [Fig. 2].
The hermeneutical prism

I consider hermeneutics as a game with four players in which each of them
has taken the lead in a given moment. Author-centred hermeneutics (A)
wanted to understand the author better than the author understood him/
herself (F. D. E. Schleiermacher). Text-centred hermeneutics (T), to the con-
trary, talked about “the death of the author” and “the autonomy of the
text” (Umberto Eco). Reader-centred hermeneutics (R) asks for the reader-
response or the implicit reader (Wolfgang Iser). Context-centred hermeneu-
tics (C) in a way integrates the earlier models, since the context is eccentric
and multiple – that is, author and reader have their contexts and the text is
read in different contexts through the ages. I opt for a pluralism in method
that applies the different hermeneutic perspectives like a prism [Fig. 3].10
Hermeneutics and aesthetics
Hermeneutics are theories of interpretation. While aesthetics is usually
defined as the study of art and beauty, I follow a broader understanding
of it as a theory of the perception of the senses (aisthesis),11 which includes
all the senses as well as the realisation of the ugly and evil. The relationship
between aesthetics and ethics is no longer a given, but has to be recon-
structed in every case anew. Aesthetics is first of all based on a non-verbal
sensory experience and emotion. The attempt to verbalise it inevitably leads
to some loss. Here is where hermeneutics come into play as a way to negoti-
ate that loss. Hermeneutics is aware of the fact that each interpretation is
only a temporary demarcation of a certain sense.
Christian art in context12

If we talk about Christian art in Africa, Asia, and Latin America, all parts
of the term have to be problematised. Already in contemporary Western
discourses on art, it is debated whether there is something like Christian
art at all, or whether there is only good art and bad art. If we turn to other
cultural-religious spaces, we should not just transfer our Western con-
ceptions but listen to local perceptions of what art is. In Asia and Africa,
art is first of all to follow the craftsmanship of the master and the icono-
graphic conventions. Changes happen, but slowly. Still, once one gets
used to the particular local art forms and their iconographies, differ-
ences in artistic quality or aesthetic value become obvious. My working
definition is that Christian art is Christian according to its content and
purpose.
The artists and their public

I differentiate between three groups of local artists:
1 Those who are commissioned to produce Christian art. They are trained
in the particular art forms of their traditional religions, whether their
background is Hindu, Buddhist, Muslim, or, rather seldom, Jewish, etc.
This means that non-Christian artists may become subjects of contex-
tualisation by using their familiar iconographies to depict Christian
themes.
2 Those who become interested in Christian themes, be they Christian
themselves or not. Their works may be motivated commercially, pro-
ducing a kind of Christian airport art for tourists or for spiritual pur-
poses, as in the case of the Hindu Renaissance or the socially engaged
Buddhist monk Uttarananda.13
3 Those who are Christian and regard the production of Christian art-
work as their contribution to communicating the Gospel.
210 Volker Küster
Mobility and overlap among the groups is possible, but this categorisation
has still proven to be helpful. A fourth group is foreign artists who came
with the missionaries or the colonisers and who either perpetuate the West-
ern style for the colonial elite and local gentry or study local art forms and
apply them to Christian themes.
Epochs of Christian art in the Global South

The epochs of Christian art in the Global South follow the phases of the
missionary expansion of the Christian faith. Until the second half of the
20th century, accommodation was the iconographic paradigm. Important
for Christian intellectuals from Asia and Africa is the first phase, namely the
expansion to the East along the Silk Road all over Asia, and to the South
into Ethiopia. They emphasise that there was a Christian presence on their
continents before the Western missionary project that started in the 16th
century, which is therefore regarded as being the second phase.
In our case, the Jesuit mission is of special interest because their mission
strategy was to accommodate the Christian faith to the local culture and its
religious underpinnings. This led to conflicts with rival missionary orders,
who accused them of syncretism. The resulting so-called accommodation or
rites controversy (ca. 1610–1744) ended finally with the temporary liquida-
tion of the Jesuit order.
The third phase started with the missionary awakening of the 19th cen-
tury, which was a Protestant lay movement to begin with. Many missionar-
ies came from the lower echelon of society, which was rather distanced from
the cultural refinement of the bourgeoisie. Mission was a chance for social
upward mobility, as long as one could survive the extreme conditions in
the mission field. On top of this, Protestantism has historically had a rather
biased relationship with the arts. In order to delimit itself from Catholicism,
it cleared its churches of images. Yet there is a range between Luther (who
regarded images as adiaphora), Calvin, and the iconoclastic radical wing of
the Reformation. In the slipstream of the Protestant mission movements, the
Catholics also entered the mission field again. The Papal letter Maximum
Illud (1919) that demanded a local Chinese clergy became another turning
point in the mission strategy of the Vatican. The rites controversy had ended
with a total neglect of all things contextual. Now neo-accommodation and
a renaissance of Catholic mission art emerged.
The fourth phase is marked by the coming of age of the local or younger
churches in the Global South after the end of World War II. Contextual
theologies were often even anticipated by contextual Christian art. Today
we are standing at the threshold of a new phase. Christian themes have
entered secular galleries in Africa and Asia. Even though these artists are
not producing it for Christian ends, they still contribute to a new religious
iconography.
Iconography
More than 90 per cent of the images produced are either of Christ, the
Madonna and Child, scenes from the life of Jesus, or the parables. Old
Testament themes are rather rare. There is hardly any reference to mission
history, or, in the Catholic Church, to the saints, unless there are local
martyrs.
The terminology and theory developed in the research on contextual the-
ology can also be applied to contextual Christian art. We always have to
reckon with the interaction of at least two iconographic systems. Regarding
the genre of local iconographies, we have to distinguish between temple and
court art, on the one hand, and folk art, on the other hand.
Documentation
The sources for Christian art from the Global South are postcards, calen-
dars, pamphlets, and more recently coffee table books and the internet. The
material is often delicate and the storage unprofessional, so many things
have already faded, due to lack of interest and ignorance.
The many faces of Jesus Christ

I will concentrate here on examples from the fourth epoch, the era of con-
textualisation. For a long time, Nyoman Darsane (b. 1939) was the artist of
“the beautiful gospel”,14 the Indonesian master of contextualisation.15 Yet
after the 2002 Bali bombings and the 2004 tsunami, there was a dramatic
change in his paintings as far as themes, form, and colour are concerned.
The equilibrium between good and evil that is at the root of Balinese culture
was disrupted.
In Rain of Blood, [Fig. 4] Christ is dancing on an imaginary cross. Thick
red streams of colour are running over a violet background. As behind the
screen of a shadow puppet master (dalang), one can see shifting shadows
of demons.
The Crucifixion of Ketut Lasia (b. 1945), [Fig. 5] on the other hand, is a
typical example of accommodation art. It shows the crucified Christ in a
Balinese landscape in Ubud style. Form and content are clearly separable.
Even though the blood is dripping from the wounds of the nails as in early
medieval paintings, the depiction of the suffering of Christ is not convinc-
ing. One of the armoured men under the cross has already raised his spear
to pierce Jesus’ side. Yet the whole atmosphere is not aggressive, but rather
restrained. This is even true for the mourning women who are crouching at
the bottom of the painting.
Indian artist Solomon Raj (b. 1921) is also an academically trained theo-
logian who has written on contextualisation. Yet against expectations, he
212 Volker Küster
Figure 12.4 Nyoman Darsane, Rain of Blood, 2004, acrylic on canvas, 76 × 66 cm
Source: © Photo Volker Küster, courtesy of the artist
rarely uses Hindu iconography. Instead, he turns to Buddhism and Ethio-

pian icons. When regarded in the context of Dalit theology, this appears to
be a reflective contextualisation that renounces inculturation following the
dialogue of theologians of Brahmin descent with Hinduism.16 Ambedkar,
the famous Dalit activist, is quoted as having said, “I was born as a Hindu,
but I don’t have to die as a Hindu”. He converted with half a million of his
followers to Buddhism, which was the beginning of the flourishing of Neo-
Buddhism in India, after Buddhism had been absorbed by Hinduism and
extinguished by Islam a thousand years earlier.
Figure 12.5 Ketut Lasia, Crucifixion, ca. 2000, traditional paint on canvas, ca.
70 × 50 cm
Source: © Photo Volker Küster, courtesy of the artist
The linocut Jesus, the Teacher [Fig. 6] depicts Jesus in the dress and posture
of the seated Buddha. The palm of his open right hand, bearing the mark of
the cross, is directed towards the viewer, pointing to the ground. This is the
Buddhist hand gesture (mudra) of wish fulfilment. The left hand is raised in
214 Volker Küster
Figure 12.6 Solomon Raj, Jesus, the Teacher, 1980s, linocut

Source: courtesy of the artist17
front of his chest in the Christian Orthodox gesture of blessing. His index
and middle finger point upwards, while his ring, little finger, and thumb
touch each other, forming a circle, as a symbol of the Trinity. At the same
time, it is reminiscent of the Buddhist prana mudra that increases life force.
The linocut Black and White by black South African artist Azariah Mbatha
(b. 1941) [Fig. 7] tells a story. The upper left part shows the reality of apartheid:
Figure 12.7 Azariah Mbatha, Black and White, 1970s, linocut18
black and white are segregated. On the right side, however, they are min-
gled chessboard-like under the cross. A black tear is running over the white
left half of Jesus’ face, with the right half being black. The two scenes are
integrated in a kind of wooden construction with a beam in the centre. The
beam is reminiscent of an ancestor pole with interchanging black and white
masks on it. The beam ends in a mask that is half black and half white, in
inverted order from the face of the crucified, now with a white tear running
over the black half of the face. Inversion is a central concept in traditional
religions. The ancestors, for instance, are imagined to be white instead of
black. Therefore, the mask depicts the resurrected Christ being present with
the portraits of a white and a black man in the foreground. “Where two
216 Volker Küster
or three gather in my name, there am I with them” (Matthew 18:20). The
black person is watching the white with a sceptical look, yet the artist of
this prime example of liberational expressionism is obviously already argu-
ing for reconciliation under the draconian apartheid system. The ancestors
of South Africa are black and white together, and Jesus is among them as a
black-and-white Christ.
There is a less known visual version of Ernesto Cardenal’s famous Gospel
of Solentiname.19 He gave painting tools to the fishers and farmers of Lake
Nicaragua, with whom he read the New Testament, and they illustrated in
a naïve manner the Gospel stories situated in their life world. I call this lib-
erational primitivism, reclaiming the later term in spite of being well aware
of the discussion on the alleged derogative meaning.
In The Massacre of the Innocent by lay artist Julia Chavarría, [Fig. 8] we
see Somoza’s soldiers raiding a village, killing the children in front of their
mothers and ready to also rape the women.
In a gallery in Jakarta, I discovered two paintings by F. Sigit Santoso (b.
1964) that were obviously dealing with Christian themes.21 When I enquired
about the artist, the gallery owner presented me with a catalogue of a past
exhibition that also contained a painting under the title Namaku Isa [Fig. 9].
The artist blends the iconographies of Jesus and Mary in an intriguing
manner. The face is female, but the body bears the marks of the cross, signi-
fied by a red spot of blood on the white garment under the right breast. Both
Figure 12.8 Julia Chavarría, The Massacre of the Innocent, ca. 1981/82, watercolour20
Figure 12.9 F. Sigit Santoso, Namaku Isa, 2005, oil on canvas, 140 × 110 cm22
hands bear the marks of the cross. The left female hand is resting in front of
the chest. The palm of the right male hand is directed towards the viewer in
the Buddhist gesture of wish fulfilment. Yet at the same time, it points to a
red plastic-like fish that has been cut in half by a knife symbolising sacrifice.
It is lying on a plate on a small round table with a white tablecloth standing
in front of the Jesus figure. This painting of a queer Christ goes beyond the
classical contextualisation model, and is an example of glocalisation. It is
not restricted to a Christian public, but enters the global contemporary art
scene.
218 Volker Küster
What does all this mean for the relationship between the images and the
word, contextual Christian arts and theology?23 Artists often respond much
faster to the signs of the times and are more innovative than theologians,
even when they are organic intellectuals. As a matter of fact, they not only
anticipate the written word,24 but open up a space of meaning that allows
deeper and more polysemous insights than an idea fixed in letters. Solomon
Raj did not merely anticipate Dalit theology by decades, but also touched on
the cultural and (inter)religious issues that the latter is still avoiding today.
Yet without being willing to address the role of Hinduism, Buddhism, and
Islam, Dalit theologians are caught in a dead-end street. Nyoman Darsane,
for his part, is, as the most prolific Balinese contextual Christian artist, at
the same time the only contextual theologian as well. The linocut of Aza-
riah Mbatha demonstrates that one picture can contain a whole theology
in a nutshell. Whoever has understood this artwork has understood what
Black Theology is all about. Hermeneutics cannot exhaust aesthetics, but
the latter can open up diverse inroads of comprehension. At the same time,
Sigit Santosa not only breaks new ground iconographically and theologically,
but also crosses the boundaries of the whole contextualisation project. Con-
textual Christian art contains a theology in its own right. It anticipates, tran-
scends, and condenses the written word. Now that it is starting to move out
of the contextual box, in what direction will contextual theologies develop?
The least one can say is that contextual and intercultural theology have
become more intertwined than they were at the outset. We are moving from
contextualisation to glocalisation.25
Notes
1 For a more detailed account and further references, cf. Volker Küster, Theologie
im Kontext. Zugleich ein Versuch über die Minjung-Theologie (Nettetal: Steyler
Verlag, 1995); Volker Küster, Einführung in die Interkulturelle Theologie (Göt-
tingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2010). Other substantial contributions to the
discussion about contextual theology’s methodology are given by Schreiter and
Bergmann. Robert J. Schreiter, Constructing Local Theologies (London: SCM,
1985); Sigurd Bergmann, God in Context: A Survey of Contextual Theology
(London and New York: Routledge, 2003).
2 Cf. Shoki Coe, “Contextualizing Theology,” in Mission Trends No. 3: Third
World Theologies, eds. Gerald H. Anderson and Thomas F. Stransky (Grand
Rapids: Eerdmans, 1976), 19–24.
3 Cf. Volker Küster, The Many Faces of Jesus Christ: Intercultural Christology
(Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 2001).
4 In Protestant missiology, indigenisation, and in its evangelical branch, transla-
tion models, were synonymous with accommodation.
5 Cf. John Paul II, Redemptoris Missio, encyclical letter, December 7, 1990, sec.
29 and 52–54.
6 Cf. recently Patrik Fridlund and Mika Vähäkangas, eds., Theological and Philo-
sophical Responses to Syncretism: Beyond the Mirage of Pure Religion (Leiden
and Boston: Brill, 2018).
7 Mercy Amba Oduyoye, “The Value of African Religious Beliefs and Practices
for Christian Theology,” in African Theology En Route: Papers from the Pan-
African Conference of Third World Theologians, December 17–23, 1977,
Accra, Ghana, eds. K. Appiah-Kubi and S. Torres (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books
1979), 109–16, 110. M. M. Thomas, with his concept of “Christ-centred syn-
cretism” inspired by the Hindu-Renaissance, and Chung Hyun-Kyung, with her
feminist project of “life-centred syncretism”, are further examples.
8 On the discussion about inculturation, and contextual and liberation theology,
cf. especially Elina Vuola’s Chapter 4, and also Mika Vähäkangas’ Chapter 13
and the editors’ introductory Chapter 1 in this volume. On liberation theology
with regard to the economic and political world system, cf. Ulrich Duchrow’s
Chapter 5, Atola Longkumer’s Chapter 6, and Teresa Callewaert’s Chapter 8 in
this volume, and on public and political theology, see Dion A. Forster’s Chap-
ter 2 in this volume.
9 Cf. Juan Luis Segundo, The Liberation of Theology (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis,
1976), 9.
10 This is common practice today in the writings of postcolonial theologians like
Kwok Pui-Lan, Musa Dube or R. S. Sugirtharajah; cf. Küster, Einführung §2.
11 Cf. Martin Seel, Aesthetics of Appearing, trans. John Farrell (Stanford, CA:
Stanford University Press, 2004); Volker Küster, Gott und Terror: Ein Dipty-
chon (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2019); Sigurd Bergmann, Religion, Space and the
Environment (London and New York: Transaction Publishers, 2014).
12 Cf. Volker Küster, “Christian Art in Asia: Yesterday and Today,” in The Chris-
tian Story: Five Asian Artists Today, eds. Patricia Pongracz, Volker Küster, and
John Wesley Cook (New York and London: Museum of Biblical Art, 2007),
28–43; Volker Küster, “Visual Arts in World Christianity,” in Wiley-Blackwell
Companion to World Christianity (London: Wiley-Blackwell, 2016), 368–85.
13 Cf. Volker Küster, “A Dialogue in Pictures. Reform Buddhism and Christian-
ity in the Works of Ven. Hatigammana Uttarananda/Sri Lanka,” Exchange 39
(2010): 6–28.
14 Volker Küster and Theo Sundermeier, Das schöne Evangelium: Christliche Kunst
im balinesischen Kontext (Nettetal: Steyler Verlag, 1991).
15 Cf. Volker Küster, “Accommodation or Contextualisation? Ketut Lasia and
Nyoman Darsane – Two Balinese Christian Artists,” Mission Studies 16 (1999):
157–72.
16 Cf. Volker Küster, “Renunciation of Inculturation as Aesthetic Resistance: The
Indian Artist Solomon Raj Seen in a New Light,” Exchange 30 (2001): 359–71;
Anand Amaladass and Gudrun Löwner, Christian Themes in Indian Art: From
the Mogul Times till Today (New Delhi: Manohar Publishers, 2012).
17 P. Solomon Raj, Palm Leaf Prayers (Wuppertal: Vereinigte Evangelische Mis-
sion, 1995), 11.
18 Theo Sundermeier, Südafrikanische Passion: Linolschnitte von Azariah Mbatha
(Bielefeld: Lutherverlag, 1977), 69; cf. Azariah Mbatha, Within Loving Mem-
ory of the Century: An Autobiography (Scottsville, South Africa: University of
KwaZulu-Natal Press, 2005). © Azariah Mbatha granted through DACS.
19 Cf. Phillip and Sally Scharper, eds., The Gospel in Art by the Peasants of Solen-
tiname (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1984); Ernesto Cardenal, The Gospel in Solenti-
name (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 2010 [1976–1982]).
20 Die Bauern von Solentiname malen das Evangelium: Mit Meditationen von Hel-
mut Frenz (Gelnhausen and Berlin: Burckhardthaus-Laetare Verlag, 1982), 19.
The Name of the artist Julia Chavarría has been misspelled in the German edi-
tion as Julia Schwania. © Ass. para el deserollo de Solentiname / H. Schulz.
21 Cf. Volker Küster, Zwischen Pancasila und Fundamentalismus: Christliche
Kunst in Indonesien (Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2016).
22 Paradoks Batas: Painting Exhibition/F. Sigit Santoso & Sugiyo Dwiarso, curator
M. Agus Burhan (Jakarta, 2005), 27.
220 Volker Küster
23 Cf. Theo Sundermeier and Volker Küster, eds., Die Bilder und das Wort: Zum
Verstehen christlicher Kunst in Afrika und Asien (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck &
Ruprecht, 1999).
24 Cf. Theo Sundermeier, “Die Daseinserhellung durch Kunst übersteigt immer
noch die des Wortes,” Jahrbuch Mission 22 (1990): 29–41.
25 Cf. Volker Küster, “From Contextualization to Glocalization: Intercultural The-
ology and Postcolonial Critique,” Exchange 45 (2016): 203–26.
13 World Christianity as post-
colonialising of theology
Mika Vähäkangas
In this chapter, I argue that the old-school confessional and ethnocentric

theology has no place in today’s Western secular academia. Therefore, a
renewal is needed unless theology is to transform into religious studies of
Christianity. This renewal has already taken place in mission studies, and
has often led to the renaming of the discipline as World Christianity or a
similar title. The point of view of this chapter is decidedly Northern Euro-
pean, and admittedly, the situation of theology, mission studies, and aca-
demia looks very different in other parts of the world.
Theology is an equivocal term, as it can refer to any meaning-making of
religious experience or alternatively a rigorous methodologically prescribed
way of arriving at religious or philosophical conclusions, or the study of
either of the two, or any intermediate activities between those extremes.
In the first sense, theology is wherever there are religious people. In this
chapter, however, the focus will be on the academic discipline under the
name “theology”. This discipline consists of both constructive theology and
analysis of others’ theologies. In most cases, these two tasks are intertwined,
as no one can begin theologising from tabula rasa, but there are always
traditions upon which one’s reasoning is building. The constructive theolo-
gian’s understanding of these traditions through analysis is a necessary part
of constructive theology. The crucial questions here, though, are on whose
traditions one should construct, and for which audience.
Theology as a Eurocentric confessional enterprise

At a seminar in Finland a couple of decades ago, a student was pondering
which good theologian’s thought to write her dissertation on. She was not
certain, but wished to work on someone who was not German. The pro-
fessor thought aloud: “Are there good theologians other than Germans?”
Whether that was a joke or a Freudian slip of tongue, it was very well in
line with the spirit of the day. Traditional theology as an academic disci-
pline could justly be described as a Eurocentric confessional enterprise, and
this was the case with practically no exceptions until World War II, and
even today in much of Europe the situation is not essentially different. The
222 Mika Vähäkangas
notion of Eurocentrism covers here cultures of European background, thus
extending to e.g. North America, covering the mainstream culture of Euro-
pean origin. But why would theology be called Eurocentric?
First, it was and largely still is Eurocentric simply because of being aca-
demic. Even if, at the time when theology was formulated as an academic
discipline, there were traditions of extremely high intellectual quality in some
other larger cultural areas, such as India, China, and the Islamic world, it
was the Western European intellectual tradition that served as the basis of
today’s global academia. The campus culture is surprisingly similar globally
even today. The form and content of teaching, as well as campus life, are
similar in all the corners of the world. This is partly due to the Western roots
of academic traditions and partly, of course, due to the global mobility of
academics. Just as medieval universities helped to bring intellectuals from
the margins into the centres, so does even today’s academia. The questions
of method and academic procedures are a part of the Western package that
academic theology belongs to. English language, the paramount colonial
language, functions as the modern Latin that almost all credible academics
need to know.
Second, as a highly historically conscious discipline, theology builds pre-
dominantly on Western intellectual and ecclesial history. The Latin Church
is the centrepiece, and Greek Church Fathers and some other Orthodox tra-
ditions are also often included. Orthodox academic voices are rather mar-
ginalised in the global theological dialogue even today, as, often, are voices
from the majority world. Oriental churches’ traditions are virtually ignored
even in church history, in spite of them representing one of the mainstreams
of Christian culture until the end of the first millennium.1
Third, the content of theological debate that is most visible and pub-
lished by most of the large publishing houses mirrors the questions and
challenges of the Western world. For example, even though a debate
between science and faith exists in the majority world, it is much more
central in the industrialised countries. Whichever ethical debate happens
to be on top of the agenda in the Western churches reserves the most vis-
ible place in the West-dominated international theology. For example, the
responsibilities of a Christian under a corrupt regime or questions about
religious persecution are seldom internationally heard in academic theol-
ogy in spite of these being essential in the lives of multitudes of Christians
in the majority world.
Fourth, those who are counted internationally as important theologians –
that is, deserving of being researched and studied – tend to be 20th-century
male German-speaking, and lately also English-speaking, men.2 This has
partly to do with the question of theological agenda. As long as theology is
dominated by men of limited cultural (and social) background, one tends to
attach importance to people who have a similar agenda. Additionally, one
generally tends to favour not only the ones who think like, but also who are
like, oneself.
World Christianity as post-colonialising 223
The result is that there is theology in general, and additionally, there are
specific theologies like feminist, Black, African, Asian, Mujerista, Minjung,
etc. The implication, mostly not openly pronounced, is that theology with-
out epithets is real or somewhat universal, whereas theologies with labels
are second-rate endeavours that may be of interest to “real” academic theol-
ogy by providing it with material to develop further. However, as pointed
out previously, this theology without epithets could well be labelled Euro-
centric (or later even Anglocentric), male, and bourgeois. The marginal the-
ologies are called upon whenever theology without epithets needs to display
diversity.
However, it would be unfair to label all Western theologians as insensitive
to the global realities of Christianity. Some of the European theologians con-
sidered among the greatest of their kind did react to the drastic changes in
the state, nature, and role of Christianity in the world. Karl Barth, towards
the end of his career, could be interpreted as having passed the baton to the-
ologians from the majority world.3 Karl Rahner’s work on the role of non-
Christian religions in salvation addressed a question utterly central in the
majority world.4 Jürgen Moltmann was involved in an intensifying global
theological dialogue which profoundly influenced his theological agenda.5
In spite of the elevated status of these men in Western theology, this open-
ness has not expanded significantly, especially in Europe. One of the reasons
in Europe may be the precarious situation of theology in the European acad-
emy.6 In such a situation, in order to secure the survival of the discipline at
the university, one easily resorts to emphasising the historical importance
of theology and Christianity to Western cultural roots and history, thereby
limiting the discipline often both culturally and denominationally. How-
ever, this efficiently blocks the way to renewal and regained relevance. The
attempted goal is thus not reached, and irrelevant theology is pruned out
from the branch of humanities at an increasing number of universities.
This paralysing limitedness in Western theology stems basically from the
European recent history of ideas. Modern ideas, with their emphasis on
rationality and science, challenged the older theologically geared ground for
thinking. In the past, majority Christian views formulated the ideological
hegemony, in cooperation with the political power. At least since the French
Revolution, this has been seriously challenged, and an individual’s freedom
of conscience has been emphasised. The basic assumption of this emphasis
was faith in human rationality. If humans only gained their freedom and
came to know scientific truths, they would obviously choose them.
Since that time, one of the main tasks of academic theology has been to
relate to modern thought. At times, the choice has been a frontal attack
against modernity, and at times, contextualisation in the modern world.7 In
both of these, unsurprisingly, there has been a common denominator in that
religion is seen still to have a meaningful role in the modern world, and that
religion is approached confessionally. Confessionality in this case means
that religion is approached from within, and argumentation is related to a
specific faith community’s argumentation, even if it may not be fully in line
with it. In theology, inasmuch as it is constructive, and not only an analysis
of someone’s constructive approach, one stakes religious truth claims; this
makes it confessional, no matter the content of those truth claims.
This confessionality has placed theology at loggerheads with modernist
science. In spite of religion and science at times reaching a truce, whereby
science was granted sovereignty in the increasing area of empirically prov-
able facts, and religion in the shrinking gaps in between them, scientists
have sometimes proposed their metaphysical convictions as scientific truths.
In this case, rationalistic (or sometimes also mystical-religious) conclusions
based on the empirical are applied to the non-empirical gaps as well.8
As the ideological hegemony moved from Christian faith to empirical sci-
ences from the era of Enlightenment, and religion retreated in the unprov-
able gaps, religion increasingly became a matter of private conviction. As a
result, universal truth claims began to look preposterous, considering that at
the same time Europe was growing increasingly plural in terms of religion,
especially after World War II. Yet, theology continued to be confessional –
for to approach religion confessionally is what defines theology. This caused
theology to turn into an anomaly in academia. From the modernist point of
view, it is unscientific and therefore does not belong to academia, whereas
from a late modern perspective, the obvious lack of pluralism makes it naïve
and limited, as theology is still generally only a Christian exercise in Europe.
Is the only way forward to do away with theology and replace it with
religious studies that have embraced the modernist project?9
The theologian’s reality bubble holds no more

In spite of the apparent juxtaposition between modernist rationalism and
Christian theology, these two were also engaged in a loop of mutual asser-
tion in two ways. First, both of the partners propagated strongly (their
version of) the Truth. Secondly, both of them mostly operated within the
national projects.
Varying between times, places, and denominations, there has been ten-
sion or even conflict between “scientific” worldviews and Christian theolo-
gies. In the case of communist regimes, it was a matter of a mortal conflict,
whereas in the Western bloc, the theme “faith and science” was played out
in multiple variations. Within the modern framework, in spite of the occa-
sional conflict, the idea of one undivided reality was the common ground
for modern science and theology.10 The point was rather to convince the
other about the veracity of one’s conception of reality. In much of academic
theology, one attempted to construct systems whereby modern science and
Christian faith could be reconciled.
The other common denominator was the national projects. Even if both
science and Christianity have universalising ideals, both of them mostly
adapted to the project of construction of national states. In Christian
churches, this became most clearly visible in Protestant and Orthodox cir-
cles where the dominant churches in regions developed into national or even
state churches. In spite of its decidedly universal character, even Catholicism
became a vessel of nationalist, and sometimes even fascist, endeavours. Sci-
ence was also harnessed to serve the national interest, and in times of con-
flict, Christians and scientists alike seldom provided much opposition to the
hollow nationalist war frenzy.
As a result of the competing capitalist and communist economic systems
and nationalism, in spite of the modern ideal of the one undivided truth,
the world was a battleground of competing truths. However, these national
truths were often able to gain a hegemonic position in the national states
so that the justification and existence of the nation and the national state
were not much questioned. In most cases, the national narrative was built
on sameness: ethnic, linguistic, cultural, religious, etc. unity. The result
was that the national plausibility pattern was unchallenged in the country,
whereas across the border there was another plausibility pattern.11 What
was true in the Soviet Union was a blatant lie in neighbouring Norway – in
history, economics, politics, religion, and culture. Each nation had its own
universal truth, even if many of them overlapped even for the most part.
For example, the set of Norwegian and Swedish national truth claims dif-
fered from each other only a little. The different national truths could stand
on their clay feet because the connections between the nations were limited
from today’s perspective and thereby the incompatible views of the outsiders
could be dismissed as curiosities.
All through the 20th century, there were growing voices challenging the
modern concept of truth. These voices opting for polyvalence of truth, and
deconstruction of essentialising and reifying of social realities like nation
or gender, came to be labelled, for example, as postmodern or late modern,
depending on the emphasis and degree of critique against modernism.12 This
critique sometimes took the form of judgement against the grand narratives
in terms of both content and use. Several historical developments contrib-
uted to the development of pluralism in the Western societies, which was the
precondition of postmodernism.
Globalisation was intensifying through colonialism, Christian mission,
and trade in the earlier part of the century. Later, heightening of indus-
trialisation led to labour-based immigration to the Western industrialised
countries, creating notable cultural-religious minorities. Eventually, tour-
ism increased the movement between different parts of the world. Intensi-
fied means of communication, especially the internet, have made the world
shrink like never before. An affluent person with the right passport and
sufficient funds can communicate with any part of the world at any time,
and usually travel there within a day or two. Western societies began to turn
pluralistic not only through immigration but also from within, with politi-
cal, cultural, and religious alternative movements which often fetched some
of their inspiration from outside of the West. The quintessential white man
started to see his hegemonic position crumble. While Western societies have
turned more pluralistic, older minorities that have always been there – like
ethnic, religious, and sexual – have also become more visible and vocal. The
turn from monolithic to pluralistic societies is thus partly true and partly a
fabrication, as there were never any completely unified national states.
Academic Christian theologies with their universal claims were a part
of this game. They thrived in national states’ reality bubbles where there
was one nation, one religion, and one reality (even though whether it was
religious or “scientific” was often a matter of contention). By their very
existence, these universalising theologies provided support for patriarchy,
nationalism, and confessionalism. Within their limited bubbles, these the-
ologies could be universal, relevant, and credible as the correct interpreta-
tions of the Christian Truth.
In the pluralistic Western societies, where there is an intensified experi-
ence of global unity, any universalising claims are met with deep suspicion.
Even the nationalist populist wish to seal off the rest of the world outside
of the national boundaries and to restore national unity is an acknowledge-
ment of this pluralism. If all immigrants would leave, and all ethnically
national people would think the same, one would be back to the good old
days, the argument goes.
In grassroots theology, Christian churches can, if they so will, continue
marketing their doctrines as the universal Truth very much in the same
manner as any café can market the “best coffee in the world”. Academic
theology, however, has the responsibility to be critical and to attempt to
formulate argumentation in a manner that can communicate beyond the
devotees of a single religious circle. Even if a theologian would not subscribe
to a relativistic worldview for philosophical and/or theological reasons, the
plurality of worldviews is an issue that she/he needs to address not only as
a topic to be dealt with, but as the context in which theology is constructed.
This plurality needs to be a part of the package from the very beginning.
Traditional Western academic theology is generally ill-equipped to this task,
due to its long-time engagement with modernism. Methods, approaches,
and theories in mainstream Western theology have often bypassed the plu-
ralisation process of our societies.
From the point of view of credibility, as well as of ethics, Western Chris-
tian theology needs to be thoroughly renewed. It has no space in Western
academia if it concentrates on defending the existing positions by arguing for
the historical relevance of theology. In that case, theology can be transferred
to departments of history to aid analyses of Western intellectual history.
Academic theology only as Christian theology has no place in Western aca-
demia in the long run when the level of religious participation in the former
national and state churches is declining and is not being replaced even by
growing churches established by immigrants. Ethically, explicit or implicit
Eurocentric universal claims tally all too well with the colonial project. The
expulsion of such theology from academia is therefore even righteous.
Mission studies and contextual theologies
as a widening of the horizon
Mission studies has represented a widening of the horizon in theology in
the sense that through it, non-Western cultures and religions have gradually
been introduced into the theological agenda, resulting in contextual theolo-
gies where the interaction between faith and culture is lifted into focus.
Expressed in a pointed and generalised way, mission studies used to be
a rather colonial study of a rather colonial Christian enterprise. The real-
ity, of course, was that there were a multitude of approaches to colonial
atrocities, colonialism itself, Eurocentric paternalism, and local religions
and cultures.13
In spite of the similarities and connections, there was an inherent differ-
ence between mission and colonialism in terms of their logic. In colonialism,
the mother country was in the centre in all perceivable ways: administra-
tion, hierarchy, resources, economic structures, etc. In mission, it was the
(expected) convert who was in the centre. The goal of Western mission of
that time was to convert individuals or peoples or to establish churches. In
all of these variations, the goal is inherently bound to the local people. This
would be the case even in the most paternalistic and Eurocentric mission
enterprise where the local cultures would be completely despised and the
goal would be to transform the converts into Europeans, albeit with strange
physical appearances. Colonial logic, in comparison, does not rule out a
genocide and colonisation of the country with settlers.
The relative proximity to the locals resulted in many missionaries turn-
ing into skilful ethnographers and eventually studying theological questions
related to the local Christians’ spheres of life.14 Consequently, missionaries
and missions were generally eager to support the creation of local contex-
tual theologies, albeit often within the parameters of their denominational
preferences. The role of context in theology was thus profoundly acknowl-
edged in many missionary circles from early on. In this manner, what should
have become a concern for all theology became predominantly the hobby of
mission scholars, even though the need to recognise the context was just as
great in the West, where theology and ecclesial practices were often quickly
losing contact with people’s everyday realities. Even in cases when there
were serious attempts at contextualisation, like Rudolf Bultmann’s demy-
thologisation (Entmythologisierung),15 the similarities between the Western
and non-Western projects were often missed together with opportunities for
mutual enrichment. A partial reason for the lack of communication may be
that while missionary circles tended to be on the conservative side, Western
contextual theologies often had a radical or liberal edge. This contextuality
was, however, for the most part, a matter of relating to the scientific Western
world, which was seen as the paramount culture and therefore universal.
De facto contextuality did not necessarily translate into understanding one’s
cultural limitedness.
Gradually, contextual theologies of the majority world would stand on
their own feet as majority world Christianity grew academically stronger.
This would first be the case on a larger scale with Latin American liberation
theologies from the 1960s. The importance of contextual theologies to the-
ology has been that they have reminded Western academic theologians that
there is no universal theology, but that all theology is crafted in a context.
Additionally, contextual theologies have diversified theological enterprise so
that even if the paradigmatic middle-aged Euro-American white man is still
the dominant type, there is an understanding that there are other theolo-
gies and theologians as well. Contextual theologies have also reminded aca-
demic theology of its mutual dependence on the faith communities. Without
faith communities’ interest in academic theology, there is little value in it
outside the limited academic theological circles, and there would hardly be
any students of theology, thereby risking the future of the discipline. This
interest in academic theology stems from relevance in two senses. On one
hand, academic theology should deal with issues that are relevant for faith
communities and use their life and thought as a starting point. On the other
hand, academic theology must provide added value in the sense of chal-
lenging the faith communities’ traditional approaches. Finally, contextual
theologies have also explored ways to interact with academic disciplines
other than philosophy, most notably sociology, political studies, and cul-
tural/social anthropology.16
Meanwhile, mission studies would increasingly pay attention to local ini-
tiatives in majority world Christianity at the cost of concentrating on the
role of Western missionaries.17 Mission studies have maintained a close link
to contextual theologies, but mission studies often become more empirical.
Previously, mission theology held the place of pride in mission studies, but
now different empirical approaches seem to have become the mainstream.18
While mission as an object of study has aroused interest, e.g. among general
historians due to the abundant data on intercultural encounters available in
mission archives, what goes under the title of mission studies or missiology
has remained almost completely a theological enterprise. This has meant
that the discipline has remained theological and one of the major tasks of
mission studies within academic theology has been to remind theology of
Christianity’s global character and of the plurality of religions.
World Christianity as a renewal of mission studies

Mission studies as a title of a discipline has often become a liability in
Western secular academia, while in many majority world as well as confes-
sional contexts it still enjoys relative popularity.19 In the West, mission is
considered colonial, intrusive vis-à-vis people of other faiths, and narrow-
minded.20 Redefinitions of the term mission have not made the situation any
better, because there does not exist a commonly agreed-upon postcolonial
definition of the term that would also be known outside of the discipline. In
this junction, postcoloniality would denote not only the end of overt colo-
nial structures, but also conscious attempts to break free from the inherited
colonial patterns of thought that still largely direct the relations between the
West and the former colonies.
There have been various different attempts to replace the title “mission
studies”. There have been new names emphasising the theological nature
of the discipline, like intercultural theology or interreligious theology. In
some other cases, the title simply refers to the object of study, like World or
Global Christianity or Christianity in the Non-Western World. In spite of
the fact that these latter names do not reveal any allegiance to an older aca-
demic tradition, it is clear that most of the people involved in these studies
come from a theological background. This means that the border between
mission studies and the study of World Christianity is porous, as many
scholars would feel familiar with both. However, the relationship that needs
more clarification is between theology and World Christianity.
It goes almost without saying that World Christianity does not share the
old-school theological Eurocentrism. Rather, it can be seen as a critique of
theology that got stuck to Western Christendom and missed possibly the
greatest and fastest religious change in history: Christianity’s shift of gravity
to the majority world.
Contextual theologies were an early reaction to theological Eurocentrism.
There, in addition to paying attention to the contexts and opening up to dis-
ciplines other than philosophy, as indicated previously, another major issue
was the question of the interlocutors. In these new theologies, the prime
interlocutor was no longer the privileged academic, but often rather the
oppressed with whom and by whom these theologies were constructed, at
least ideally.21 In World Christianity, the question of context is central, and
openness especially to empirical realities allows many disciplines to con-
tribute. However, the question about for whom, with whom, and by whom
World Christianity is done is not quite as articulated as in many contextual
theologies. By virtue of World Christianity being more pronouncedly aca-
demic and definitely less ecclesiastical than many contextual theologies, it
either tends to overlook the question of interlocutors or implies a general
post-colonially minded academic audience. As no production of knowledge
is innocent, this difference is notable. This difference may stem from the fact
that this new discipline needs to establish itself in Western academia.
Still another difference between contextual theologies and World Chris-
tianity lies in their methodology. Contextual theologies, in spite of their
criticisms of Eurocentric theology, still generally participate in the project
of traditional theology, namely making sense of Christian faith. This sense-
making is, in the case of contextual theologies, largely a logocentric exercise
whereby written texts are made to relate to each other. The contextual theol-
ogies’ insistence on lived realities seldom translates into major methodologi-
cal modifications. References to lived realities often remain on an anecdotal
level or are based on the author’s life experience. Here, World Christianity
definitely differs, as in many cases the analysis of Christian faith in a context
builds on robust empirical data. This data is often collected ethnographically
or in other qualitative ways. This turn to empirical data is a logical next step
in the process of dismantling the hierarchical and centralised ideas of faith
communities and theology that contextual theologies began. In contextual
theologies, the consciously theologising subject becomes central, with the
result that, in spite of attempts to the contrary, academic theologians become
pivotal. When studying Christianity empirically, a possibility of listening to
the often oral grassroots theologies is opened up.
Does this mean that World Christianity is the name for religious stud-
ies that concentrate on the study of Christianity (also) beyond the Western
cultural sphere? Do the researchers of World Christianity approach their
topic from outside, as if not involved? Were it so, the launching of World
Christianity would be for religious studies what Anthropology of Christian-
ity is for anthropology. Traditionally, anthropology studied exotic cultures.
However, when anthropologists of religion could no longer ignore the rise
of Christianity in many of their fields, they began to address it, first in exotic
places but then also back home.22 Is there a difference between Anthropol-
ogy of Christianity and World Christianity other than that World Christian-
ity is not bound to the anthropological academic traditions?
Traditionally, an anthropologist is a specialist in crossing boundaries of
culture.23 She lands in an exotic culture, learns the language, customs, and
the rest of the culture, and makes an analysis of that with the help of anthro-
pological theories (to which her study ideally contributes). She comes from
outside but becomes in the fieldwork a marginal insider and thus a broker
between the Western academic and the local world. When returning home,
she re-enters the Western academic culture and interprets the object of study
to the rest of that community. The boundaries between insiders and outsid-
ers have been blurred in many ways when anthropology has been studied
in Western contexts, and some of the anthropologists do not come from the
Western cultural sphere. Yet, the described case still is the paradigmatic one.
A scholar in World Christianity can work in the same manner, but that is not
necessarily the standard approach to the same extent.
What makes it difficult for a researcher of World Christianity to wholly
embrace the paradigmatic anthropological approach described previously
is that inasmuch as World Christianity is a theological discipline, it pro-
foundly shares the world that it is studying. World Christianity covers not
only faith communities of the majority world, but also of the West, leading
to the conclusion that in the theological endeavour of meaning-making, the
researcher and the researched are facing the same task. It is, therefore, not
so easy to make clear divisions between the field and academia back home.
Considering the foundational criticism against theological Eurocentrism
inherent in World Christianity, it would appear false simply to bypass the
world’s Christians’ critique and replace the theological Eurocentrism with
a secular one. Therefore, it seems right to exercise World Christianity as a
theological discipline in the sense of entering into the theological debates of
Christianity all around the world, and also remaining within that discourse
when analysing the data.
Therefore, inasmuch as World Christianity can be seen as an offshoot
of theology, the relationship between the researcher and the researched is
very complex. Unlike anthropology, theology is a practice-related discipline,
rather like law or medicine. Medicine is researched and practised in hospi-
tals and clinics, and law is applied and pondered in courts. Likewise, theol-
ogy grows and lives in faith communities where it is applied and practised,
and in the case of World Christianity, also researched. In medicine, there is
generally one normative paradigm that is usually regarded as objective by
the practitioners. Theology, therefore, comes closer to law. Law is based
on values, and there is no universally accepted approach to law. Yet, even
if a lawyer represents a different school of thought, she can participate in
the legal discussion and can analyse legal systems and theories other than
her own. If she comes to a normative judgement of a legal theory, she has
no Archimedean point to stand upon. Likewise, a theologian may be or
may not be a member of the faith community she is studying. However,
irrespectively of her own convictions, she is a member of the community of
theologians in search of transcendental meaning, and in this sense a stake-
holder in the process of the faith community, irrespective of her own faith
commitments.
If the World Christianity researcher is a Christian theologian, as is often
the case, the relationship between the researcher and the researched can get
very complex, no matter how unproblematic the fieldwork as such might
feel. There are not only the usual power relation issues, but also questions
related to various fault lines within Christianity or within a denomination
or a church.24 When there is a shared faith commitment on both sides, the
researcher can be at the same time a cultural outsider (becoming hopefully
eventually a marginal insider) and an insider as a member of the same imag-
ined community. However, if the variation between the researcher’s con-
fessional background and the studied community becomes extensive, there
may exist doubt about belonging to the same imagined community, or it
may be denied by one of the partners. And yet, there are bound to be many
familiar elements in the studied community. In such a case, the studied could
be seen as quasi-others.25
World Christianity’s approach to the study of religion should be thor-
oughly postcolonial.26 This means that it may not take a Western normative
position, be it theological or secular. The faith of the studied communi-
ties has to be taken seriously, and if and when the researcher ventures into
normative judgement, it needs to be system immanent. System immanence
means that the phenomenon is assessed according to its own premises. For
example, if a church claims not to be proclaiming a prosperity Gospel, one
needs to figure out how the term prosperity Gospel is understood within the
church and compare it to the proclamation of that church to see whether
this is the case. Thus, the researcher’s cultural and religious background
does not become normative. Its influence on the research process is inevita-
ble, though, and needs to be assessed self-critically.
Theological pluralism in World Christianity style

The renewal needed for theology in Western academia can use World Chris-
tianity as its model. What works for World Christianity works mutatis
mutandis in theology. The resulting theology (as a discipline) needs to be
religiously, culturally, and methodologically pluralistic.
Academic theology as a discipline can no longer be only Christian. While
Christian traditions historically play a central role in the formation of Euro-
pean (and American) identity, one may not overlook the Jewish and Muslim
contributions of the past.27 Today, the reality is far more plural, and aca-
demic theology needs to cover not only these three monotheistic religions
from the Near East, but also any other major religions in each location.
The first step in encountering the challenge of religious pluralism is to
acknowledge the syncretistic nature of all religions.28 For some, this sounds
like a truism, while many theologians still stick to the notion of pure religion.
In the study of World Christianity, the interaction between Christianity and
other religions is sometimes the central question, and in most other cases
it simply cannot be overlooked, and is thus an important dimension of the
analysis. When much of such research is done on majority world Christi-
anity, there is a danger of Western theologians viewing the majority world
Christians as syncretistic while overlooking the syncretistic elements in their
own theologies and churches. This hints at the tendency of Europeans to see
majority world Christians first as specimens of ethnicities and only second-
arily as Christians, whereas one often lumps Europeanness together with
Christianity in spite of the fact that we are speaking of the world’s most
secularised continent. When syncretistic elements grow old enough, like
in Europe, they tend to turn into pure orthodoxy, and a syncretistic atti-
tude towards the secular Enlightenment is not often counted as syncretistic
because the counterpart is not counted as religion. What is done in the study
of World Christianity needs thus to become a standard approach in theology.
Additionally, in World Christianity, one can seldom bypass the question
of interreligious relations. Christian life takes place in a world of religions
and ideologies, and both Christian practice and theological thought need
to be consciously placed in this context. Majority world Christianity, even
in cases when it is now in the majority, has usually recently been a minor-
ity religion and thus the encounter with the religious other is in its DNA,
whereas in the West, the tradition of these encounters has often been for-
gotten and results in European Christianity’s Chihuahua syndrome – a big
dog’s soul in a small body. Likewise, many former national or state churches
have not become used to a situation where they represent the minority of
the population.
This interreligious encounter must enter into the very core of theologi-
cal exercise. Therefore, Christian theology must become a strand among
others, adding Muslim, Jewish, Buddhist, etc. theologies and theologians
in the faculties and departments.29 This would inevitably lead to projects
of comparative theologies and interreligious theologies,30 depending on the
positions of the academic staff. What needs to be emphasised here is that
the need for theology as a discipline to turn religiously plural does not nec-
essarily mean that all resulting theologies would be pluralistic. A pluralistic
discipline is truly pluralistic when it allows for multiple voices. However, a
pluralistic context of theology can be expected to lead to more pluralistic
theologies.31 Additionally, because of the differences in seeing the reality
and the religion’s relation to the world, various religions’ theologies even
in academia are bound to differ from each other. Therefore, one cannot
expect them to be equivalent to Christian academic theology in their goals,
methods, and practices, and yet one may expect that they should learn to be
conversant with each other.
There are several ways of dealing with the challenge of religious and
ideological pluralism in a situation in which a hegemonic position is
not attainable for an academic theology, not even in a limited sense of a
national-confessional reality bubble. One way would be to give up any met-
aphysical truth claims and simply concentrate on the analysis of existing
theologies and religious phenomena. In that case, however, theology would
lose its central task of posing the fundamental human existential questions
and turn into religious or historical studies. Another possibility is to resort
to absolute or temporary relativism. In absolute relativism, one claims that
no credible judgements are possible between e.g. religious movements, and
in temporary relativism, the judgement is postponed to the possible escha-
ton.32 However, I do not need to wait until the eschaton to judge that ISIS is
less acceptable than Engaged Buddhism, for example. It means that I have
a certain set of values and truths against which I assess religious ideas and
practices, even if I would shy away from expressing them in less obvious
cases. In order that these values and truths may serve a pluralist theology,
they need to be formulated in an ecumenical and interreligious theological
dialogue, and be open to modifications and even rejection when encounter-
ing strong arguments. This is open confessionality, in contrast to closed
confessionality where the outcome of theologising is already known at the
outset: it will be theology within a certain denominational and school of
theology mould. Possible truth claims in this kind of pluralistic theological
project need to be based on a theory of knowledge that allows for not only
truth claims, but also humility and flexibility.
In World Christianity, one tends to celebrate cultural pluralism. This is
very much in line with the Zeitgeist of globalisation. Western academic
Christian theology is still relatively monocultural, as described previously.
Theology can no longer afford to externalise the task of cultural plural-
ity to contextual theologies, mission studies, or World Christianity, but the
multiple voices in terms of cultures and subcultures need to be recognised
throughout. All theology is contextual in the sense of it being constructed in
a time and a place, and failure to recognise this does not make it universal.
Once one has recognised the cultural boundedness of one’s work, there is
an opportunity to ponder how to best communicate across the disciplinary,
cultural, linguistic, religious, etc. borders.
Methodological pluralism is probably one of the fields where there is most
willingness to change in theology. World Christianity is not the only model
pupil in the class, but there are also other theologians who are open and
innovative in terms of looking for new partner disciplines, methods, and
theories. This openness is generally a prerequisite for innovative approaches
in any of the humanities. After the era of grand narratives’ hegemony, reli-
gions can no longer be approached solely as ideas, ideals, doctrines, or prin-
ciples. Lived religion cannot be bypassed in any discipline of theology any
longer. These methodologically progressive researchers have already largely
moved on to including lived realities in their agendas, and the rest of theol-
ogy is to follow. While the death knell of grand narratives was definitely
premature, the world of ideas must today be related to the tangible and
social realities in the study of religion and theology as well.
Conclusion
Theology as a Eurocentric discipline needs to be renewed if it is to retain
its academic and ethical credibility. This renewal needs to cover its self-
understanding so that theology is no longer a Christian enterprise in dia-
logue with Western modernity, but is rather an interreligious process in
which religions and (post)modernities are in interaction with each other.
Instead of earlier closed national-confessional bubbles, theology needs to
exercise open confessionalism whereby truth claims do not lead to exclu-
sion, but rather inclusion of dialogue partners. This renewal needs to cover
methodologies, too, by opening towards lived religion without losing sight
of the role of contents of faith or religious ideals.
World Christianity as an academic discipline can serve as a resource in
this renewal because it can be seen as a result of a similar process of post-
colonialisation in mission studies. In this process, mission studies and World
Christianity have needed to engage in a global balancing between Western
secular academia and Christian faith communities (which sometimes run
universities or theological seminaries of their own) all over the world. Los-
ing a hearing in the first would lead to expulsion from secular academia,
which would be a loss for both secular academia and the discipline. The
discipline can provide secular academia with vistas on the most populous
religion around the globe that other less involved disciplines would miss,
whereas secular academia is a constant source of methodological and the-
oretical contributions, as well as constructive criticism. Losing a hearing
among the faith communities, on the other hand, would have strong adverse
effects on the social impact of the discipline and thereby indirectly on the
credibility of the discipline. World Christianity can and should function as
a critical partner in dialogue with faith communities. Likewise, theology
needs to find itself a new postcolonial and academically credible role that
does not lose its relevance in the eyes of the faith communities.
Notes
1 There are exceptions, though, like the MOPAI-project led by Prof. Samuel
Rubenson, which has produced an electronic library of early Christian sources in
Arabic, Armenian, Georgian, Greek, Latin, Slavonic, and Syriac (see Monastica
[s.a.]. A Dynamic Library and Research Tool, accessed March 20, 2017, http://
monastica.ht.lu.se/). On early medieval World Christianity, see Philip Jenkins,
The Lost History of Christianity: The Thousand-year Golden Age of the Church
in the Middle East, Africa and Asia – And How It Died (New York: HarperOne,
2008). Oriental Christian traditions are the non-Chalcedonian ones like Coptic,
Ethiopian (Tehwado), Syriac, etc.
2 A case in point would be the widely distributed The Modern Theologians, where
only white males have reached the heights that allow them a place in the chapter
headings. See David E. Ford, ed., The Modern Theologians: An Introduction to
Christian Theology since 1918 (Oxford: Blackwell, 1st ed. 1989, 2nd ed. 1997,
3rd ed. 2005). The book has evolved into an increasingly plural collection by
way of extension – adding chapters on other than the standard in theology.
3 Paul Duane Matheny, Contextual Theology: The Drama of Our Times (Eugene,
OR: Pickwick Publications, 2011), 59–60.
4 Karl Rahner, Anonymous Christianity and the Missionary Task of the Church,
Theological Investigations 12 (London: Darton, Longman & Todd, 1974); Karl
Rahner, Observations on the Problem of Anonymous Christians, Theological
Investigations 14 (London: Darton, Longman & Todd, 1976).
5 For example, in Der gekreuzigte Gott, he refers to a couple of Latin Ameri-
can liberation theologians, and two Japanese thinkers, whereas in Gott im Pro-
jekt der modernen Welt, Latin American liberation theologians are already one
major discussion partner. See Jürgen Moltmann, Der gekreutzigte Gott: Das
Kreuz Christi als Grund und Kritik christlicher Theologie (Gütersloh: Chr. Kai-
ser, 1972); Jürgen Moltmann, Gott im Projekt der modernen Welt: Beiträge zur
öffentlichen Relevanz der Theologie (Gütersloh: Chr. Kaiser, 1997).
6 See e.g. Moltmann, Gott im Projekt der modernen Welt, 219.
7 The frontal attack approach was most visible in Protestant fundamentalism (see
Margaret Bendroth, “Fundamentalist Imagination,” Church History 85, no. 2
(2016): 328–42), whereas liberal theology represented an attempt to contextual-
ise Christianity into the European and American academic male sphere (on lib-
eral theology, see James J. Buckley, “Revisionists and Liberals,” in The Modern
Theologians: An Introduction to Christian Theology since 1918, ed. David E.
Ford, 3rd ed. [Oxford: Blackwell, 2005], 213–28).
8 An example of the first rationalistic conclusions on existential questions by
a natural scientist is Richard Dawkins’ The God Delusion (London: Bantam
Books, 2006), and of mystical-religious Fritjof Capra’s The Tao of Physics: An
Exploration on the Parallels between Modern Physics and Eastern Mysticism
(Boulder, CO: Shambhala Publications, 1975).
9 It has to be noted that not all religious studies would fit in this category. See, for
example, Jorge N. Ferrer and Jacob H. Sherman, “Introduction,” in The Partici-
patory Turn: Spirituality, Mysticism, Religious Studies, eds. Jorge N. Ferrer and
Jacob H. Sherman (Albany, NY: SUNY Press, 2008), 1–80.
10 Lesslie Newbigin’s concern for maintaining trust in science under the onslaught
of postmodern critique is quite telling, especially when he considers that it is
Christian theologian’s responsibility to do so. See Lesslie Newbigin, The Gospel
in a Pluralist Society (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1989).
11 On plausibility patterns, see Peter Berger and Thomas Luckmann, The Social
Construction of Reality: A Treatise in the Sociology of Knowledge (London:
Penguin Books, 1991 [1966]), 110–21.
12 See Lawrence Cahoone, “Introduction,” in From Modernism to Postmodernism:
An Anthology, ed. Lawrence Cahoone (Oxford: Blackwell, 2003), 1–13, 1–2.
13 See Mika Vähäkangas, “Can the Study of Mission Become Postcolonial? On
Mission Studies in Today’s World,” Ortodoksia 56 (2016): 39–64.
14 In Tanzania, Bruno Gutmann (1876–1966) would serve as a paradigmatic
pioneer-era example, whereas Raimo Harjula is a later missionary example of
a champion of African theology and study of African traditions. See Ernst Jae-
schke, Bruno Gutmann, His Life, His Thoughts, and His Work: An Early Attempt
at a Theology in an African Context (Erlangen: Verlag der ev.-luth. Mission,
1985); Raimo Harjula, God and the Sun in Meru Thought, Annals of the Finn-
ish Society for Missiology and Ecumenics 16 (Helsinki: The Finnish Society for
Missiology and Ecumenics, 1969); Raimo Harjula, “Towards a Theologia Afri-
cana,” Svensk Missionstidskrift 58 (1970): 88–102.
15 E.g. Rudolf Bultmann, Jesus Christus und die Mythologie: Das Neue Testament
in Licht der Bibelkritik (Hamburg: Furche, 1964).
16 See Per Frostin, Liberation Theology in Tanzania and South Africa: A First
World Interpretation, Studia Theologica Lundensia 42 (Lund: Lund University
Press, 1988), 9–10.
17 In this sense, it is telling that the history of the International Association for Mis-
sion Studies was titled Witness for World Christianity. See Gerard H. Anderson
et al., Witness for World Christianity: The International Association for Mission
Studies 1972–2012 (New Haven, CT: OMSC Publications, 2012).
18 This was clearly visible in the International Association for Mission Studies gen-
eral assembly in Seoul in 2016, where there were about 130 papers and only a
small minority took a purely theoretical-theological approach, in comparison to
different empirically based papers.
19 See Stephen Bevans, “Migration and Mission: Pastoral Challenges, Theologi-
cal Insights,” in Reforming Theology, Migrating Church, Transforming Society:
A Compendium for Ecumenical Education, eds. Uta Andrée, Benjamin Simon,
and Lars Röser-Israel (Geneva: WCC, 2017), 178–91, 179.
20 See Matheny, Contextual Theology, 3.
21 Frostin, Liberation Theology, 6–11.
22 Jon Bialecki, Naomi Haynes, and Joel Robbins, “The Anthropology of Christi-
anity,” The Religion Compass 2, no. 6 (2008): 1139–58.
23 Michael Jackson’s book title At Home in the World describes well this ideal.
Michael Jackson, At Home in the World (Durham and London: Duke University
Press, 1995).
24 On the complicated relations between the researcher and the researched when
both are stakeholders in the same community, see Mika Vähäkangas, “Om mig,
den andre och mig i den andre: Med Weber och Lévy-Bruhl på besök hos en tan-
zanisk helare,” in Årsbok 2014, ed. Henrik Rahm (Lund: Vetenskapssocieteten i
Lund, 2014), 158–73.
25 On Kimbanguists as quasi-others, see Mika Vähäkangas, “How to Respect the
Religious Quasi-Other? Methodological Considerations on Studying the Kim-
banguist Doctrine of Incarnation,” in Faith in African Lived Christianity: Bridg-
ing Anthropological and Theological Perspectives, eds. Karin Lauterbach and
Mika Vähäkangas (Leiden: Brill, 2020).
26 On postcoloniality, see, for example, Robert J.C. Young, Postcolonialism: An
Historical Introduction (Oxford: Blackwell, 2001).
27 This insight is extensively expressed in the Nordic joint Master’s programme Reli-
gious Roots of Europe, where the contributions of all three monotheistic religions
to European identity and culture are studied. See www.ctr.lu.se/utbildning/nordisk-
masterutbildning-religious-roots-of-europe-120-hp, accessed March 20, 2017 .
28 Mika Vähäkangas, “Theo-logical Positions vis-à-vis Syncretism,” in Theological
and Philosophical Responses to Syncretism: Beyond the Mirage of Pure Reli-
gion, eds. Patrik Fridlund and Mika Vähäkangas (Leiden: Brill, 2017), 68–87.
29 For example, in Münster, there is Catholic, Protestant, and Islamic theology,
and at the Free University of Amsterdam, Protestant and Islamic theology.
This approach comes close to the second of the three alternatives for theol-
ogy described by Moltmann (Gott im Projekt der modernen Welt, 220–21).
On Islamic theology in northern European universities, see Oddbjørn Leirvik,
“Islamic University Theology,” Studia Theologica 70, no. 2 (2016): 127–44.
30 Comparative theologies could be seen as theologies where different faith tradi-
tions are involved in the theological argumentation in a comparative manner,
whereas in interreligious theology, the resulting theology consciously takes influ-
ences and contexts from several religions. However, they can be defined in various
ways. See e.g. Paul Knitter, “Comparative Theology Is Not ‘Business-as-Usual
Theology’: Personal Witness from a Buddhist Christian,” Buddhist-Christian
Studies 35 (2015): 181–92. See also David Tracy, “Theology: Comparative
Theology,” in Encyclopedia of Religion, ed. Mircea Eliade, vol. 14 (New York:
Macmillan, 1987), 446–55; Leirvik, “Islamic University Theology,” 133.
31 The concept of pluralism is tricky in theologies of religions, because there does
not exist a consensus on what pluralism might mean. Thus, Gavin D’Costa anal-
yses that many theologians who perceive themselves as pluralists actually are not
such. Gavin D’Costa, The Meeting of Religions and the Trinity (Maryknoll, NY:
Orbis, 2000).
32 John Hick, Faith and Knowledge (London: Macmillan, 1967), 178.
Index
aesthetics 167 – 168, 208 – 209, 218 Bevans, Stephen 6, 13n28, 15, 60 – 61,

Adivasi 92 – 96, 100, 106n6, 113 – 114, 123
107 – 108n16 Bhabha, Homi K. 112 – 114, 118
Africa 1 – 2, 11, 15 – 16, 18 – 22, 28, Bible see Scripture
34 – 49, 59, 63, 73, 75, 85, 87, 97, 146, Biblical studies 37 – 39, 43, 79 – 80,
156n21, 205 – 206, 208 – 210, 223, 108n20, 121, 151, 170, 173, 195
236n14; African neo-Pentecostalism Black theology 15, 18, 21, 63, 218
(see Pentecostalism) South Africa bonded labourers 93
15 – 28, 31n53, 34, 40 – 43, 49, 63, Bonhoeffer, Dietrich 71 – 72, 76 – 77, 79,
75 – 76, 109n45, 143, 214, 216 86, 174 – 175
agonism 120 – 121 border locations 91 – 111; see also
agriculture 96, 100 marginalisation/marginality
Ali, Kecia 134 – 135 Buddhism 82, 85, 183, 189, 209,
Alison, James 133 – 134 212 – 214, 217 – 218, 233
Allen, Roland 153 – 154
Althaus-Reid, Marcella 113 – 114, capitalism 11, 70, 72, 74 – 75, 79,
119, 122 81 – 87, 88n1, 96 – 99, 103, 112,
Alves, Rubem 74 118 – 120, 122, 126 – 127, 129, 133,
Anthropocene 160 – 179, 194 135 – 136, 140, 165, 205, 225
anthropocentrism 160, 163, 179n45 caste system 91 – 93, 95 – 96, 99 – 100,
anthropogenic climate change see 105; see also Adivasi; Dalit
climate change Catholicism 9, 15, 56 – 59, 64, 70,
anthropology 5, 59, 61, 65, 67, 73 – 74, 78, 97, 109n35, 110n64,
133 – 134, 144, 228, 230 – 231 126, 130, 133 – 134, 206, 210 – 211,
anxiety 122, 182 – 187, 190, 194; eco- 225, 237n29
anxiety 181 – 204; existential anxiety Christ 34 – 35, 44 – 46, 48 – 49, 71,
182, 185 – 186, 189 77, 98, 100 – 102, 104 – 106, 126,
apartheid 16, 24 – 26, 32n53, 75 – 76, 129 – 130, 134, 140 – 142, 151 – 154,
79, 85, 214, 216 211, 213 – 217, 219n7
art 196, 208 – 218 Christian mission see mission
asceticism 139 – 140, 149 clergy 34 – 35, 39 – 49, 58, 72 – 73, 97,
Asia 1, 11, 70, 73, 83, 85, 153, 155n4, 109n35, 150, 194, 197, 210
205, 208 – 210, 222 climate change 83 – 87, 105, 160 – 161,
authority see power 164, 166, 168 – 169, 173, 175,
178n25, 181 – 188, 190 – 191,
Barth, Karl 71, 223 193 – 197; denial of 184 – 185, 197
Bellini, Giovanni 174 climate justice 4, 162 – 165, 174, 183
Bergmann, Eiríkur 112 – 113, 117 – 118 colonialism 20 – 21, 45, 47 – 48, 49n4,
Bergmann, Sigurd 119, 123, 181, 194 61, 63, 70, 72, 86 – 87, 99, 114 – 115,
Index 239
122, 129, 153, 205, 210, 222, emotion 181 – 197, 208
225 – 229 empire 45, 72, 79 – 86, 100, 109n45, 115,
commons 84, 163 118, 122, 126, 171, 205, 208; Roman
communism 224 – 225 Empire 70 – 71, 79 – 80, 83, 170
community see faith community empirical theology 5, 13n17, 24, 57,
conscientisation 98 – 99, 126 – 127 62, 64 – 65, 67, 228 – 230
constructive theology 3 – 4, 191, 221 environment 2 – 4, 81, 86, 105, 160,
consumerism 93, 96, 99, 104 163 – 172, 177n25, 181, 184, 187 – 188,
Costa Rica 57, 64 190 – 191, 193, 195 – 197, 201n53;
creation 4 – 5, 34, 36, 38, 43, 45 – 48, environmental change 3, 105, 160,
78, 81 – 82, 97, 101, 104 – 106, 171 – 172, 181 – 183, 186, 189, 197 (see
111n69, 120, 127, 151, 154, also climate change); environmental
159n99, 160, 164 – 165, 173 – 174, justice 4, 164, 166 – 168, 179n50 (see
189, 194 also climate justice)
Cross see crucifixion eschatology 130 – 131, 164, 170 – 173, 195
crucifixion of Christ 5, 48, 98, 106, ethnicity 16, 27, 31n53, 38, 56, 59 – 63,
211, 213, 215 – 217 65 – 67, 80, 94, 206, 225 – 226, 232;
ethnic minorities 57, 66, 92, 226
daira 139, 144 ethnography 57, 59 – 60, 64 – 66, 69n23,
Dalit 92 – 93, 95 – 96, 98, 103, 105, 227, 230
107n9, 212, 218 Eurocentrism 60, 97, 99, 221 – 223,
death 83, 87, 93, 139, 181 – 182, 226 – 227, 229 – 230, 234
186 – 187, 190, 194 exclusion see marginalisation/marginality
decolonial(ity) 7, 34 – 35, 43 – 49, 205 existential anxiety see anxiety
deconstruction 85, 99, 120, 123, 225 Extinction Rebellion 191 – 192
Derrida, Jacques 112, 121
despair 103, 105, 182, 185, 189 – 190; faith 1 – 6, 11, 19 – 20, 22, 26 – 28, 66,
see also hope 72, 103 – 106, 126, 128, 132, 152,
dhikr 140 – 141, 149 160, 170 – 171, 173, 222, 224, 227,
dialogue 13n28, 20, 36, 43 – 45, 56, 231, 234
58 – 60, 62 – 63, 67, 97, 108n50, faith communities 5, 45 – 47, 84, 86, 94,
206 – 207, 212, 222 – 223, 233 – 235 160, 166, 171, 224, 228, 230 – 231,
discrimination 47, 66, 74 – 75, 234 – 235
91 – 95, 97, 99 – 101, 148; see also Farquhar, John Nicol 152 – 153
marginalisation; social justice feminist theology 16, 21, 28, 36, 45,
dissemiNation 112 – 113, 123 56 – 67, 98, 105, 109n43, 113, 120,
divine economy 119 – 120, 123 131 – 135, 207, 223; Islamic feminist
theology133 – 135
eco-anxiety see anxiety Finland 57, 65 – 66, 182, 184, 192 – 193,
Ecocene 161, 171 – 174, 178n40, 196 – 197, 221
179n42 forgiveness 11, 15 – 16, 18, 22 – 28,
eco-justice see climate justice 48, 71, 123, 190, 194; see also
ecological crisis see climate change reconciliation
economy/economics 17 – 19, 21 – 24,
26 – 27, 35, 37, 49, 71 – 72, 77 – 87, gender 2, 16, 22, 27, 35 – 44, 57, 59 – 65,
91 – 106, 108n17, 112 – 123, 139, 67, 92 – 96, 99, 101, 105, 206,
162 – 163, 170, 191, 206, 225, 227 225; gender-based discrimination
ecotheology 61, 163, 183, 188 – 193 (see discrimination); gender-based
ecumenicism 2 – 3, 11, 56, 63, 70 – 71, violence (see infanticide, female;
73, 76 – 80, 82, 86 – 87, 95, 188, sexual abuse); gender studies 27, 56,
191 – 192, 206, 233 59 – 60, 62 – 65, 67; see also women
education 42 – 43, 72, 80, 84, 94, globalisation 2 – 3, 5, 11, 80 – 81, 95 – 96,
100 – 101, 187 – 190, 195 – 197 99, 114, 225, 233
240 Index
Global Christianity see World indigenous peoples 57, 59 – 60, 62,
Christianity 65 – 67, 70, 92, 97, 106n6, 108n17
Global South 2, 5, 49n4, 56 – 57, 61, indigenous theology/religions 37 – 38,
63 – 64, 72, 74, 210 – 211 65 – 67, 113, 123, 189
glocalisation 217 – 218 inequality see social justice
God 1 – 5, 11, 17, 25 – 26, 34, 36, infanticide, female 93
38 – 39, 42, 44 – 48, 64, 79, 81, injustice see social justice
83, 87, 98 – 106, 119, 122 – 123, intersectionality 11, 22, 62 – 64, 66 – 67
127 – 132, 138 – 154, 159n99, Islam 126 – 129, 132 – 135, 138 – 154,
165 – 166, 170 – 171, 173, 175, 209, 212, 218, 222, 232 – 233,
178n38; see also Christ; Holy Spirit 237n29; Islamic feminist theology
Grau, Marion 119 – 123, 171 (see feminist theology)
greed 79, 81 – 84, 87, 92, 95, 102,
105, 123 Jesus Christ see Christ
grief 182 – 183, 187, 190 – 191; Judaism 44, 70, 72, 76, 79, 86, 170,
ecological grief 182 – 183, 187, 209, 232 – 233
189 – 197 justice see social justice
guilt 26, 182, 186, 190 – 191; eco-guilt
182, 186, 190 – 191, 195 Kurth, Charlie 185 – 186
Gutiérrez, Gustavo 74, 97, 126 – 133
Latin America 56, 59, 62 – 65, 73, 85,
Havea, Jione 113 – 114, 121 – 123 97 – 98, 106, 109n35, 128, 156n21,
hermeneutics 146, 148, 195, 208, 218; 205, 207 – 208; Latin American
hermeneutical circle 113, 206 – 207; liberation theology (see liberation
hermeneutical prism 208 – 209; theology)
hermeneutics of suspicion 113, 122, liberation theology 2, 5 – 6, 11, 15 – 16,
207 – 208 18, 45, 56 – 111, 113, 126, 131,
hijrat 143 – 144 133, 168, 206 – 207; black African
Hinduism 96, 106n6, 107n15, 108n22, liberation theology 15 – 16, 18, 63;
151 – 152, 209, 212, 218 Latin American liberation theology
Holy Spirit 4 – 5, 12n16, 38 – 40, 43, 2, 11, 56, 59, 63 – 65, 79, 85, 97 – 98,
47, 82, 87, 97, 132, 141, 143 – 144, 106, 109n35, 207, 228
146 – 149, 153, 171, 173 – 174 lived religion 5, 56 – 67, 234
hope 23, 47, 98, 119, 122, 128, 171, Lutheranism 65 – 66, 71, 75 – 76, 80,
173 – 174, 182 – 184, 187 – 188, 190, 88n1, 191, 193
192 – 193, 195 – 197; see also despair Lutheran World Federation (LWF) 70,
Humboldt, Alexander von 166 – 167 75 – 76, 80 – 82
kairos 78, 170 Macy, Joanna 183 – 184, 189 – 190,

Kairos Europe 6, 86 193, 195
kenosis 34 – 35, 43 – 49 Mahdawi 138 – 159
Maluleke, Tinyiko 16, 18 – 21, 23 – 24,
Ibn ‘Arabi 142 27, 36
Iceland 112 – 123 Mancoba Seven Angels Ministry 42
iconography 209 – 212, 216, 218 marginalisation/marginality 22, 35, 44,
imago dei 127, 151 – 152, 159n99, 46 – 48, 57 – 58, 60 – 62, 67, 81 – 82,
166, 173 92 – 96, 99, 101 – 106, 108n18,
imperialism see empire 192; see also border locations;
incarnation 4, 113, 123; of Christ 4 – 5, discrimination; social justice
44 – 49, 127, 130 Marxism 76, 88n1, 119 – 120, 127, 131
inculturation 34 – 35, 38, 42 – 43, 49, material religion see art
206, 212 meaningfulness 24, 38, 57, 66, 102,
India 1, 85, 91 – 111, 222 104, 122, 168, 182 – 184, 186 – 188,
Index 241
192, 194 – 195, 197, 218, 221, 223, popular theology see lived religion
230 – 231 postcolonialism/postcoloniality 2,
Medellín 71, 73 – 74, 97 11, 20, 47, 49n4, 112 – 113, 115,
mental health see anxiety 118 – 120, 123, 208, 221, 228 – 235
migration 3, 86, 93, 107n16, 170, postmodernism 18, 20, 118, 131, 225,
225 – 226 236n10
Milbank, John 120 poststructuralism 113, 118, 120
millenarianism 138, 140, 155n4 poverty 91 – 98, 102, 105, 106n4,
Minjung theology 223 111n69, 127 – 130, 139, 205
mission 1, 61, 92, 97, 99, 101 – 105, power 26, 34 – 36, 49n4, 58, 61 – 62,
109n45, 114, 138, 143, 148, 150, 67, 72, 81 – 82, 85, 92, 94, 96 – 99,
152 – 154, 206, 210 – 211, 225, 104, 119 – 120, 122, 128, 132, 172,
227 – 228 182, 187, 197, 223, 231; abuse of
mission studies (missiology) 3 – 4, 6, 34 – 49, 72, 81, 91, 101 – 102, 128;
57, 153, 206, 218n4, 221, 227 – 229, spiritual/sacred 34 – 49, 143 – 144,
233 – 234 146 – 147
Moltmann, Jürgen 17, 173, 223 priests see clergy
mortality see death prophetic tradition 21, 47, 85, 92, 97,
Mouffe, Chantal 120 – 121, 123 101 – 105, 143, 147 – 150, 170
mujerista theology 63, 223 Protestantism 58, 66, 74, 85, 109n35,
mysticism 39, 43 – 44, 46, 92, 97, 206, 210, 218n4, 225, 235n7,
103 – 105, 111n69, 126, 142, 237n29; see also Lutheranism
149 – 151, 154, 224 public theology 15 – 28, 171
nationalism 95, 113, 115, 130, quietism 128

225 – 226
racial identity 31n53, 60; racial
Ojala, Maria 188 discrimination (see discrimination);
oppression see social justice racial minorities (see ethnic
option for the poor 5, 74, 97 – 99, minorities)
101, 106 Rahner, Karl 223
Orthodoxy 57, 65 – 66, 73 – 74, 214, reconciliation 18, 24 – 25, 85, 103, 141,
222, 225 216; see also forgiveness
religious minorities 65 – 66, 95, 107n15,
Panikkar, Raymundo 151 225 – 226, 232
pastoral care 190 – 191, 194 resilience 182 – 183, 188, 195
pastoral theology 168, 191 resistance 18, 36, 46, 48, 72, 75,
pastors see clergy 85, 88n5, 92, 103 – 104, 106, 119,
patriarchy 21, 36, 39 – 41, 43 – 45, 126 – 131, 135, 170, 190
48, 60, 72, 108n20, 208, 226; revelation 3, 141, 145 – 147
heteropatriarchy 40, 43 – 44
Pears, Angie 1 – 2 Schreiter, Robert J. 1 – 2
Pentecostalism 138 – 154, 157n58; Scripture 16, 24, 70, 73, 76, 79 – 80, 85,
African neo-Pentecostalism 34 – 49, 97, 101 – 102, 143, 145 – 149, 154,
54n59 170, 195, 208
phenomenology 139, 154 Second Vatican Council see Vatican II
pluralism 94, 121, 224 – 226, 228, sexual abuse 34 – 45, 48 – 49, 94
232 – 234, 237n31 sexual ethics 56, 133 – 134
political theology 2, 23, 26 – 27, 85, Shariati, Ali 126 – 136
113, 133 sin 23 – 24, 26, 36, 44 – 45, 48, 71,
poor 25, 44, 64, 74, 80 – 81, 95 – 99, 97 – 98, 100, 123, 129, 133 – 134,
102 – 106, 113, 119, 126 – 132, 141, 152, 171
164 – 165, 168, 183, 203n89 Skolt Sámi 57, 65 – 66
242 Index
social injustice see social justice Vatican 74, 78, 206, 210
social justice 4 – 5, 21, 24 – 25, 44 – 48, Vatican II 71, 73 – 74, 97, 132, 206
61, 72, 74, 76, 78 – 80, 85, 87, 92, 96, Vikings 112, 115 – 117, 122 – 123
98 – 99, 101 – 105, 116, 120, 127 – 132; violence 4, 24, 45 – 46, 53n59, 72, 75,
divine justice 44, 83, 109n35; see also 83 – 84, 91, 94 – 95, 106, 107n8,
discrimination; marginalisation 107n15, 111n69, 115, 120, 165;
status confessionis 72, 75 – 77, 79 – 80 gender-based violence (see infanticide,
Sufism 138 – 139, 143, 147, 152, 154, female; sexual abuse)
155n4, 157n52 Virgin Mary 57, 64 – 66, 211, 216
syncretism 206, 210, 232
women 21 – 22, 26 – 27, 38, 41 – 44,
tawhid 127, 130, 132 47 – 48, 56 – 67, 76, 94 – 95, 100 – 101,
Tillich, Paul 71, 186, 189, 194 108n16; violence against (see sexual
tradition 11, 15 – 16, 20, 34 – 49, 57 – 67, abuse); see also gender
93, 95 – 96, 103, 113, 115, 126 – 136, World Alliance of Reformed Churches
142, 145, 147 – 153, 170 – 171, (WARC) 76, 80 – 82
191, 209, 213, 215, 221 – 222, 226, World Christianity 3 – 5, 228 – 235
228 – 230 World Council of Churches (WCC) 1,
tribal theologies 96, 98, 103, 105 73 – 75, 78 – 82, 108n18, 205
Tshaka, Rothney 16, 18 – 21 World War II 65, 105, 115, 205, 210,
221, 224
Ubuntu 34, 40, 44, 46, 48, 85
Urbaniak, Jakub 16, 18, 20 – 21 Zenana mission 100
H TS Religi o n & So ci e t y Se rie s
Vo l ume 3
Just Faith
Glocal Responses to Planetary Urbanisation
Edited by Stephan de Beer

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Glocal Responses to
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Volume 3
JUST FAITH
Glocal Responses to
EDITOR
Stephan de Beer
Religious Studies domain editorial board at AOSIS
Chief Editor
Andries van Aarde, Post Retirement Professor in the Dean’s Office, Faculty of
Theology, University of Pretoria, South Africa
Board Members
Warren Carter, Professor of New Testament, Brite Divinity School, Fort Worth,
United States
Christian Danz, Dekan der Evangelisch-Theologischen Fakultät der Universität
Wien and Ordentlicher Universität professor für Systematische Theologie und
Religionswissenschaft, University of Vienna, Austria
Pieter G.R. de Villiers, Associate Editor, Extraordinary Professor in Biblical
Spirituality, Faculty of Theology, University of the Free State, South Africa
Musa W. Dube, Department of Theology & Religious Studies, Faculty of
Humanities, University of Botswana, Botswana
David D. Grafton, Professor of Islamic Studies and Christian-Muslim Relations,
Duncan Black Macdonald Center for the Study of Islam and Christian-Muslim
Relations, Hartford Seminary, Hartford, Connecticut, United States
Jens Herzer, Theologische Fakultät der Universität Leipzig, Germany
Jeanne Hoeft, Dean of Students and Associate Professor of Pastoral Theology
and Pastoral Care, Saint Paul School of Theology, United States
Dirk J. Human, Associate Editor, Deputy Dean and Professor of Old Testament
Studies, Faculty of Theology, University of Pretoria, South Africa
D. Andrew Kille, Former Chair of the SBL Psychology and Bible Section, and
Editor of the Bible Workbench, San Jose, United States
William R.G. Loader, Emeritus Professor, Murdoch University, Perth, Western
Australia
Isabel A. Phiri, Associate General Secretary for Public Witness and Diakonia,
World Council of Churches, Geneva, Switzerland
Marcel Sarot, Emeritus Professor of Fundamental Theology, Tilburg School of
Catholic Theology, Tilburg University, the Netherlands
Corneliu C. Simut, Professor of Historical and Dogmatic Theology, Emanuel
University, Oradea, Bihor, Romania
Rothney S. Tshaka, Professor and Head of Department of Philosophy, Practical
and Systematic Theology, University of South Africa, Pretoria, South Africa
Elaine M. Wainwright, Emeritus Professor, School of Theology, University
of Auckland, New Zealand; Executive Leader, Mission and Ministry, McAuley
Centre, Australia
Gerald West, Associate Editor, School of Religion, Philosophy and Classics in
the College of Humanities, University of KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa
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Research Justification
The purpose of this scholarly book is to expand the body of knowledge available
on urban theology. It introduces readers to the concept of planetary urbanisation,
with the view of deepening an understanding of urbanisation and its all-pervasive
impact on the planet, people and places from a theological perspective. On the
occasions when theological consideration has been given to urban challenges, it
has often been done almost exclusively from the Global North. This book provides
a critical theological reading of ‘the urban’, deliberating on bridging the divide
between voices from the Global South and the Global North. In doing so, it
simultaneously seeks out robust and dynamic faith constructs, expressed in
various forms and embodiments of justice. The methodology chosen transcended
narrow disciplinary boundaries, situating reflections between and across
disciplines, in the interface between scholarly reflection and an activist faith, as
well as between local rootedness and global connectedness. A collective of
authors was gathered, spanning all continents, various Christian faith traditions
and multiple disciplines, as well as a range of methodological approaches.
Authors were requested to consider faith constructs expressed in justice, against
the backdrop of planetary urbanisation, but to do so while being true to their own
paradigmatic and methodological approaches. This was done intentionally to
reflect the complexity and interconnectedness of the planetary urban reality.
What holds the book together is the rare commitment of all the authors to
practise engaged scholarship, bridging the gap between intellectual reflection
and concrete urban engagement. Their contributions are mostly the fruit of
grass-roots urban action, culminating in critical reflection, prompting deeper,
critical action. The book endeavours to contribute to knowledge production in a
number of ways. Firstly, it suggests the inadequacy of most dominant faith
expressions in the face of all-pervasive forces of urbanisation, and it also provides
clues as to the possibility of fostering potent alternative imaginaries. Secondly, it
explores a decolonial faith that is expressed in various forms of justice. It is an
attempt to offer concrete embodiments of what such a faith could look like in the
context of planetary urbanisation. Thirdly, the book does not focus on one
specific urban challenge or mode of ministry but rather introduces the concept
of planetary urbanisation and then offers critical lenses with which to interrogate
its consequences and challenges. It considers concrete and liberating faith
constructs in areas ranging from gender, race, economic inequality, a solidarity
economics, and housing, to urban violence, indigeneity and urbanisation, the
interface between economic and environmental sustainability, and grass-roots
theological education. The main target audience will be specialists in the field of
Practical Theology, contextual theology and political theology. A more focused
target audience would be scholars in the humanities and social sciences
investigating sustainable and just urban futures, as well as urbanity from
theological and missional perspectives. This book is the result of original research
and no part of the book was plagiarised from another publication or published
elsewhere. In cases where authors refer to other scholarly work, or their own,
proper methods of referencing have been followed.
Prof. Stephan de Beer, Centre for Contextual Ministry and Department of
Practical Theology, Faculty of Theology, University of Pretoria, South Africa
v
Contents
Abbreviations, Figures and Tables
in the Text and Notes xiii
List of Abbreviations xiii
List of Figures xiv
List of Tables xiv
Notes on Contributors xv
Acknowledgements xxi
Foreword xxiii
Chapter 1: Just Faith and Planetary Urbanisation 1

Stephan de Beer
Introduction 1
Disaster or Promise: Viewing the World Through
the Planet of Trantor 1
Planetary Urbanisation: A Theological Consideration
and Challenge 2
The Meaning and Challenge of Planetary Urbanisation 3
The Illusion of Autonomous Self-Governance:
The ‘Terrible Twins’ of Technocracy and Bureaucracy 5
Planetary Urbanisation, Challenged 7
The Inadequacy of Just Faith on an Urban Planet 10
Christian Inertia 11
State, Church and Market Theologies 12
Just Faith – Without Justice – is Not Enough 15
In Search of a Robust, Dynamic and Saturating Faith 16
Fantasy, Festivity and Faith 17
Finding and Shaping New Forms of Be(com)ing:
Faith and a Politics of Becoming 18
A Post-Christendom, Post-Church, Planetary Faith 20
Planetary Urbanisation: A Politics of Encounter and Justice
Movements from Below and Outside 21
‘Common Notions Around Adequate Ideas’ 23
vii
Contents
‘Occupation as Encounter, Encounter as Occupation’ 24

Beyond Revolutionary Citizenship to Planetary Love 25
Faith as Subversive, Resistant and Tenacious Justice 26
Jesus As Prophet: Religion, Revolt and
the Kingdom of God 27
The Alternative Kingdom of God and Planetary
Urbanisation 30
A Remnant Only? 33
Prophetic Communities: Practising Prophetic Theology 34
Discerning a Planetary Urban Theological Agenda 35
An All-embracive Planetary Faith 37
A Planetary Consciousness and Planetary Love 37
Collideorscape, Wormholes and Minor Spaces 38
Jesus Belongs to the Whole Planet 40
Chapter 2: Eco-critical Imagination, Indigenous Political

Liberation and White Settler Decolonisation: ‘Animating’
Accountability as the City Congeals and the Heat Rises 43
James W. Perkinson
Introduction 44
The Hour of Apocalypse 45
‘Animating’ Liberation Theology 47
Liberating an Animist Imagination 52
Local Dwelling in Indigenous Compass 54
State-Driven Urbanisation as Human ‘Reduction’ 61
The Biblical Tradition as Anti-urban ‘Re-Wilding’ 65
Personal Struggle in the Midst of Urban Apocalypse 69
The Politics of an Animist Turn 70
Chapter 3: Babaylan Healing and Indigenous ‘Religion’

at the Postcolonial Crossroads: Learning from Our Deep
History as the Planet Grows Apocalyptic 75
S. Lily Mendoza
Introduction 76
Out of the (Earth’s) Womb and into Colonial Subjection 80
viii
Contents
Indigenous Encounter: Pathway to Release

and Freedom 89
Crying Out for Vision: Babaylan Rising and the
Turn to Spirit 93
Why the Indigenous? 98
Chapter 4: Guatemalan Grass-Roots Theology as

Resistance to Global Sacrificial Theology 103
Joel Aguilar
Introduction 103
Mimetic Desire, Violence and Urban Society 105
A Story About Violence 105
Mimetic Desire and the Scapegoat Mechanism 107
Violence: Global Forms of Violence in Urban Society 112
Global Sacrificial Theology 119
A Grass-Roots Theology in Resistance: Communities
of Practice and Desire 126
Chapter 5: Households of Freedom? Faith’s Role in

Challenging Gendered Geographies of Violence in Our Cities 135
Selina Palm and Elisabet le Roux
Introduction 135
An Urban Public Theology Rooted in Lived Experience 138
South Africa’s Gender-(un)Just Cities 145
Gender (in)Justice in Cities: Ignoring the Private Spaces 150
What’s Faith Got to Do with It? 156
From ‘Houses of Bondage’ to ‘Households of Freedom’ 158
Conclusion 163
Chapter 6: Churches, Urban Geographies and Contested

Immigration in the United States 165
R. Drew Smith
Introduction 165
Linkages Between Immigration Policy and Social
Opportunity in Gateway Contexts 167
ix
Contents
Religious Contestation Over Immigration 173

Towards a Public Theology of Global Community Inclusivity 182
Conclusion 187
Notes 187
Chapter 7: Dwelling as Just Faith: Migrant Housing,

Precarity and the Activities of Faith-Based Organisations
in Tshwane and Atlanta 189
Adrian Bailey, Stephan de Beer and Katherine Hankins
Introduction 190
Towards a Constitutive Reading of Migration,
Housing and Planetary Urbanisation 192
Case Study Research Design 197
Precarity and the Activities of Faith-Based Organisations
in Tshwane and Atlanta 200
Precarity 200
Faith-Based Organisation Activities 205
Recovering an ethics of dwelling 216
Conclusion 220
Chapter 8: The Informal God: Outside Schools

of Theology 223
Sheth O. Oguok and Colin Smith
Introduction 223
Contextualisation and Theological Education 225
A Theology of Place 227
Curriculum and Place 230
Theology from Above: Power and Privilege 233
The Story of Hagar 237
The Unending Tension 240
The Growing Frustration 242
Outside Schools of Theology 244
x
Contents
A View from the Outside 248

A View from the Inside 250
Chapter 9: At Many Tables of Discernment: Faith

and Shalom in the Polis 253
Andre van Eymeren
Introduction 253
There is Hope! The New Urban Agenda 255
Sustainable Urbanism and the New Urban Agenda 257
Working Sustainably 257
A Pathway Towards Sustainable Urbanism 258
Social Sustainability 260
Building Cities from Below: Taking Ownership Locally 260
Participation in an Open Planning Table 261
Developing an Asset Map 262
Building Relationships 263
Economic Development and Information Sharing 263
Developing a Common Vision 264
Partnering with Outside Resources 266
Understanding the Complexities of Local Development 266
A Theology of Hope and the New Urban Agenda 271
Two Narratives Competing for our Communities 273
The Kingdom of God 274
Shalom as a Way of Engagement 276
The New ‘Shape’ of Faith: An Open and Inclusive Ecclesiology 277
Love 277
Being True to Our Roots 278
Authenticity 279
Hospitality 280
Beyond Safe Shores 281
Friendship for the Journey 282
Conclusion 283
xi
Contents
Chapter 10: Innovative Faith in an Urban Planet:

The Use of e-Trading Platforms Between the Urban
and Rural Poor in the Philippines. A Case Study 287
Benigno P. Beltran
Introduction 288
Trading Between the Urban Poor of Smokey
Mountain and Indigenous Tribal People: Information,
Innovation and Sustainable Impact 288
The Veritas e-Trading Network 292
The Veritas e-Commerce Platform 295
The Global Political Economy 301
Veritas’ Alternative Imagination 308
The Spirituality of Economics and Ecology 313
Conclusion 319
References 321
Index 345
xii
Abbreviations,
Figures and Tables in
the Text and Notes
List of Abbreviations
AALC African American Leadership Council
ABCD Asset-based Community Development
BALA Black American Leadership Alliance
CfBS Center for Babaylan Studies
CIBC Clarkston International Bible Church
CMS Church Mission Society
CMT Center for Transforming Mission
CPACS Center for Pan Asian Community Services
FBO Faith-based Organisation
GDP Gross Domestic Product
GTF Global Task Force of Local and Regional Govern-
ments
IRC International Rescue Committee
ISIL Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant
LAA Latin American Association
NAP New American Pathways
NBC National Broadcasting Company
NGO Non-governmental Organisation
NUA New Urban Agenda
PNBC Progressive National Baptist Convention
RDP Reconstruction and Development Programme
RGC Research Grants Council
SDG Sustainable Development Goals
US United States
USS Urban Shalom Society
VAWG Violence Against Women and Girls
xiii
Abbreviations, Figures and Tables in the Text and Notes
WOW Well-being Options for Wholeness

YASS Yunnan Academy of Social Sciences
YCH Yeast City Housing
List of Figures
Figure 10.1: The business model that underpins
the Veritas e-Commerce platform. 297
List of Tables
Table 7.1: Atlanta non-governmental and faith-based
organisation support for migrants. 209
xiv
Notes on Contributors
Joel Aguilar
Joel is the former executive director of leadership development
at the Centre for Transforming Mission (CMT), Guatemala City.
Currently, he is working as an independent consultant for Street
Psalms Resource Centre, Resonate Global Mission, and non-profit
organizations wanting to connect in healthy and sustainable
ways from the United States to Guatemala. Joel is working on his
PhD at the University of Pretoria, in South Africa. His studies
focus on the intersection between René Girard’s mimetic theory
and Practical Theology for civic engagement. The title of Joel’s
doctoral dissertation is ‘A Practical Theology of Peacebuilding:
Living, Laughing, and Loving in Guatemala City’. Email: joel.
aguilarramirez@gmail.com
Adrian J. Bailey
Adrian Bailey is chair professor of Geography at Hong Kong
Baptist University (2010–present) and dean of the Faculty of
Social Sciences. His previous academic postings include time at
the University of Leeds (1999–2010) and Dartmouth College
(1989–1999). Working with collaborators in Africa, North America
and Asia, he has studied the geographies of the life course using
diverse methodologies and comparative analyses. Much of this
scholarship has concerned migration, family and transnational
relations. As an academic he is also committed to innovative and
transdisciplinary pedagogy that not only brings subject matter
alive but obliges both teacher and student to engage with and
learn from one another in an open and dignified manner. Email:
ilkleymoor@hotmail.com; ORCID: 0000-0002-2916-3570
Benigno P. Beltran
Benigno (Ben) Beltran, SVD, is a religious missionary priest of the
Society of the Divine Word, ordained in 1973. He completed his
licentiate and doctorate in Systematic Theology at the Pontifical
xv
University of the Gregorian. For 30 years (1978–2008), Father Ben

served as pastor of a scavenger community in a garbage dump
called Smokey Mountain in the heart of Manila. During this time, he
taught theology at the Divine Word Seminary, Tagaytay City. In
recent years Ben became engaged in the use of cloud technologies
to educate out-of-school youth and to connect the rural and urban
poor to trade directly through an innovative e-Commerce platform.
This platform uses artificial intelligence and data analytics to
increase production of organic products and to green the supply
chain distribution system. Currently, he is also associate pastor of
the Sacred Heart Parish-Shrine, Kamuning, Quezon City,
Philippines. Email: beltransvd@yahoo.com
Stephan de Beer
Stephan de Beer is director of the Centre for Contextual Ministry
and Associate Professor of Practical Theology in the Faculty of
Theology, University of Pretoria. His focus is on the diaconate,
community development and urban theology. For 20 years he
served as CEO of the Tshwane Leadership Foundation, an
ecumenical inner-city organisation committed to the city’s most
vulnerable. His own research interests focus on homelessness,
housing and spatial justice, as well as the creation of innovative
urban pedagogies for theological education and change-making.
He completed a PhD in Practical Theology with an emphasis on
the church, inner-city transformation and housing (1999) and a
PhD in Town and Regional Planning, focusing on space, spirituality
and a community-based urban praxis. He completed both
degrees at the University of Pretoria. Email: stephan.debeer@
up.ac.za
Katherine Hankins
Katherine Hankins is an associate professor of Geography and
chair of the Department of Geosciences at Georgia State University.
She is an urban geographer, whose expertise is in the policies and
politics of neighbourhood change. Her research examines both
the broad political shifts that produce neighbourhood change in
xvi
addition to neighbourhood activism and community development

practices, including faith-based efforts, that shape the everyday
lives of neighbourhood residents. Her work has focused on the
politics around urban redevelopment projects, housing and
schooling, primarily in Atlanta, Georgia, USA. Her current project
with colleagues in Hong Kong and South Africa on migrant
precarity, housing and faith-based organisations opens up a
critical comparative approach to understanding contemporary
urban change. Email: khankins@gsu.edu
Elisabet le Roux
Elisabet le Roux is research director of the interdisciplinary Unit
for Religion and Development Research at Stellenbosch
University in South Africa. She is a sociologist working in the field
of faith and development, mainly within the Global South. Doing
empirical research internationally for governments and global
faith-based organisations, she has a particular interest in the
intersection between religion and sexual violence. Her work
internationally includes the study of faith community responses
to developmental issues in conflict-affected settings, patriarchy
within faith communities and interfaith peace and conflict. Email:
eleroux@sun.ac.za
S. Lily Mendoza
S. Lily Mendoza is a professor, researcher and scholar who has
received numerous awards for her work in critical intercultural
communication studies. She is currently an Associate Professor of
Culture and Communication at Oakland University in Rochester,
Michigan, USA. She is the author of Between the Homeland and
the Diaspora: The Politics of Theorizing Filipino and Filipino
American Identities (2002/2006) and lead editor of Back from the
Crocodile’s Belly: Philippine Babaylan Studies and the Struggle for
Indigenous Memory (2013/2015), along with other numerous
journal and book chapter publications. Her research and teaching
interests include critical intercultural communication; questions of
xvii
identity and subjectivity; cultural politics in national, post- and

transnational contexts; discourses of indigenisation, race and
ethnicity, culture and ecology; and bridge-building across
traditions of scholarship. She currently serves as the director of
the Center for Babaylan Studies, a movement dedicated to
mentoring and helping diasporic Filipino youth in their process of
decolonisation and recovery of a sense of connection to their
indigenous roots. Email: mendoza@oakland.edu
Sheth O. Oguok
Sheth O. Oguok is the Nairobi Transformational Network
Coordinator for Resonate Global Mission, Eastern and Southern
African Region. He is committed to theological education and
training of informal settlement leaders in Nairobi, Kenya. He holds
a BTh (Honours) degree from the University of South Africa and
an MA in Global Urban Leadership from the Bakke Graduate
University in Seattle, Washington. He is currently completing his
PhD in Missiology with the University of Pretoria, focusing on
pedagogies from below. Previously, Sheth was a pastor at Word
Impact Centre in Kibera, Nairobi. He also served as programme
manager and tutor of the Shepherd’s Institute at Carlile College’s
Centre for Urban Mission in Kibera, and as director of training at
the Centre for Transforming Mission Kenya. Email: sheth31@gmail.
com
Selina Palm
Selina Palm is a researcher with the Unit for Religion and
Development Research at Stellenbosch University, focusing on
interactions between religion and social violence and working
with organisations around the globe with an emphasis on gender
and sexual violence. She holds a PhD in Theology and Development
from the University of KwaZulu-Natal, a master’s in Interdisciplinary
Human Rights from the University of Essex and a master’s in
Systematic Theology from Stellenbosch University, where she was
awarded the 2012 Rector’s Medal. Her publications explore the
role of hope in social transformation, human rights and religion in
xviii
African contexts and theological underpinnings of violence against

children. She has 18 years of experience in international community
development and she is a lay leader in her Cape Town church
congregation, pioneering social justice spiritualities and creative
youth pedagogies. Her commitment to urban transformation is
shaped by her work with street children in the Philippines,
Zimbabwe, South Africa and Kenya. Email: spalm@sun.ac.za;
ORCID: https://orcid.org/0000-0002-7511-0170
James W. Perkinson
James W. Perkinson is a long-time activist and educator from
inner-city Detroit, currently teaching as professor of Social Ethics
at the Ecumenical Theological Seminary and lecturing in
Intercultural Communication Studies at the University of Oakland
(Michigan). He holds a Ph.D. in theology from the University of
Chicago, is the author of White Theology: Outing Supremacy in
Modernity and Shamanism, Racism, and Hip-Hop Culture: Essays
on White Supremacy and Black Subversion, Messianism Against
Christology: Resistance Movements, Folk Arts, and Empire and
Political Spirituality in an Age of Eco-Apocalypse: Communication
and Struggle Across Species, Cultures, and Religions and is an
artist on the spoken-word poetry scene in the inner city. Email:
jperkinson@etseminary.edu
Colin Smith
Colin Smith is dean of mission education at the Church Mission
Society (CMS) in Oxford, where he works with students who
are pioneering and innovating diverse expressions of mission
in the United Kingdom and elsewhere. Colin is the author of
Mind the Gap: Reflections from Luke’s Gospel on the divided
city. He is currently involved in a research project looking at
the contribution of African Christianity to church life in Britain.
Colin has previously been a CMS mission partner in Nairobi,
where he was director of the Centre for Urban Mission, on the
staff of Carlile College and taught at St Paul’s University. Prior
to going to Kenya, Colin spent 10 years in parish ministry, in
xix
the Church of England, working in inner London. Email: colin.

smith@churchmissionsociety.org
R. Drew Smith
R. Drew Smith is professor of Urban Ministry at Pittsburgh
Theological Seminary and is co-convener of the Transatlantic
Roundtable on Religion and Race. He has published widely on
religion and public life, having edited or co-edited nine books
and four journal collections and having written more than 50
articles, chapters and reports. He recently authored a forthcoming
book titled Black Clergy Activism: Religious Authority and the
American Public Square. He earned his bachelor’s degree from
Indiana University and a Master of Divinity as well as a Master of
Arts and Ph.D. in Political Science from Yale University. He is a
Baptist minister and has ministered in various parish contexts
and prison ministry contexts. Email: rsmith@pts.edu
Andre van Eymeren

Andre van Eymeren is an experienced consultant, trainer and
practitioner in faith-based community development. He currently
serves as the executive director of the Centre for Building Better
Community as well as international coordinator for the Urban
Shalom Society and editor for Urban Shalom Publishing. Andre
has extensive experience working alongside local governments,
schools, faith groups and the non-profit sector. He has worked in
a range of areas, including community research, planning and
network facilitation, starting two non-profit organisations aimed
at improving communities, and teaching on community
development. Andre authored Building Communities of the
Kingdom, in which he explored faith-based community
development. Based in Melbourne, Australia, he is a PhD
candidate focusing on the biblical concept of shalom or flourishing
as a model for building social infrastructure in cities. Email:
avaneymeren@swin.edu.au
xx
Acknowledgements
The research reported in Chapter 7 is partly funded by the
Research Grants Council (RGC) of Hong Kong, award 12646816.
xxi
Foreword
Stephan de Beer
Centre for Contextual Ministry & Department of Practical Theology
Faculty of Theology
University of Pretoria
South Africa
We live on a planet that is marked by the ‘complete urbanization

of society’ (Lefebvre 1970), spoken of by Henri Lefebvre as
‘planetary urbanization’. This refers both to the reality of the
majority of the world’s people living in cities and also to the way
in which urbanisation engulfs and swallows whole societies, even
those not living in cities – the entire planet really – subsuming
whatever is necessary for expansion and accumulation, at a huge
cost, both to humanity and creation.
It leaves in its wake the demolition of cities, neighbourhoods,
rural hinterlands, self-reliant local economies and local
knowledges. Planetary urbanisation requires a planetary
consciousness, epistemologically shaped by those undermined,
excluded or subsumed by planetary histories, as well as an
appreciation of planetary indigeneity.
Planetary urbanisation is not completely finalised, however.
It is a continuous process of metamorphosis (cf. Merrifield
2013:22). Merrifield (2013:xv) calls for an understanding that we
are on the verge of ‘something new […] something that embraces
urban becoming’. The question is whether the current ‘urban
becoming’ spells doom or promise. For Merrifield (2013:34), the
tentacles and impacts of planetary urbanisation have turned the
urban into ‘a space where the fight for the transformation of the
world will now take place’ (Merrifield 2013:34). And central to
this contested space, or ‘urban becoming’, is the hope that we
How to cite: De Beer, S., 2018, ‘Foreword’, in S. de Beer (ed.), Just Faith: Glocal Responses
to Planetary Urbanisation (HTS Religion & Society Series Volume 3), pp. xxiii–xxxi, AOSIS,
Cape Town. https://doi.org/10.4102/aosis.2018.BK87.00
xxiii
Foreword
can indeed foster, and embody, radical new and alternate

imaginaries. Merrifield (2013:114) says that ‘[t]o create the almost-
unimaginable, imagination is pretty crucial’.
Whereas urban society ‘constitutes itself on the ruins of the
city’ (Lefebvre 1970:11) – a city deconstructed, decentred and
disfigured – there is now an urgency not only to imagine, but also
to act – to embrace an imaginary and prophetic pragmatism,
that shapes ‘a new humanism, a new praxis’ (Lefebvre 1970:150;
Merrifield 2013:24).
This urgency for a new consciousness is expressed in ‘a cry
and demand’ (Lefebvre 1970:150), resounding in communities
across the planet. It is a radicalised cry and demand for a right to
the city, but this is not about accessing a specific centre only
(cf. Merrifield 2013:25). It is about much more: it is a cry and
demand for a planetary love that is all-embracive, all-inclusive,
affirming, respectful and bestowing dignity on all of creation and
all of humanity alike. It is heard from Wall Street to Manila; from
victims of gentrification in central Cape Town to those resisting
the invasion of their low-income neighbourhoods by exploitative
market forces, everywhere on the planet.
A just faith, or a faith bathed in justice, will dare to imagine the
unimaginable, infused by a consciousness of God’s new
household; a planetary consciousness that asserts the entire
planet ‘as a sanctuary for our bodies and minds’ (Spivak 2018:n.p.).
From an urban theological perspective, is planetary
urbanisation a capitalist inevitability or is there a possibility of
cosmic (and urban) redemption? Is further disintegration and
fragmentation of planet and society inevitable, or is there a
possibility of making the kinds of choices that could serve as
catalysts towards greater integration and wholeness? Are
deepening inequalities and hierarchical oppression and exclusion
the only future scenarios, or can we dare imagine the possibility
of equalising redistribution? Are our faith constructs entirely
inadequate in the face of an urban planet, or can we discover
constructs of faith bathed in planetary love and unleashed in
xxiv
Foreword
compassionate justice? What are the glocal expressions of such

a just faith, or what should they be?
These, and other questions, are the content of this volume.
This publication forms part of the HTS Religion and Society
Series. It is with great gratitude that we acknowledge the support
of AOSIS in publishing this volume.
Thirteen authors from six continents reflect on our urbanising
planet with its serious implications and threats for the sustenance
of all of life. In their own lives and work, they are all deeply
committed to an integration of theoretical reflection and grass-
roots action. In these chapters, they bravely explore and imagine
just faith – or a faith characterised by justice – considering faith
constructs and lived faith against the backdrop of the Trantorian-
like urban reality that is unfolding (cf. Asimov 1951, 1952, 1953).
The book does not focus on one specific challenge or mode of
ministry but rather offers critical lenses with which to interrogate
the consequences and challenges of planetary urbanisation.
It considers concrete and liberating faith constructs in areas
ranging from gender, race, economic inequality, a solidarity
economics and housing to urban violence; indigeneity and
urbanisation; the interface between economic, social and
environmental sustainability; and grass-roots theological
education. It hopes to provide clues for the possibility of fostering
potent alternative imaginaries.
In the abstracts that follow, the authors articulate the intentions
of their chapters, in their own language.
Chapter 1: Stephan de Beer

After a brief introduction and critique of planetary urbanisation as a
concept, the inadequacy of most dominant faith expressions is
suggested, in the face of an urbanising planet. The search for an all-
embracive planetary faith is explored, emanating from a planetary
consciousness and held by a planetary love. Resonance is sought
between the effects of, and revolt against, planetary urbanisation
xxv
Foreword
today and the historical Jesus living during a time of imperial

conquest, religious oppression and co-option, and rebel protests.
Lamenting the inadequacy of just faith under conditions of
planetary urbanisation and insisting on a radical return to a
retrieval of the historical Jesus, this chapter seeks to articulate a
robust, dynamic and saturating faith, countering the robustness,
dynamism and saturation of planetary urbanisation, through
prophetic pragmatism expressed in subversive, resistant and
tenacious justice. It draws from Merrifield’s collideorscapes,
wormholes and minor spaces, to imagine an all-embracive
planetary faith-love that dares to imagine the unimaginable –
which is alternate human and urban futures.
Chapter 2: James W. Perkinson

How shall we think of indigeneity, land, settler colonialism and
climate change in relationship to issues of race, class and religion,
in the face of a monstrosity of urbanisation whose maw is now
planetary-wide? I write in place, out of an academic discipline that
might be loosely called ‘political spirituality’ (more technically,
‘eco-theology’), schooled for more than three decades by the
harshly embattled location of inner-city, post-industrial Detroit.
Riffing on the work of postcolonial scholar Gayatri Spivak –
dreaming, at one point in her theorising, of the impossible
possibility of ‘globe-girdling movements’ energised by ‘animist
liberation theologies’ – the galvanising concern in this chapter
might be glossed as the eco-critical irruption of the subaltern in
the place of history, Global South eco-animism challenging
Northern consumerist geocide, indigenous wiles and wisdoms
haunting the weal and wealth and weapons of the coloniser world
of settlement and settlements and urbanised savagery.
Chapter 3: S. Lily Mendoza

This chapter emerges out of two places of gestation, namely,
in a Detroit Beloved Community seeking just faith in the face
xxvi
Foreword
of post-industrial ruin, and also in a Filipino diasporic movement

seeking wholeness and recuperation of indigenous memory
out of the wreckage of colonial history – both communities
engaged in a passionate and creative reimagining of worlds
ravaged by dreams of civilisation and growth, now seeking
rebirth through a radically different vision of future well-being.
Refracted through the author’s narration of her (ethno-)
autobiographical journey, the writing offers itself as a ‘seed-
hope’ for a planet shuddering in the throes of climate
comeuppance and neo-liberal apocalypse. The ‘turn to the
indigenous’ explored here – given stark political context as
well as disarming and heart-stopping eloquence in living
communities in the homeland as well as diasporic flavour
among Filipino Americans in the USA and Canada – counsels
radical revision of most of our modern assumptions about
urban living and a profound challenge to Christians (and
everyone else) to reconnect with ancestry, human and
otherwise, for the sake of a viable future.
Chapter 4: Joel Aguilar

I explore a global sacrificial theology as the starting point of
planetary urbanisation. With global sacrificial theology I refer
to a system that is willing to reject, even kill, those on the
margins of society in the name of progress and social cohesion.
In the process of understanding the systems that see the least,
the last and the lost of Guatemalan society as disposable, I will
follow the anthropology of René Girard as a lens to read and
interpret the urban environment. In the development of a
grass-roots theology of resistance, I will start with a brief
overview of mimetic theory as presented by Girard. This will
lead the reader into engaging the issue of violence and what
violence may look like in everyday life at a personal and
structural level.
I present some experiences of working in the slum communities
of Guatemala City, while entering into dialogue with different
xxvii
Foreword
thinkers who have engaged violence from a philosophical,

theological and economic perspective. All of this is done to
set the background for defining a global sacrificial theology as a
platform for developing a grass-roots theology based in
communities of desire and resistance.
Chapter 5: Selina Palm and

Elisabet le Roux
We interrogate the need for urban public theology to go beyond
perpetuating a public–private binary. This has to be done if it is
to transcend a patriarchal bias that perpetuates ‘violent silences’
around the spaces where women and girls are frequently most
unsafe within cities and leads to ‘geographies of violence’ moving
location rather than being addressed at their roots. The chapter
draws on the South African urban context to show that, in the
light of a pandemic of violence against women and girls, prophetic
calls for churches to engage on this issue remain primarily
unanswered today. South Africa’s unique sociospatial history has
gendered implications that must be better acknowledged if its
cities are to become gender-just spaces. Drawing on feminist
theologian Letty Russell’s concept of ‘households of freedom’,
urban public theology must reject the false duality between polis
and oikos, if it is to nurture a gender-just faith and hear women’s
cries against the death-dealing violence inhabiting many spaces
within our cities.
Chapter 6: R. Drew Smith

My chapter is entitled ‘Churches, Urban Geographies and
Contested Immigration in the United States’. The chapter
examines racialised US thought and practice specific to
immigration and citizenship, especially as operative within south-
eastern and Midwestern immigrant gateway contexts. I explore
the relationship between immigration policy and social
opportunity in these two contexts.
xxviii
Foreword
The analysis of this chapter explores tensions related to race and

socio-economic life within these contexts and the role of religious
and political leaders in either fostering or dispelling antagonisms.
It reflects on religious contestations over immigration but
finally proposes a search for a public theology of global
community inclusivity.
Chapter 7: Adrian Bailey, Stephan de

Beer and Katherine Hankins
Planetary urbanisation involves unprecedented levels and
diversities of migration to, from and between cities. Migrant
housing – long recognised as pivotal to assimilation, social
cohesion, economic advancement, political integration and so
forth – plays a key but under-studied role in this new urban age.
In our chapter, we respond to this gap in knowledge by arguing
that a focus on the housing experiences of migrants offers
broader insights into how individuals, families and institutions
respond to and rework the precarities of urban living.
We illustrate our argument with original field-based data from
migrants living in the cities of Tshwane (South Africa) and Atlanta
(USA) and by focusing on the activities of faith-based organisations
(FBOs) in these cities. We investigate, firstly, what experiences of
precarity migrants face in their housing situations; secondly, what
interventions FBOs make in housing issues to mediate these
experiences; and thirdly, what forms of belonging are emerging as
negotiations of multiple sources of material and symbolic precarity.
Our discussion also considers dwelling as a praxis of just faith and
a resource that migrants may use in their everyday urban lives.
Chapter 8: Sheth O. Oguok and

Colin Smith
This chapter is drawn from our experience of being involved in
alternative models of theological education, set within the
xxix
Foreword
context of Nairobi’s informal settlements. One devastating

aspect of the global economy, evident in Nairobi, has been the
marginalisation of vast urban populations who are excluded from
many of the rights, privileges and opportunities of urban life.
Within these contexts, it is apparent that the formal institutions
and sectors of urban society, including those related to theological
education, have organised themselves in a manner that excludes
whole populations of cities, and specifically the world’s estimated
two billion slum dwellers.
In what follows we lament the ever-widening fissures that are
opening up between the academy and the street. We explore
how we can develop a form of theological education that is not
predicated upon language, perspectives and thought forms
conceived, born and bred in the academy and where we might
speak of the informality of God. The chapter proposes a form of
theological education that challenges current paradigms and
where theological learning authentically engages with and
emerges from the realities of life at the margins of the city.
Chapter 9: Andre van Eymeren

UN-HABITAT’s New Urban Agenda seeks to influence the
development of cities at many different tables, from the global
to the local. The agenda recognises the impact of planetary
urbanisation as well as the importance of setting a unified global
direction for its development. In addition, for the implementation
of the agenda, it recognises the importance of local government
and civil society. As part of civil society, faith communities have
an important role to play in the development of cities.
Biblical–theological concepts such as shalom and the hope laid
out in the apocalyptic visions of Revelation 21 find deep resonance
– a common agenda even – with much of the New Urban Agenda.
This provides Christians with the platform to speak and act in
hope under planetary urbanisation. However, we have been
reticent to engage. Hampered by an inadequate theology and
practical understanding of the city, we have tended to retreat.
xxx
Foreword
This chapter will argue that there is a connection between the

New Urban Agenda and our Christian faith that opens the way for
informed engagement. It will outline a theology for that
engagement and some practical understandings and tools to help.
Chapter 10: Benigno P. Beltran

Presented as a case study, this chapter provides a rather detailed
description of an e-Trading network between groups of urban
and rural poor in the Philippines, used to trade organic goods
directly. Facilitated by a faith-based organisation, this network
was birthed in response to a suggestion by Pope John Paul II in
his encyclical, Centesimus Annus, that ‘[t]he best way to solve
global poverty is to allow the poor to participate in the systems
of production and exchange’.
Through making use of an e-Commerce platform the power of
networks is harnessed to address issues of social justice, economic
well-being and environmental sustainability, in the direction of a
more sustainable planetary future. Considering agriculture as one
of the most detrimental contributing sectors to climate change,
this network develops and creates access to innovative and
alternative farming technologies, enabling subsistence farmers
and fishermen to bypass the capitalist economies of the world
while connecting with rural and urban poor neighbours and
reducing our impact on the planet. The process is built on the
values of integrity, solidarity and creativity and innovatively
combining community organising, social entrepreneurship and a
retrieval of existing indigenous and church resources.
All these contributions, in their diverse immersions, reflect on
the effects of planetary urbanisation, and its claims on a faith
expressed in justice – whether epistemic, socio-economic,
gender-based, racial, environmental or spatial.
Will ‘planet urban’ continue to demolish ecosystems, cities,
people and indigeneity in its wake, or could it be(come) ‘a
sanctuary for our bodies and minds’ (Spivak 2018:n.p.)? It is such
a sanctuary that we would like to imagine.
xxxi
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Just Faith and

Stephan de Beer
Centre for Contextual Ministry & Department of Practical Theology
Faculty of Theology
University of Pretoria
South Africa
Introduction
Disaster or Promise: Viewing the World
Through the Planet of Trantor
In Asimov’s science fiction novels – the Foundation Series and
the Empire Series – Trantor is a planet that is wholly urban, having
a population of over 45 billion people. As it goes with empires,
Trantor too becomes increasingly engrossed in administrative,
bureaucratic and technocratic affairs; they are working to
manage such a vast population, but at the same time faltering in
maintaining its infrastructure on behalf of the people who are its
subjects. In addition, it becomes completely dependent on
20 nearby agricultural worlds for food supplies, rendering it
How to cite: De Beer, S., 2018, ‘Just Faith and Planetary Urbanisation’, in S. de Beer (ed.),
Just Faith: Glocal Responses to Planetary Urbanisation (HTS Religion & Society Series
Volume 3), pp. 1–41, AOSIS, Cape Town. https://doi.org/10.4102/aosis.2018.BK87.01
1
Just Faith and Planetary Urbanisation
rather precarious despite the enormity of the Empire (Asimov

1951, 1952, 1953; cf. Merrifield 2013: xviii-xix; 1–3).
Trantor, on the one hand, can be understood as the Empire in
its most unbridled form, colonising and governing all surrounding
worlds and extracting from them what the Empire required for
its own inhabitants. This intensity was matched only by the sheer
precarity it dealt, leading to a coup staged by rebel leader Gilmer,
displacing Trantor and the imperial family. Over time it was the
farmers, discovering the fertile soil presented by the planet
Trantor, who became the recognised inhabitants of Trantor,
reclaiming what could be regarded as extracted from them.
Empire and precarity coexist, and eventually the Empire probably
brings about its own precarious fall.
Right now our planet, marked by ongoing urbanisation of a
certain kind – with the exploitation and extraction of capital and
self-serving Empire(s) co-existing with forms of precarity more
severe than in any earlier period – is on a collision course with
itself. What science fiction was made of has become the new
reality.
Planetary Urbanisation:
A Theological Consideration
and Challenge
Planetary urbanisation is a phrase that was first coined by Marxist
urban philosopher Henri Lefebvre in 1970, referring to the
‘complete urbanization of society’. According to Swyngedouw
and Kaika (2014), it refers to both the reality of the majority of
the world’s people living in cities, as well as to the vast majority
of the world’s people, even those not living in cities, being
affected by or contributing to global urbanisation processes,
with huge costs to both humanity and creation.
This reality of a planet being urbanised to a point at which the
sustenance of life becomes really problematic – almost as if life is
slowly sucked from it – is a deeply theological issue and raises a
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question as to what authentic and bold expressions of just faith

could and should be.
A number of interconnected questions linger behind the
reflections of this chapter:
• Would we theologians be prophets of doom only, or can we
foster faith in the possibilities of planetary urbanisation being
redeemed for the greater good of all humanity and creation?
• Who will our interlocutors be, seeing that we too are often
self-engrossed in our complicity with the Empire?
• What do we need to disentangle ourselves from?
• What are the constructs of faith and justice we need in order
to engage appropriately under planetary urbanisation?
• What should new forms of faith look like, ever present and
increasingly saturating (but not in the sense of capitalist
expansion) wherever urbanisation’s tentacles engulf spaces
and absorb habitats and hinterlands?
• In particular, what should new forms of faith look like that
express themselves in the subversion, resistance and tenacity
of justice?
The Meaning and Challenge of

In The Urban Revolution, Lefebvre (2003:1–22) proposed a shift
‘[f]rom the city to urban society’, acknowledging that the
processes of urbanisation have actually obliterated the city as
we have known it (cf. also Merrifield 2013:14). Andy Merrifield
(2013:xv) picks up on this, suggesting that urban considerations
should shift from the city as place ‘to a prioritization of urban
society, and, especially, of planetary urbanization’. This is a shift
from regarding the city as a fixed centralised place to a new
appreciation for the complexity and (dis)continuities of
urbanisation processes, resulting in ever-changing and ever-
shifting urban configurations and expanded urban terrains
(cf. Brenner & Schmid 2015:162; Reddy 2017:2). Instead of one
identifiable centre, urbanity is now composed of a decentred
polycentricity. It implies a break with conventional thinking about
3
‘entities with borders and clear demarcations between what’s

inside and what’s outside’ (Merrifield 2013:xv); everything has
changed, with continuous fusions of centres and margins, inside
and outside.
Brenner and Schmid (2015:155,173) speak of the ways in which
the urban now extends far beyond the boundaries or geographical
divisions that traditionally distinguished urban and rural. In the
ways of Trantor, cities today depend on rural hinterlands, or
landscapes of ‘extended urbanisation’ or ‘operational landscapes’,
for their sustenance. And yet, they argue, urban policy has largely
failed to engage the ‘planetary formation of capitalist urbanization’
(Brenner & Schmid 2015:153) in comprehensive, critical and
meaningful ways.
The obliteration of the city is a result of the completeness
of capitalist urbanisation, like a self-devouring parasite. The
harshness of capital urbanisation is evident everywhere as
markets expand into multiple new centres, exported via
highways to rural supermarkets, destroying locally owned
economies and indigenous knowledges, privatising public land
and assets formerly collectively held and turning self-reliant
communities into objects of the urban machinery (cf. Harvey
2008).
Not only does the city we know get obliterated but entire
labour markets too, as rural worlds are urbanised and state and
private capital collude to squeeze life out of local communities in
the interest of external greed (cf. Merrifield 2013:15). Merrifield
(2013:87) describes how ‘a planet-full of people can no longer
find steady work or steady homes, and a huge unwieldly inertia
persists’.
The rural (‘non-urban’) is relegated to a largely passive surface
mediated by the sociospatial changes stemming from urbanisation
(Reddy 2017:4). Instead of the urban–rural binary being subverted
by planetary urbanisation, the rural is simply subsumed into the
urban (cf. Reddy 2017:4), disabling the ‘non-urban’.
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This happens through the collusion of state, corporate and

financial interests (cf. Merrifield 2013:11) as their collective self-
interest ‘tears into the globe and sequesters land through forcible
slum clearance and eminent domain, valorising it whilst banishing
former residents to the global hinterlands of post-industrial
malaise’ (Merrifield 2013:10).
This is a universal reality, as the global movement of capitalist

urbanisation sweeps through local neighbourhoods of cities as
diverse as Cape Town and Chicago, Manila and Sao Paulo,
Caracas and Nairobi, to fracture, segregate and homogenise.
Although a certain reciprocity has developed between the world
market and urban society, it seems to be the global capitalist
processes of simultaneous accumulation and regeneration, on
the one hand, and exclusion or obliteration, on the other, that
drive urbanisation, more than the other way around (cf. Merrifield
2013:14).
Instead of such transnational movement of capital becoming

a vehicle of redistributive power and economic well-being,
facilitating more just forms of sharing and access to livelihood
resources, Merrifield (2013:10) convincingly shows that
transnational monopoly capital and urban (economic) growth
are rather marked by ‘a process of uneven development, of
homogeneity and fragmentation’.
The Illusion of Autonomous Self-

Governance: The ‘Terrible Twins’ of
Technocracy and Bureaucracy
Globalisation, and urbanisation in its planetary expressions, often
rather accentuate hierarchies, instead of dissolving binaries or
mediating greater equality. Tsekpo (2015:80–81), with reference
to African urban societies, describes how national and local
governments struggle to make autonomous decisions in the
interest of what is best for their own local contexts, being ‘under
5
constant pressure to conform to international norms’ (Tsekpo

2015:81). The ability to compete internationally has become an
economic mantra for cities, crucifying local people and
communities at the altar of gaining international acceptance.
Self-governance and indigenous autonomy of African cities
hardly serve as antidotes to exploitative capitalism or urbanisation.
Instead, as a result of African ‘freedoms’, African economies are
more deeply integrated into the world capitalist system,
benefiting the ‘geo-political and economic interest’ of the Global
North, and now China, more than it does African people, and
therefore no longer free at all (cf. Tsekpo 2015:81). In addition,
self-governance often tends to be a legitimiser for ongoing
extraction and manipulation of local urban societies, serving the
interests of an elite local few, both politically and economically,
at the expense of the majority of local people and communities
(cf. Tsekpo 2015:81).
What is it that sustains the urbanisation machine, the
deliberate collusions and the accompanying inertia? Serious
obstacles to any bold urban alternative persist. Merrifield
(2013:72) speaks of these as the ‘double dependence’, which
Lefebvre names as technocracy and bureaucracy, contributing
deeply to the ‘complete and undemocratic urbanization of the
world’. Technocracy and bureaucracy become the ‘terrible
twins’, creating havoc with the souls of organisations, cities,
nations and regions. From higher education institutions to
government, departments are paralysed and devoured from
within by the soullessness of these twins and their mindless
service to an undemocratic, capitalist machine that devours
everything in its way.
Merrifield (2013:88) says the struggle to access housing,
jobs, services or other urban resources does not primarily exist
because urban regions are too big with too many people. The
biggest challenge is that dominant forms of social organisation
today are shaping themselves not ‘through technology but
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through technocracy, not so much through overpopulation

as over-bureaucratization’ (Merrifield 2013:88). Instead of
leadership of relationality, connectedness and access, many at
the helm of institutions and cities today have merely become
servants of capitalist urbanisation and hide behind technocratic
or bureaucratic certainties, to avoid the risk of going against
the current.
Nolan (1995) speaks about this ‘impersonal machine’ we have
become dependents of:
This indeed is the heart of the problem. We have built up an all-
inclusive political and economic system based upon certain
assumptions and values and now we are beginning to realize that this
system is not only counter-productive – it has brought us to the brink
of disaster – but it has also become our master. Nobody seems to be
able to change it or control it. The most frightening discovery of all
is that there is nobody at its helm and that the impersonal machine
that we have so carefully designed will drag us along inexorably to
our destruction. (p. 9)
To Nolan, nobody is at the helm, because carefully programmed

technocracies and bureaucracies sustain the saturation of an
entire planet by capital.
Planetary Urbanisation, Challenged

Reddy, while acknowledging the validity of planetary urbanisation
as a phenomenon, has developed a strong critique against the
dominant discourse that describes it. His sense is that people like
Brenner and Schmid reduce the ‘contemporary planetary
condition to the imperatives of capitalist urbanization’ (in Reddy
2017:1), which in his mind might have certain blind spots.
Reddy’s most persistent critique is against the way in which it
largely accepts the inevitability of capitalist urbanisation to
subsume, without recognising the possibility of ‘constitutive
outsides which compromise, redirect, mutate, and refuse the
thrusts of capitalist urbanization’ (Reddy 2017:5).
7
In reference to Dussel (1998) and other postcolonial scholars,

Reddy (2017) speaks of:
[T]he centrality of distant, dispersed, discontinuous colonial
peripheries secured through the violence of colonization and plunder
to the prosperity and reproduction of the metropole. (pp. 2–3)
Reddy argues that these distant spaces are affirmed in

postcolonial thought as important carriers of knowledge and
possible alternates to the city itself. His critique is that proponents
of planetary urbanisation rarely acknowledge these alternate
carriers of knowledge (cf. Reddy 2017:3). These spaces are
portrayed as ‘terra nullius/terra incognita’ (cf. Reddy 2017:4),
effacing, as Reddy (2017:3) suggests, ‘subjugated and critical
knowledge/s of indigenous people and other marginalized
groups’.
For Reddy (2017:4), the dominant planetary urbanisation

discourse is largely a disabling model. While Brenner and Schmid
(2013:21) are probably correct to assert that urban–rural binaries
are now outdated categories, Reddy’s (2017:4) concern is that
the urban–rural binaries are not really dissolved; the urban simply
maintains primacy by having absorbed the rural into itself,
deepening the hierarchy and exclusionary nature of capital at
work. What is required is the necessity to theorise ‘the urban and
the contemporary planetary condition’ from spaces outside, or
not determined by, capitalist urbanisation (Reddy 2017:5). Reddy
(2017:5) insists that urbanisation is ‘insufficient to understand the
urban and planetary socio-spatial dynamics’ and should be
complemented with an appreciation of ‘the everyday lived
dimension of urban life in the city’ as ‘a critical category for
understanding’ (Reddy 2017:5).
The distant or extended spaces, or ‘operational landscapes’

beyond or ‘outside’ the city, are not restricted to rural hinterlands
or the ‘remote’ or ‘wilderness’ (cf. Reddy 2017:10), either. Reddy
(2017:9–10) makes a crucial point about ‘the internalization of
extended operational landscapes within cities of the global
South’. These cities, as described earlier by Tsekpo, become
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places of extraction, serving the interests of other cities without

necessarily seeing the benefits for their own populations. Instead
of being centres in their own right, they become marginal spaces
serving new centres outside themselves.
These spaces, Reddy would suggest, need to be(come) our
epistemological starting points for considering and rethinking
the urban. He speaks of his work as ‘writing under erasure’, but,
similarly, we could consider cities, local urban communities, rural
hinterlands, certain vulnerable populations or local indigenous
knowledges all as ‘under erasure’ through dominant urbanisation
processes.
If planetary urbanisation is indeed the complete urbanisation
of the entire planet, and if it further perpetuates inequalities and
advances oppressive and extractive hierarchies, what are the
alternatives? Considering ‘spaces under erasure’, as our
epistemological orientation for rethinking urbanity, will provide
clues as to possible alternative imaginaries. The migratory
patterns of the world’s poor populations contribute to and
reshape the demography of local communities, nation states and
even continents. Social movements of the poor help shape urban
political action from below. Informality resists and subverts
dominant urban forms in significant ways. Whereas planetary
urbanisation exceeds cities and known urban forms, the local
and commonplace in conjunction with the global and – indeed –
planetary dimensions remain vital and interconnected categories
for ongoing contestation as well as, in their contestation, for
hopeful and radical alternative imaginations.
In the context of African urbanisation and its challenges,
Tsekpo (2015:81) argues for ‘a radical shift in the practice of self-
governance in Africa and how it is understood’. Tsekpo (2015)
says:
[F]or self-governance to address the peculiar needs of African
societies, it must emerge from the daily realities of the people. This
process must be shaped by those whose governance is at issue – the
masses of the continent, such as illiterate people, the poor, and those
struck by conflict, hunger and diseases. (p. 81)
9
I would like to argue that self-governance at all levels – local or

national, rural or urban – should be reinterpreted and radical new
practices developed in the direction of justice, well-being and
sustainable livelihoods of local communities and peoples, in close
conjunction with the communities themselves. Without such an
epistemological point of departure and an embracing of self-
governance as a local practice shaped by planetary indigeneity,
the urban crisis – of Africa and the planet – will continue to
deepen.
The Inadequacy of Just Faith on an

Urban Planet
The complexity of a whole planet being urbanised, and urban
forms perpetually changing and refiguring themselves,
obviously holds great challenges for the faith practices of
local – and glocal – faith communities and faith movements.
The slowness with which faith communities generally respond
to change, and the vastness of rapid and ongoing urban
change, creates an existential crisis. Theologically, we are so
far removed from most of the critical urban discourses,
generally speaking, that we do not even acknowledge the
existential crisis we are in.
My contention is that our faith languages, expressions and
practices are inadequate, outdated and inappropriate, if they
are to respond to an urban planet in ways that could mediate
justice. Moreover, even if our faith languages, expressions and
practices were current and fleshed out in diverse ways in the
new and extended urban spaces around the globe, my second
contention is the absence of deliberate, thoughtful and radical
(urban) justice commitments, at the core of our theological and
pragmatic deliberations and actions. We are at best reactive,
sometimes participants in others’ radical movements, but, by
and large, co-opted by the dominant culture of capitalist
urbanisation.
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Christian Inertia
Kafka’s (1997:52) description of the struggle is of something
much more than a class affair but really a battle against ‘an
immense and invariably abstract total administration’ (Merrifield
2013:127). What we have to contend with is a gigantic machine,
which Merrifield (2013) describes rather graphically, referring to
Kafka (1997:52) and Debord (1991:9):
It has created a one-world cell-form of planetary urbanisation.

Erstwhile distinctions between the political and the economic;
between urban and rural; and between form and content, conflict
and consent, politics and technocracy have lost their specific gravity,
have lost their clarity of meaning. Integrating functions through a
conflating process of co-optation and corruption, of re-appropriation
and reabsorption, of blocking off by breaking down. (p. 129)
The overwhelming nature of this process often evokes inertia as

the most convenient, if deadly, response. Christian faith
communities, and theological education at large, often struggle
to deal with the city-that-we-had as a phenomenon. When
centres shift into larger metropolitan areas, suburbs or new cities,
a common response of traditional, mainstream Christianity has
often been suburban escapism. This was expressed in either
physical relocation, or in reformatting urban churches into
suburban enclaves, characterised by the domination of
commuting members versus local participation; complicity with
exclusivist urban renewal processes instead of advocating or
participating in radically inclusive urban transformational
agendas; and ritualistic busy-ness at the expense of deep
engagement in the liberation of urban society.
While we are preoccupied with escape, or practising inertia,

and only a small minority try to get their heads around the urban
challenge for the church’s mission, processes of urbanisation
continue unhindered and change the format of cities completely.
Under planetary urbanisation, theologians lack the language and
practices to engage meaningfully.
11
There are, however, new expressions of church riding the

wave of urban reconfiguration. Mall-like megachurches appear
overnight, wiping out the remnants of small traditional churches,
yet mostly notoriously disconnected from the pain of the urban
society in which they are located. In other, often decaying parts
of the city, where transnational migrants make themselves a new
home, a proliferation of migrant churches arise from somewhere,
almost as suddenly as their transnational members, providing
safe pastoral spaces to their faithful ones, changing the forms of
urban architecture, but hardly affecting the systemic exclusions
of those exploited in the process of an urbanising planet. There
are also those fusions of mall-like megachurches and suddenly
appearing migrant churches, building on the backs of completely
desperate people, extracting millions in exchange for never-to-
arrive blessings, just to disinvest the investments made in false
promises, offshore.
In between the folding traditional churches, struggling
migrant churches, booming market churches and exploding
exploiter churches are what some would call fresh expressions of
church, creating themselves in new and unconventional ways,
sporadically but irregularly indeed like drops of rain, but most often
rather un-fresh in their perpetuation of faith lived without justice.
The planet is urbanising and though they might not be
oblivious to it, local churches, church denominations and schools
of theology are most often silent, complicit participants in, or
bystanders to, extractive, exclusivist urban patterns, suffering
from the same inertia that destroyed Jerusalem in 135 CE (Nolan
1995:15).
State, Church and Market Theologies

I submit, on the one hand, that the inertia is a result both of a
misconception of the meaning of the historical Jesus and the first
Jesus movement, or a rejection of the claims of the Jesus
un-co-opted by Empire, and on the other hand a total theological
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co-option of and complicity with state, church and market,

unwittingly or as a matter of choice.
The Kairos document (Kairos Theologians 1986) was a
response to apartheid South Africa. It distinguished between a
state theology and a church theology:
• a state theology equated Jesus with the ruling political party
and allowed the total co-option of the Christian church by
national government policies
• a church theology equated Jesus with the church and, while
holding a more critical distance from the state, remained
largely apathetic in relation to apartheid abuses of power.
Jesus was apolitical, according to this theology, and so too
should the church be.
Today, in new cloaks, state and church theologies have re-
emerged in the South African church, as politicians and church
leaders collude for a share of the pie, and radical discipleship
seldom enters the doors of the church. On different continents
and in different locations, the relationship between Jesus and
the church or the state might play itself out differently. In all
cases it is crucial to develop a critical theological stance on
these relationships, to ensure faith’s unadulterated urban
engagement.
In a very concerned and emboldened way, Paddison (2011:227)
speaks of ‘the state’s monopolization of what is political and
public’, which, he says, ‘will ultimately only render the church less
political and less public’. The ‘polis’ is hardly a space of faithful
engagement for a large sector of the church that happens to
have its worshipping presence in the very same ‘polis’ – because
we have unlearned the ‘political’ meaning of God’s new household.
We have ceased to hold our ground. Justice has become the
preserve of other movements. Jesus is out in the cold.
Globally, urban landscapes are witnessing not only a state
theology, equating Jesus with the state, or church theology,
equating Jesus with the church, but even more dominant and
13
visible has become a market theology (cf. Goh 2011:50–68),

equating Jesus with the corporate interests of the market.
Churches, aligned to a market theology, are ‘distinct in its
successful integration into the commercial ethos of the city’
(Goh 2011:59), uncritical co-option into neoliberal capital
models of urbanisation and sophisticated practices of branding
and marketing. These churches practise a ‘theo-deology’
(Goh 2011:59), integrating their ‘theological position and
the commercial ideology of the global city’ in uncritical and
mutually reinforcing ways (Goh 2011):
Theo-deology is thus a complex reinterpretation of the church
position and calling within the essential processes and life of the
global commercial city, bringing to bear arguments from urban
spatial logic, social psychology, branding, professional networking
and other discourses to scriptural teachings on evangelism and the
role of the church. (p. 59)
Market-dictated churches differ significantly in mission, strategy

and self-understanding from other urban churches (Goh 2011):
The success – in terms of size, rapid growth and finances – of these
mega-ministries, as much as the facility with which they position
themselves within urban processes, distinguish them from other
Christian urban ministries with a more ‘healing salvific’ attitude to
the city. (p. 59)
In terms of self-definition, such churches often deny being
proponents of prosperity theology, offering their investment in
‘salvific means’ through church revenues as apologetic. At times,
those committed to an alternative urban reality and working for
social justice in partnership with the city’s most vulnerable find
themselves being supported financially by churches that are
proponents of market theologies. Goh (2011:65) expresses
concern about how agents of social justice then become
participants in the workings of ‘market transaction, rather than
apart from and in opposition to it’.
Whereas the spatial turn has hardly occurred in mainstream
theology, and the reality of spatial (in)justice not become
something preached about on a Sunday morning, these churches
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have clear (even if uncritical) spatial strategies in terms of

location and blend ‘easily into the urban landscape’ (Goh 2011:61).
Goh (2011:50–68) refers to Hillsong’s Baulkham Hills campus that
‘resembles a warehouse converted into a trendy club’ or other
such churches marked by ‘the idiom of “hub” lifestyles drawing
large consumer crowds, mega-mall structures and distinctive
award-winning architecture’ (Goh 2011:63).
Goh (2011:65) concludes his reflections on proponents of a

market theology, saying ‘Christian ministry, called to be in the
city, will necessarily have to adapt to the city’s nature and wants’.
Although this chapter argues for the urgency of appropriate
reconstructions of faith, in the face of planetary urbanisation,
such reconstructions should never happen uncritically, as simple
adaptations ‘to the city’s nature and wants’. Faith needs to be
expressed in urban clothes, and incarnated in planetary
languages, but in ways that refuse the co-option of Jesus, yet
again.
Just Faith – Without Justice – is Not

Enough
Faith without justice is not enough. A suburbanised faith,
escaping from the realities and effects of planetary urbanisation,
often contributing to its extractive nature, is not good enough.
A mindless faith that is paralysed by the complexities of
planetary urbanisation is not good enough. A market-driven
faith, downsizing the claims of Jesus in response to an unequal
city, is not good enough. In fact, one could ask whether such
extractive, escapist ‘faith’ is really faith at all.
What is required is faith in the redemptive possibilities of

planetary urbanisation to serve the common good of humanity
and creation alike. Only such a faith can engage ever-increasing
urban fractures deliberately, deeply and innovatively. Such a
faith, for it to hold liberating and transforming potential, needs to
be robust and dynamic in the face of the ever-changing move of
15
people, places and planet but also subversive, resistant and

tenacious, in embodying God’s new household. Without such a
faith, urban fractures will not heal, and those forces creating
fractures not discerned, named and resisted. The central vocation
of the church as urban diakonos (cf. Cox 1965) – to heal urban
fractures – will be forsaken.
Can faith communities discover, rekindle or develop such a
faith? Or will we, and our faith constructs, succumb to something
more cynical, in the face of impending apocalypse, which might
not hold promise but rather disaster?
In Search of a Robust, Dynamic and

Saturating Faith
What should new forms of faith look like, ever present and
increasingly saturating wherever urbanisation’s tentacles engulf
spaces and absorb habitats and hinterlands?
Jesus was concerned with all of life, and therefore the complete
and extended impact and effects of planetary urbanisation fall
within the scope of Jesus’ concern. Paddison (2011:223) speaks
of a theological politics, which is the discipline of thinking
‘theologically about politics and so allows a different type of
politics to be seen in the midst of the cities in which we live’.
Paddison (2011:224–225) advocates theologians’ interest in
and concern with ‘the good city’ from three perspectives. Firstly,
theologians should be interested in all things and by nature be
interdisciplinary because God is the source of all things (Paddison
2011:224). Secondly, ‘a theologian’s commitment to the world is
only an echo of God’s non-negotiable, overwhelming relationship
with the world as revealed in the unfolding of the triune life’
(Paddison 2011:224), expressed in the incarnation of God in Jesus
Christ, which ‘invests places with sacramental significance, as
bearing the possibility of revealing the divine’ (Paddison
2011:224). Thirdly, in their absorption of a diversity of cultures
and migratory movements, cities embody ‘the central political
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challenge of our time’ (Paddison 2011:225), which is how to live

as human beings in the shared spaces of contemporary urban
society, negotiating diversity and contestation, and carving out a
just humanity (Paddison 2011):
The task of relating all things to God is a permanent rebuke to
the modern conceit that politics – and therefore the city – can be
autonomous from theological scrutiny. (p. 225)
Fantasy, Festivity and Faith

I maintain that the most important task of urban theologians, or
practising theologians, is to foster an alternative (read: hopeful)
imagination or consciousness among urban people of faith, urban
neighbours and urban citizens (cf. Brueggemann 1978, 1986).
Without that, inertia and co-option will continue indefinitely.
Cox, in his classic 1965 work, The Secular City, lamented the
loss of fantasy (imagination) and festivity (celebration) from
both the church and the city. To that I would like to add a third
category of loss, namely, faith as prophetic action. I hold these as
three central categories in an urban theopraxis:
1. fantasy as prophetic imagination
2. festivity as celebratory embodiment, witnessing to God’s new
household
3. faith as prophetic action in the direction of justice and
wholeness.
Merrifield (2013:115) speaks of an imaginary pragmatics, which he
insists is not a ‘pragmatism of compromise, which is what most
pragmatics is’. Rather, he (Merrifield 2013) suggests:
[I]t is an imaginative form of action, an activism that constantly tests
out and overcomes its own limits, pushes beyond its own limits, and
experiments with itself and the world. (p. 115)
An imaginary pragmatics correlates with West’s (1999) idea of

prophetic pragmatism, both referring to concretised
embodiments of possible alternative realities. Theologically
speaking, an imaginary or prophetic pragmatism forms a bridge
17
between imagination and action, fantasy and faith, enabling

God’s new household of festivity.
Instead of sterile, dogmatic theology, planetary urbanisation –
in its dynamism, fluidity and complexity – calls for poetic, vibrant
and imaginative theologies, rapped out at festivals, resisting
through occupations and guerrilla gardens, designing
reconstructions and innovating subversions, buzzing on social
media and infiltrating minds through graffiti-like invasions,
caressing the soul and animating the body, healing the wounded
and tending to creation.
These all could be alternative forms of witness, riffing off the
flows of planetary urbanisation without being co-opted by its
parasitical tentacles. As a sign of the new kingdom that has
broken into the world, which Paddison (2011:231) argues to be
‘[t]he church’s primary contribution to the city’, the church
needs to reincarnate itself faithfully in every vein of the
urbanised planet – a pointer to new possibilities for human life
together, away from the lure of state and market, away from
the stale religiosities that prevent it from appropriate
engagement – realigning itself with the liberating mission of
Jesus. Such a church would need to recover its capacity for
fantasy, festivity and faith.
Finding and Shaping New Forms of

Be(com)ing: Faith and a Politics of
Becoming
Not only are urban societies changing and becoming, but our
engagement with urbanity also remains fluid and dynamic.
We can therefore speak of a politics of becoming, learning
how to be in the encounter. Our faith, too, is becoming,
changing from a co-opted Christian construct to a vibrant act
of resistance, fuelled by the compassion and anger of Jesus,
and embodying a new household of God, deliberately away
from Empire.
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Chapter 1
Cloke speaks about such a ‘politics of becoming’ (cf. Connolly

1999:185) as a ‘theo-poetics’ (Cloke 2011):
[I]n which new energies and lines of flight emerge from the power
of powerlessness; the possibility of impossibility; and the translation
of attributes such as peace, generosity, forgiveness, mercy and
hospitality into everyday practices. It is in these ground-level
performative politics of becoming that post-secular rapprochement
may well continue to emerge in the contemporary city. (p. 250)
Such a ‘becoming’ faith, in conversation and relationship with

local churches and faith expressions, would contribute to altered
forms of church. Older forms of church might change drastically
and sometimes even disappear. What was regarded as base
communities or para-church might morph into a new
understanding of what church is. What is the urban church, if not
a community of radical Jesus followers, seeking to subvert and
outwit the powers of Empire under planetary urbanisation?
If anything, it is perhaps a church as co-opted religious entity,
but not the church as radical Jesus movement.
There is a reciprocity between urban ‘becoming’ and a
‘becoming’ faith, as faith discerns appropriate incarnations in
‘the post-secular city as laboratory’ (Baker & Beaumont
2011b:259), a place of experimentation that is ‘always in the
making’ (Sandercock 1998, 2003). One expression of such a
‘becoming’ faith, incarnating from below, is when ‘spirituality
becomes part of localized resistance against the appropriation
of space for profit by the fluid ubiquity of global investment
strategies’ (Baker & Beaumont 2011b:258).
In this context of becoming, new configurations of collaboration
and experimentation occur, which could take a multitude of
forms. They could be faith communities participating in social
movements, citizens’ organisations or social enterprises,
negotiating common ground around concrete goals or ideas.
They could be closer collaboration between church and
government to implement specific developmental goals, without
dissolving a robust criticality on the part of the church. Baker and
Beaumont (2011b:259) sense a new maturity on the part of
19
religious and non-religious groups alike, acknowledging ‘that the

complexity and entrenched nature of the common problems
facing urban societies (poverty, inequality, environment
degradation, terrorism, environmental threat, etc.) are beyond
the skill and resources of either to meet on their own’. The
urbanisation of the planet demands collaborative movements to
counter disastrous effects.
A Post-Christendom, Post-Church,
Planetary Faith
In response to planetary urbanisation’s effects, a post-
Christendom, post-church, planetary faith has to be discerned.
Post-Christendom (cf. Paas 2011) refers to an unshackling of the
powerful constructs that equate Western Christianity with
colonial conquest and economic domination. It deliberately
discerns Jesus as detached from Western empires in the intimate
complicities of the Christian church in its formation and expansion.
It seeks radically different forms of faith expression than what
was, and still is, to be found in Christendom.
Cox (2009), in The Future of Faith, speaks about a shift from
the Age of Faith in the first Christian centuries, to the Age of
Dogma and institutionalised Christianity, to what he discerns to
be a contemporary Age of the Spirit, in which Pentecostalism
and liberation theologies flourish, emphasising spirituality and
social justice. Similarly, Baker and Beaumont (2011b:264)
describes a rise of a certain brand of contemporary Pentecostalism,
not immersed in prosperity theology but shifting towards social
justice, community development and civic engagement. If the
contours of such a faith can seek to be more deliberately
embodied in the intestines of planet urban, prompted and shaped
by the Spirit but also infusing darkness with the liberating hope
of the Spirit, we might start to witness radically alternative urban
imaginaries.
Post-church refers to imaginaries of a lived faith not rigidly
captured by institutional forms of church but expressed in fresh,
20
Chapter 1
dynamic and robust ways, in diverse urbanised spaces. It does

not negate the potential redemptive role the church as faith
community can play or indeed even the possibility of the church’s
own redemption from the shackles of institutionalism. However,
it does not want to restrict dynamic faith to narrow or known
institutional forms, as if the Spirit is unfree to blow in brand-new
directions.
A planetary faith would at once embrace the totality of

creation as the space over which the Spirit hovers, as well as the
major or minor spaces in which the Spirit longs to flow, seeking
to align itself to the Spirit’s promptings, while simultaneously
embracing a deeply humble posture, acknowledging humanity’s
destructive agency in the deformation of creation, and inviting
other knowledges – indigenous, planetary and unknown – to help
shape new wisdoms not yet grasped.
A ‘becoming’ faith exorcises fear because it is consumed by a

planetary love (cf. Moore & Rivera 2010; Spivak 2003:71–102),
held in the womb of the Earth and God alike. Moved by love, such
a faith would be robust instead of timid, dynamic instead of
rigid, saturating instead of static, concrete instead of abstract,
but, unlike the faith of the majority of Christendom, not robust,
dynamic or saturating for its own sake but in solidarity and
collaboration with, and for the sake of, the most vulnerable and
marginalised communities or spaces on the planet.
Planetary Urbanisation: A Politics of

Encounter and Justice Movements
from Below and Outside
As we search theologically for the forms that faith, church or
theology should take, to engage urban society appropriately in
all its reconfigurations, we might do well to share notes with
other contemporary (urban) movements. Movements deliberately
in solidarity with vulnerable or excluded groups and places are
consistent with the epistemological orientation advocated here.
21
Such movements often emerge from the ashes of bulldozed

buildings or evicted dreams.
Merrifield (2011:47) considers the rise of such movements,
almost paradoxically, as a reawakened urban citizenry. He refers
to Berman (1988), who said:
Hausmann, in tearing down the old medieval slums, inadvertently
broke down the self-enclosed and hermetically sealed world
of traditional urban poverty. The boulevards, blasting great holes
through the poorest neighbourhoods, enable the poor to walk
through the holes and out of their ravaged neighbourhoods, to
discover for the first time what the rest of the city and the rest of life
are like. (p. 150)
The bulldozers, unwittingly, not only demolished buildings but

also removed the walls of separation, and, instead of
victimhood, the reassertion of agency among those evicted or
affected becomes a daring display of revolt or resistance
(Merrifield 2011):
They are but one step away from asserting themselves as citizens,
citizens of a wider universe, citizens expressing adequate ideas
about all kinds of common notions they’re now capable of
developing. (p. 52)
Grass-roots groups, affected detrimentally by planetary

urbanisation, start to reclaim ‘control over their own lives’ in
ways that resemble the best of participatory democracy
(Merrifield 2011:47). Although some of that might be organised
under the banner of ‘a right to the city’, as is the case in the
‘Reclaim the City’ campaign in Cape Town, Merrifield (2011:xvii)
also notes a shift to a broader, more dynamic ‘politics of the
encounter’.
Encounter takes place ‘when an affinity “takes hold”; when a
common enemy is identified; when common notions cohere and
collectivities are formed; and when solidarity takes shape’
(Merrifield 2011:xvii). The encounters Merrifield (2011:xviii) speaks
of including not only deliberately organised encounters, but also
chance encounters as ‘a more free-floating, dynamic, and
relational militancy’.
22
Chapter 1
In the contemporary (urban) politics of encounter probably

lies the seedbed of a new planetary revolution. Merrifield
(2011:92) speaks of this revolution as complex, fusing organic
process, radical break and gradual morphing, with ‘“the actual”
and “the possible” encountering one another’. It organically
grows from individuals to movements, through multiple makings
and re-makings that hold the potential to radically alter the way
things are.
Sartre (1976:365, 505; cf. Merrifield 2011:102) describes this

process, from so-called revolutionary rehearsals to real deep
change (cf. Merrifield 2011:102; Sartre 1976; 356, 505), as a process
with distinctive steps (Merrifield 2011):
[F ]rom alienated individuals to a ‘series’ of individuals; from serial
gatherings to groups; and from groups that encounter each other,
that bond with one another, to become fused groups. (p. 102)
This, Sartre saw with amazing foresight, is in a sense what

characterises many social movements today (Merrifield 2011;
referring to Sartre 1976:356–357):
The culmination of the fused group […] is when the unity of its
participants create a new combination, an inventive fusion of people
who represent themselves both as an ‘I’ and a ‘we’, a unity of me and
you, of you and me – especially of you and me against them. (p. 103)
The politics of encounter is about ‘creating a node […] that

represents a fusion of people and the overlapping of encounters,
a critical force inside that diffuses and radiates outward’
(Merrifield 2011:63).
‘Common Notions Around Adequate

Ideas’
‘Common notions’ and ‘adequate ideas’ (Merrifield 2011:122) are
important concepts in a politics of encounter. Common notions
are different from universal rights, being more pragmatic, more
concrete, negotiated through consensus, addressing specific
challenges of specific groups. In a politics of encounter, widely
23
diverse groups have the potential to gather around common

notions if the ideas presented are compelling and adequate. The
activists driving the ‘Reclaim the City’ campaign in Cape Town
were quite successful in gaining traction from diverse stakeholders
around the simple idea of public land not being sold to the
highest bidder but being made available for the purposes of
social housing. As part of a kingdom agenda, faith communities
need to discern their participation in encounters that build
common notions and adequate ideas, in the direction of
wholeness and justice.
‘Occupation as Encounter, Encounter as

Occupation’
A central concept in a politics of encounter has become the
notion of occupation. Occupation can be meant in the sense of
retaining one’s sociopastoral presence in a certain locality, such
as a local inner-city church, or investing in vulnerable urban
places known for being disinvested from. Occupation can refer
to asserting a sociopastoral presence in a new space – an urban
fracture, or marginal locality – as a pledge of solidarity. Occupation
can also refer to a more deliberate and proactive disruption of
the status quo, creating encounters that expose urban fault lines
very publicly. The occupation of public sector buildings known
for corruption, or vacant buildings or land unaccountably held by
the city while thousands are homeless, without asking permission,
becomes a deliberate and bold space of encounter but also
expressions of prophetic activism.
Spaces being occupied become public spaces not necessarily
because of their physical locations being central but because of
the kinds of encounters taking place in them (Merrifield 2011:66);
‘they are meeting places between virtual and physical worlds,
between online and offline conversations, between online and
offline encounters’. They are spaces ‘in which social absence and
social presence attain a visible structuration and political
coherence’ (Merrifield 2011:66).
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Chapter 1
When ‘Reclaim the City’ in Cape Town occupied two public

buildings, ‘holding’ them for the city until the city could clarify
time frames and budgetary commitments to implement their
social housing promises, these occupations were space-making,
expressing affinities, dissatisfaction and desire (cf. Merrifield
2011:67), through what became ‘a node of solidarity […] a new
form of empathetic human relationship – of common notions
based on adequate ideas’ (Merrifield 2011:67).
A politics of encounter and occupation is now playing out
across the globe, from Wall Street to the vertical favelas in Sao
Paulo; from the #Fallist movement in South Africa to rogue
creatives subverting what the market considers ‘prime’, providing
centrality with new meaning (Merrifield 2011):
We might even say that a global family of eyes now truly encounters
itself as a family, as an emerging citizenry, as an affinity group that
yearns to repossess what has been dispossessed. Their big saucer
eyes now look on with indignation at the public realm, doing so with
animosity as well as awe. Now, there is not so much a world to win
as a whole world to occupy. A whole world that’s really people’s own
backyard. (p. 53)
What I argue here is not in favour of random occupations,

spearheaded by party political organisations masquerading as
advocates of the poor. Rather, I trace those movements from
below that engage in a politics of encounter, in occupation as
encounter, in order to shift the discourse from profit-driven
market politics to a people- and creation-centred politics of
inclusive justice.
Beyond Revolutionary Citizenship to

Planetary Love
Merrifield (2011) describes the tensions that arose when citizen
and city-dweller were dissociated from each other:
City-dwellers now apparently live with a terrible intimacy, a tragic
intimacy of proximity without sociability, of presence without
representation, of meeting without encounter. (p. 16)
25
What is required is ‘a reformulation of the notion of citizenship’,

in which urban dweller and citizen ‘embrace one another again,
but in a new way’ (Merrifield 2011:16). Merrifield (2011:16) insists
on ‘a new revolutionary conception of citizenship’, if we are to
engage urban society in ways that are liberationist, constructive
and transformative.
Spivak (2003:72), however, goes even further, critiquing the
very idea of global citizenship in which human agency – and
struggle – still remains central, often at the expense of both
planet and people. She calls for ‘the planet to overwrite the
global’, offering planetarity, in its concrete, ecological sense, as
an ethical alternative to the abstractness of globalisation, with its
emphasis on profit and extraction. In nurturing a planetary love,
instead of succumbing to the planetary exploitations of Empire,
we will assert the planet ‘as a sanctuary for our bodies and minds’
(Spivak 2018:n.p.).
Faith as Subversive, Resistant and

Tenacious Justice
In response to planetary urbanisation, and particularly its
exploitative and exclusivist effects, a politics of encounter has
emerged, characterised by creative resistance, revolutionary
citizenship, new and fused groups, broad-based social
movements, occupations and contestations.
What could a post-Christendom, post-church, planetary faith
learn from or contribute to such movements? What will
appropriate expressions of faith – as subversive, resistant,
tenacious justice – look like? Can we animate, construct and live
new forms of just faith, prophetically and creatively present,
amidst the effects of planetary urbanisation (Swyngedouw &
Kaika 2014)? Baker and Beaumont (2011b:264) seem to identify
an emerging emphasis on ‘the role of religions in general and
radical faith based praxis more specifically in the quest for the
right to the city and the just city’.
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Chapter 1
Jesus As Prophet: Religion, Revolt and the

Kingdom of God
If Jesus is co-opted by church, state or market, where is God still
free to be at work in history? Jesus, as described by Nolan (1995),
feasted with those whose histories were negated, disregarded or
untold. In order to argue for a faith expressed in justice it is
important to first locate Jesus in his own socio-historical context,
if we are to discern possible planetary incarnations of a just faith
today.
Palestine was colonised by the Romans in 63 BCE. Jesus lived
and died during this volatile time, in which the Temple, city and
Jewish nation were almost completely destroyed in 70 CE,
and then the final destruction took place in 135 CE (Nolan 1995:15).
It was during this time, argues Nolan (1995:15), that ‘the first
communities of Christians had to find their feet’.
This was a time of oppression, revolt and repression. The first
revolt against the Roman Empire was steered by the Zealots and
involved taxes. This revolt was suppressed by Roman rule, and
more than 2000 people were crucified (Nolan 1995:15). Even
after the violent crushing of their initial revolt, the Zealots – a
loosely organised, underground movement inspired by dedication
to a Jewish theocracy – continued to build support, in 66 CE
actually overthrowing the Roman government. However, they
were ousted by the Roman army in 70 CE in ‘a merciless massacre’
(Nolan 1995:15).
Closest to the core of the Temple were the Pharisees and
Sadducees. The Pharisees were the scribes, rabbis and
theologians who sustained the Jewish faith in a rather legalistic,
moralistic and exclusivist manner (cf. Nolan 1995:16–18). The
Sadducees, although including some rabbis and scribes, were
mostly composed of priests and elders, making them ‘the wealthy
aristocracy’ (Nolan 1995:17), conservatively clinging to Jewish
tradition (Nolan 1995:17) and collaborating ‘with the Romans’
(Nolan 1995:17) while they ‘endeavoured to maintain the status
27
quo’ (Nolan 1995:17). The buck, in a certain sense, stopped with

them when it came to the affairs, and gatekeeping, of the Temple,
with the Pharisees as their functionaries. These were the groups
Jesus contested, and subverted, consistently.
There were also the Essenes (Nolan 1995:16–17), who regarded
the Temple as corrupt and saw themselves as the only faithful
remnant of Israel; and a smaller, anonymous grouping of
apocalyptic writers, believing that they had the clearest revelation
of God’s intentions and historical plans (Nolan 1995:18).
Against this backdrop – a time of Roman imperial rule,
oppression of the Jews, Jewish rebellion and protest, and
conservative religiosity – first John the Baptist and then Jesus of
Nazareth emerged. John became a prophetic contradiction to all
that played out in Israel (cf. Nolan 1995):
There had been no prophet in Israel for a long time. Everyone was
painfully aware of this, as all the literature of the period attests. The
spirit of prophecy had been quenched. God was silent. All one could
hear was ‘the echo of his voice’. (p. 18)
He appealed to a wide range of people – ‘sinners, prostitutes, tax

collectors and soldiers as well as scribes and Pharisees’ (Nolan
1995:19), insisting that ‘[e]veryone must change’. The Old
Testament prophets – and John the Baptist was no different –
always included a naming of death and a promise of life, provoking
a response and making particular claims, including an invitation
to conversion away from existing ways. John displaced the
emphasis from ritual purity to social morality (cf. Nolan 1995:20;
in reference to Lk 3:11–14), challenging corruption, extortion,
greed and economic inequality, which were practices in which
the religio-politicos were deeply embedded. ‘John was arrested
and beheaded because he dared to speak out against Herod too’
(Nolan 1995:21).
In came Jesus. Jesus shared John’s sense of alarm about
the future of God’s people at the hands of the Roman Empire.
He wept over them, both for how scattered they were, but also
for what was to come (cf. Nolan 1995:22–23).
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Chapter 1
While John’s focus was on baptism, Jesus’ was on gathering

‘the lost sheep of the house of Israel’ (cf. Nolan 1995:27), ‘the
poor, the sinners and the sick’. This group probably included
everybody from the beggars, lepers, sick and disabled to
widows, orphans and other marginalised groups. It included
those regarded as ritually impure (cf. Nolan 1995:28–29) –
prostitutes, herdsmen, robbers and tax collectors. ‘The principal
suffering of the poor, then as now, was shame and disgrace’
(Nolan 1995:29).
Driven by compassion (Nolan 1995:34–35), and in particular

compassionate identification with the outcast and the poor,
Jesus made himself into an outcast, in his life and death. ‘He was
not moved by the grandeur of the great Temple buildings’
(Mk.13:1–2), ‘he was moved by the poor widow who put her last
cent into the Temple treasury’ (Mk.12:41–44).
While John engaged in baptisms of conversion (Nolan

1995:36), Jesus’ mission was to ‘liberate people from every form
of suffering and anguish’ (Nolan 1995:36). Jesus did so through
the dual acts of making himself an outcast, moved by compassion
and solidarity with outcasts and embracing a mission of liberation
from suffering. These dual acts were at once spiritual–religious
and political, coming together in Jesus’ integral mission on Earth.
Nolan (1995:114) argues that the Jewish mindset ‘made no
distinction at all between politics and religion’. Israel’s relationship
to the Roman Empire and the relationship between Temple and
ritual outcasts were religio-political issues.
Jesus’s commitment was to liberation, but not the kind

expected or desired by the Jews. Similar to John the Baptist,
Jesus required deep inner change by everyone. In the Gospel of
Luke, for example, Jesus said ‘[u]nless you change, you will all be
destroyed’ (Lk 13:3,5). Jesus called for socio-economic and
political morality and justice, which had to start with deep
personal transformation. This Nolan (1995:115–116) summarised it
saying ‘[w]ithout a change of heart in Israel itself, liberation from
imperialism of any kind would be impossible’.
29
Nolan (1995:116–117) radicalises Jesus’ commitment to

liberation, as compared to that of, say, the Zealots. Whereas
they wanted a change of power from the Romans to the Jews,
‘Jesus wanted a qualitatively different world – the “kingdom” of
God’ (Nolan 1995:117). True liberation meant to take up the
cause of all people as human beings – even to love our enemies
as an expression of such universal solidarity (Nolan 1995:119).
One should understand these acts of Jesus through the lens of

his own articulation of the ‘kingdom of God’, bringing theological
and political language into one imaginary. Nolan insists that the
kingdom as God’s new household is ‘a politically structured
society of people here on earth’ (Nolan 1995:59). When Jesus
says his kingdom is not of this world, he does not mean that it is
non-political, but he signifies the powerful alternative politics of
this new kingdom, subversive to the core, prophesying against
religion, economic exclusion and state Empire alike (cf. Nolan
1995:59–60).
Jesus’s prophecy reached a climax in the Temple incident.

Unimpressed with the grandeur and exclusionary practices of the
Temple, witnessing how people’s devotion was exploited
economically, Jesus became so irate that he literally turned the
Temple upside down (cf. Nolan 1995:126). This incident probably
changed the profile of Jesus from an itinerant preacher –
miracle-doer and storyteller – to a national figure in whom people
thought they could put their hope (Nolan 1995:128). The elitist
hierarchy had to find a way of silencing Jesus. The religious leaders
conspired, as is evident from a text in the book of Mark (11:47–52),
arguing for sacrificing one person (meaning Jesus) instead of
running the risk of losing a whole nation (cf. Nolan 1995:28).
The Alternative Kingdom of God and

In retrieving an understanding of Jesus as prophet, against the
backdrop of imperial conquest and religious co-option, it
30
Chapter 1
becomes possible to discern the outlines of a planetary faith with

a commitment to justice at its core.
The kingdom, or new household of God, was indeed different.
It represents a radical alternate imaginary and gets mediated not
through grabbing power but through subversive, resistant and
tenacious actions of love-justice, from within and from below.
This radically different kingdom or household, practised in a
politics of love-justice, is mostly expressed in Jesus’ focus on
healing, forgiveness and festivity and in his radically different
relationship to money, status and power.
His miracles were not to prove his deity, Nolan (1995:43–44)
holds, but were acts of compassion that wanted to evoke similar
compassion with the people themselves, liberating them both
‘from their suffering and their fatalistic resignation to suffering’
(Nolan 1995:44).
Forgiveness, for Jesus, was about recovery of loss and
restoration to an original status. Addressing both personal or
interpersonal sin and debt, Jesus announced freedom to both
those who were indebted and those who were owed. The
example of Jesus provoked similar actions from those around
him, as is seen in the case of Zacchaeus, who rectified his wrongs
many times over. In the face of the intensified hierarchies and
inequalities dealt by planetary urbanisation, just faith will
interrogate notions of compassion, resistance to the causes of
suffering and forgiveness combined with restitution – restoration
of land and release of people, neighbourhoods and countries,
captured by extraction and indebtedness to the urban elite.
Instead of an exploitative globalisation, a life-embracive
planetarity would be nurtured.
Nolan (1995:51) says that ‘Jesus feasted while John fasted’.
A planet of inequality requires both fasting and feasting, with the
kind of fasting – personally, collectively and corporately – that
can enable the redistribution of resources and the sustenance of
the ecology, currently disabled by greedy and exploitative
self-interest. Such fasting can help prepare the feasting that
31
Jesus embodied, with tables of shared and equal generosity and

abundance, where everyone is welcome to be seated.
And yet, in the absence of deep fasting, Jesus still feasted.

Nolan (1995:59) describes Jesus’ preoccupation with the
‘household of festivity’, mentioning that seven parables had the
householder as central character, and in six of these households
‘a festive meal’ was at the centre. For Jesus the ‘kingdom of
God’ on Earth was a new household, radically different from
the household of bondage symbolised by both religion and
Empire (cf. Russell 1987). Feasting was a prophetic sign,
provoking – imagining – true, deep, continuous fasting, as the
new way of life.
In this new household, ‘Jesus is asking for a total and general

sharing of all material possessions’ (Nolan 1995:63). The real
miracle in the multiplication of the bread and fish, namely, was
people’s willingness to share (cf. Nolan 1995:64), as that unleashed
the possibility of multiplication, surpluses and equality. The first
Jesus communities in Acts 2, 4 and 5 continued to simulate such
practices of deep economic solidarity and sharing (cf. Nolan
1995:64–65). Jesus’ insistence on sharing, as part of a new
household or community, was in the direction of a much greater
vision. ‘Jesus dared to hope for a “kingdom” or world-wide
community which would be so structured that there would be no
poor and no rich’ (Nolan 1995:65).
Jesus’ most profound critique of the religious leaders of his

day was not levelled against their teaching but at how impressed
they were with status and prestige, allowing themselves to be
co-opted into oppressive hierarchies that marginalised the poor
(cf. Nolan 1995:68). Instead, and deeply provocatively, Jesus
placed a small child at the centre, suggesting that only such
could enter the kingdom of God. Jesus named those bestowed
with no social status in society as central characters in God’s new
household, namely, a child, women, beggars, servants, lepers and
anyone else who, according to societal and religious norms and
standards, was deemed inferior (Nolan 1995:71–72).
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Jesus broke the boundaries of economic, religious and ethnic

purity and exclusivity. Instead of closed group solidarity with
clear boundaries determining who were insiders or outsiders,
Jesus inaugurated universal solidarity with all of humankind that
‘must supersede all the old group solidarities’ (Nolan 1995:77).
Within such universal solidarity, Jesus showed particular
solidarity with the poor and oppressed, in order to level the
playing fields. His was always an affirmation of the weakest
among us, to demonstrate the workings of the new household of
God (Nolan 1995:79).
In this new household, the poor and little ones will show the
way (Nolan 1995:84). Instead of playing the games of Empire
where power is simply transferred from one dominant group to
another, in the kingdom of God power is seated in deep
servanthood, in a community sharing universal solidarity,
upholding creation and the least of these.
A Remnant Only?
The depth of Jesus’ solidarity ended in a cross. It seems as if only
a remnant minority is able to respond to the claims of this Jesus
in faithful ways. The radicality of Jesus’ call was embodied by his
suffering. His commitment was to liberate people from the
conditions of suffering and from the ways in which people
inflicted suffering on others. And yet, suffering could only
be conquered in this world, Nolan (1995:138) states, if we were
willing to suffer ourselves. Jesus modelled this through his
embodied leadership as a servant God, revealing how ‘Compassion
destroys suffering by suffering with and on behalf of those who
suffer’ (Nolan 1995:138).
The claim such a Jesus makes on our lives is altogether

different from dominant state, church or market theologies.
It invites people into ‘a radical reorientation of one’s life’ (Nolan
1995:102), a way of compassion that lets go of aspirations of
power, prestige, greed or money and instead stands in solidarity
33
with those who are most vulnerable and excluded, sharing as

equal participants in a new household of festivity. It represents
faith, not as ‘a magical power’ (Nolan 1995:102) but as an
alignment to the mission of Jesus and the kingdom of God,
expressed in deep compassion and justice, countering the
absorption, extortion and exploitation of planetary urbanisation
led by the exclusionary forces of capital.
It is in the rare instances where a faith community is able to
connect worship and social transformation, letting its worship be
a space of ‘communal cultivation of an alternative construction
of society’ (Yoder 1984:34), that the faith community will be ‘true
to its exilic status’ (Yoder 1984:34); a prophetic remnant, an exile
community, yet fully present.
Prophetic Communities: Practising

Prophetic Theology
The Kairos document identified not only a state theology or
church theology but also provided the outline of a prophetic
theology. Such a theology would resist the co-option of Jesus
into dominant state, religious or market discourses, prophetically
imagining the alternative way of being for a particular time.
According to Nolan (1995:91), the prophet was always tasked
with the vocation of ‘telling the people the meaning of the
particular time in which they lived in view of a new divine act
which was about to take place’. Prophetic communities today
would have to discern the time we find ourselves in under
planetary urbanisation; how and where the Spirit of God is at
work; and then seek to align itself to the movement of God’s
Spirit at this time.
Faith communities in our time, if we consider the work of
Merrifield and others as appropriate indicators of where justice
movements are at, would participate in new emerging movements,
or in fused groups, in solidarity, but also discern the particular
gifts they can share at many different tables. Prophetic faith
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Chapter 1
communities would work with many others, to subvert the

exploitations of Empire, through ‘decoupling from the state’s
“official” domain to weaken its grip […] and loosen its political
and bureaucratic straightjacket’ (Merrifield 2013:105).
Such encounter(s), as explained by Merrifield (2013), if
authentic, are significant to break through the inertia, calling
forth new life and vibrancy in response to death-dealing urban
forces:
Before the encounter, before the fused group took hold, ‘the city’,
we might say, and its spaces were just there, simply latent, passive
terrains of the practico-inert. I say ‘city’ because these spaces
existed like dead labour in redundant fixed capital, objectified in the
landscape, smacking of alienation, of nonlife, of plain-old bricks and
mortar, of concrete and steel. (p. 105)
Discerning a Planetary Urban

Theological Agenda
A planetary urban theological agenda would need to hold faith
and justice together, for it to become a source of flourishing life.
It would require, and foster, prophetic communities practising
tender yet robust faith and subversive, tenacious justice, in ways
that will mediate ongoing liberations and transformations of all
kinds, either directly or as participants in broader glocal
(planetary) movements. Such a theological agenda will have to
embrace a number of critical postures:
• Urban discipleship as perpetual subversion – Merrifield
(2013:116) speaks of our challenge ‘to sneak about through
narrow trails of permanent subversion’, fleshing out alternate
urban lives to the dominant pattern. Following Jesus in an age
of planetary urbanisation would require, even more than
before, perpetual acts of subversion.
• Continuous encounter and repeated conversion – Faith, under
planetary urbanisation, requires multiple and continuous
encounters, such as those with and between state, market and
church; different religious expressions; groups, fused groups
or social movements committed to justice, taking place locally,
35
regionally and globally. Authentic encounters would always

heed a call to conversion, of some sort, as it presupposes deep
conversational dialogue.
• Faith as urban performativity – Acknowledging ‘the
performative nature of religious engagement with the public
space’ (cf. Baker & Beaumont 2011a:47) is important as a
resource for sustainable and flourishing planetary living, as
well as to shape a certain form of spatiality that is more
radically inclusive and embracive of all urban inhabitants.
Faith as urban performativity can be embodied in
liturgies, worship, diaconal solidarities, artistic expression and
festivals, incarnational living and various forms of resistance.
• An embodied call for justice: beyond abstractions and rights to
occupations and feasts – Christian inertia also results from
theological abstractions that fail to be embodied in practices,
rituals, liturgies and lifestyles (our way of being with each other
as inhabitants of ‘planet urban’). Through encounters and
collaborations participating in occupations and festivals, ours
should increasingly become an embodied call for justice, not
theorising only but living justice deeply in close solidarities.
• Planning infused with spirituality – Urban planning, in the
understanding of Sandercock and Senbel (2011:87), is ‘an
ethical inquiry into how to live with each other’; and ‘the
work of organizing hope’, often against the backdrop of
great despair (Sandercock & Senbel 2011:88). Such hope can
only be sustained and replenished through spirituality (cf.
Sandercock & Senbel 2011:88). Faith communities have an
incredibly important role to play in accompanying planning
practices that are connected to people and planet in humble,
loving and just ways.
• Connecting as affirmation of our inherent (inter)
connectedness – The more we are connected through
globalising processes, the more fragmented we become
through increased hierarchies and deepened inequalities.
Connecting people and places, glocally, is both an affirmation
of our inherent interconnectedness and also subverts
exclusionary connections perpetuated by hierarchies of
power. Sandercock and Senbel (2011:94) speak of city
planning as ‘a layering of connectedness’. Faith communities
can play crucially important roles, both in being part of the
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Chapter 1
layering and in helping to heal urban fractures through

connecting what has become disconnected.
• Healing urban fractures: creating multiple centres – I concur
with Cox’s (1965) assertion that the church’s primary urban
role is that of being a servant, healing urban fractures. We
need to vigilantly develop tools to discern the fractures,
responsive spiritualities, and appropriate and bold strategies,
networks and resources to overcome fractures. This would
imply a deep and caring presence in fractured places,
abandoned by state, market or church. Such affirmation would
create multiple centres in what was deemed marginal; make
visible what dominant narratives sought to hide; and connect
these ‘new centres’ to build synergy and consensus from
below.
• Reclaiming regeneration – Davey and Graham (2011:121) speak
about the way in which urban spaces today are regenerated
‘on a globalized template’, dictated by ‘inward investment […]
with little regard for local impact’, steering in the direction of
homogeneity, because it ‘works’, at least for those who want
to make profit. Faith communities need to reclaim the
language of regeneration, insisting on the possibility of
redeeming broken spaces in ways that are radically
transformative, resisting exclusivist regeneration, while
simultaneously addressing root causes that create decay or
exclusion.
An All-embracive Planetary Faith

A Planetary Consciousness and
Planetary Love
Planetary urbanisation is calling people of faith and entire faith
traditions way beyond itself, to explore new ways of living,
speaking and doing, together – deeply suspicious and contrary
to forces of estrangement and death. Can we imagine, construct
or animate new forms of just faith, prophetically present –
resisting, subverting and constructing – amidst the effects of
planetary urbanisation (Swyngedouw & Kaika 2014), with its
huge costs both to humanity and creation?
37
Planetary urbanisation is calling for expressions of planetary

love that are tenaciously holding onto a faithful presence in
changing worlds, serving compassionately and living in just
solidarity, while letting go of the necessity to exercise power
over creation or humanity. Such forms of love can be discovered
and nurtured in relationship to ‘planetary indigeneity’ (Sidaway,
Woon & Jacobs 2014:8), which, based on a critique of colonised
territories and spaces through imperial violence (Sidaway et al.
2014:8), deliberately retrieves indigenous knowledges as cues
for our life together.
Such planetary indigeneity fosters a new kind of politics,

searching ‘for alternatives in a relational, nature-centred ethic of
care’ (Sidaway et al. 2014:10), characterised by alternative
concepts of development, ‘radical alterity with respect to the
relationship to nature/land’ (Sidaway et al. 2014:9) and ‘an
emergent politics concerned about climate change and
environmental futures’ (Sidaway et al. 2014:10). Sidaway et al.
(2014:10) speaks of planetary indigeneity in its global, organised
and collective forms as ‘a resource of hope for a new planetary
consciousness’.
Unless faith communities can develop such planetary

consciousness, fostering planetary love, they will hardly be able
to engage appropriately with planetary urbanisation and its
effects.
Collideorscape, Wormholes and

Minor Spaces
I find Merrifield’s three elements for an effective ‘revolutionary
rehearsal’ quite helpful in providing the subversive metaphorical
language a planetary consciousness requires, beyond captivity
to stale ecclesial forms. He speaks of the collideorscape
(Merrifield 2013:106; in reference to Joyce’s Finnegans Wake
[1976:143]); the wormhole; and minor spaces. These could
38
Chapter 1
be the metaphorical carriers for a volatile, activist faith to

saturate an entire urbanising planet, germinating its soil with
justice, wrapped in compassion.
Collideorscapes are described by Joyce (1976:43) as a collision
and an escape, almost simultaneously, ‘a shaking up of things to
give form to another reality, an escape into a changed perception,
into another stage of liberation’ (Merrifield 2013:106). Such
collideorscapes – creative encounters – are spanning the urban
landscape today but can also be animated deliberately by
movements from below or performed by fused groups. They are
moments of volatile – spontaneous or organised – encounters,
sowing the seeds of adequate ideas, temporarily withdrawing to
allow for seeds to germinate, until the next encounter.
I understand such collideorscapes to occur both in the
encounter between the fused group and those they are ‘against’,
but collideorscapes can also occur between different members
or groups of the fused group. Held together by common threads –
in spite of the intensity of collision and momentary escape or
retreat – they are brought together repeatedly, to regroup
themselves as they enter the next or deeper level of revolution.
This could apply to social movements, to ecumenical networks
or to fused groups composed of social movements and faith-
based groups, slowly and relationally fostering shared agendas
and practices, through creative encounter.
Whereas collideorscapes refer to rather impactful moments
of encounter, then withdrawal, frequently repeated and
deepening in intensity, wormholes are different. Wormholes
steadily work their way through the structures, layers and
pretensions of the status quo (Merrifield 2013):
Wormholes are little troubling spaces that create vortexes within
the macro-space of planetary capitalism. They are troublesome because
they cause ruptures and rifts within the plane of capitalist immanence.
In the wormhole, the specific gravity of the world market no longer
applies; there the air and light are fresher and brighter. Wormholes
bring rain to the arid zone of neoliberal desertification. (p. 108)
39
Wormholes, says Merrifield (2013:108), ‘blaze new spatial

territories […]’ with ‘new minor spaces that securely link and
make bridges, or subterranean tunnels, between social
movements everywhere’. The function of wormholes is to
penetrate seemingly impenetrable spaces, to open up ‘minor
spaces’ that are typically ‘subversive, intrusive, interventionist,
troublesome space, troublesome for the dominant order, for
“major abstract space”’ (Merrifield 2013:109–110). They represent
the alternate possibilities; they expose the farcical nature of
pretentious impenetrability or inevitability. Such alternate spaces
are opening up ‘in the interstices of planetary urbanization, in
minor spaces’ (Merrifield 2013:123).
How do faith communities allow, or even animate,

collideorscapes to transform their own self-understanding, to
disrupt death-dealing constructs, to open up the possibility for
liberating encounters? How does faith carve out wormholes,
causing ‘ruptures and rifts’ in the certainties of planetary
urbanisation? How is faith refreshing in ‘the arid zone of neoliberal
desertification’? How are deliberate, minor spaces created and
then affirmed and heralded as spaces of liberating encounter, as
sources for possible deep transformation?
Jesus Belongs to the Whole Planet

An all-embracive planetary faith is only a possibility if we revisit
the nature of Jesus. Nolan (1995) made this statement:
Jesus cannot be fully identified with that great religious phenomenon
of the Western world known as Christianity. He was much more
than the founder of one of the world’s greatest religions. He stands
above Christianity as the judge of all it has done in its name. Nor
can historical Christianity claim him as its exclusive possession. Jesus
belongs to all humanity. (p. 5)
Jesus cannot be equated with state, church or market. Neither

can Jesus be equated with Christian faith, as Jesus belongs to all
humanity, indeed, to the entire planet. Based on Jesus’ self-
identification, he can be found in particular in the fractures of
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Chapter 1
urban society, in those subsumed or excluded spaces where the

‘waste’ is dumped (cf. De Beer 2014). And from there Jesus
stands as judge of every glocal institution that is hell-bent on
excluding – and exploiting – the vulnerable in our midst.
The risen Christ is the planetary Jesus, the one who is in deep
solidarity with those crucified and wasted by the spoils of
planetary gains.
41
Chapter 2
Eco-critical Imagination,
Indigenous Political
Liberation and White
Settler Decolonisation:
‘Animating’
Accountability as the
City Congeals and the
Heat Rises
James W. Perkinson1
Professor of Social Ethics
Ecumenical Theological Seminary
United States of America
How to cite: Perkinson, J.W., 2018, ‘Eco-Critical Imagination, Indigenous Political Liberation,
White Settler Decolonisation: “Animating” Accountability as the City Congeals and the
Heat Rises’, in S. de Beer (ed.), Just Faith: Glocal Responses to Planetary Urbanisation (HTS
Religion & Society Series Volume 3), pp. 43–74, AOSIS, Cape Town. https://doi.org/10.4102/
aosis.2018.BK87.02 1
1. Research associate, Centre for Contextual Ministry, Faculty of Theology, University of

Pretoria, South Africa.
43
‘Animating’ Accountability as the City Congeals and the Heat Rises
Introduction
How shall we think of indigeneity, land, settler colonialism and
climate change in relationship to issues of race, class and religion,
in the space of the academy and the grip of the city? I write in
place, out of an academic subdiscipline that might be loosely
called ‘political spirituality’ (more technically, ‘eco-theology’),
schooled for more than three decades by the harshly embattled
location of inner-city, post-industrial Detroit. I offer as conviction,
a basic impression, arising from a long pilgrimage into the layered
history of the Strait, baptising this white-formed biped in the
thick murk of African-American struggle elaborated on top of
Native-American displacement. Recovering the capacity to learn
sustainability from wild nature as ‘teacher’ – especially as
decanted through indigenous culture – may well determine the
destiny of our species as either viable or extinct. Riffing on the
work of Gayatri Spivak, the galvanising concern in the writing
might be glossed as the eco-critical irruption of the subaltern in
the place of history, Global South eco-animism challenging
Northern consumerist geocide, indigenous wiles and wisdoms
haunting the wealth and weapons of the coloniser world of
settlement and settlements and savagery.
Central to the exploration will be the role of story. Certainly,
indigenous modes of giving narrative ‘vitality’ to local watersheds
serve as touchstones. But equally crucial for us as modernity-
enamoured creatures (given that you are reading this – and
I have written it – by means of a vast hi-tech infrastructure called
the Internet) is the bigger contrasting story that we already
inhabit and that inhabits us. It typically comports itself, one way
or another, as the story of ‘civilisation’, anchored in urban life.
Gaining critical perspective on that default frame is part of
Spivak’s project, which we will supplement here, at some length,
with the work of political scientist James C. Scott. Of particular
note for our efforts will be the latter’s recent book called Against
the Grain, tracing the genesis of city-state social architecture and
aggression in the conjunction of late Neolithic village sedentism,
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Chapter 2
plant and animal domestication and coercive labour formation.

That historical thread of development will then serve to shadow
the biblical story in quite different ‘relief’ than the imperial
highlights we typically inherit and emphasise. And, finally, the
possible import of such a narrative gumbo for practical faith will
be given personal flavour in a brief outline of my own struggle to
engage such in inner-city Detroit.
The Hour of Apocalypse

Most literally, while writing this, the calamity of Syria continues
to roil global politics in international calculation and national
delirium around the question of Russian tampering with the
Trump election as the Big Powers continue their intractable face-
off in plotting the fate of the late great planet under the heavy
manners of climate comeuppance. Syria as raw wound in the
world body, signifying so many wounds, so many ravages!
It would be easy to grind down on the event – bullets and bombs,
themselves of metals mined from whence, by what coerced
hands, under bottom line duress and stockholder demand and
caviar caresses of politicos and bankers, sold from the West into
the morass of post-Iraqi Freedom struggles to suss out life in the
space of a never-ending conquest. All the while the climate-
bared Syrian sun overheats the soils, drying aquifers, driving
farmers to city cauldrons of dreams and impossibilities, cooking
up neo-liberal pain into a well-boiled refrain of resistance and
despair, perhaps speaking the sole word understood in the
boardrooms of pirated fat. Maybe we now inhabit a world where
writing is just so much smoke and mirrors, a doodling on top of
the designs of minds already seceded from both ground and
community. At one level, ISIL (Islamic State of Iraq and the
Levant) bloodletting is ‘postcolonial’ blowback on a colonisation
that has actually never ceased its taking, the grotesque shape
dominated ‘nature’ assumes (in human form) when forced one
too many times to conform to the enslavements of production
and re-engineering, dividend and steering column, pixel and
45
fractal and hedge fund hustle, channelling brain chemicals

uncoupled from the awareness of compost as ultimate destiny
and real beauty.
Perhaps beheading is an apocalyptic sign of the times, the
mirror in which all of us ‘moderns’ – however ‘post-’ and ‘colonial’
and ‘trans’ and ‘national’ and ‘civil’ and ‘isable’ we may think
we are – must now be comprehended (especially in light of our
race, gender and socio-economic status). ‘Beheading’ of forests,
mountaintops, crops and clouds! Slicing open of the dragon-
mouth of Mother Earth, whose gullet we Gonzo porn-plunge! All
for the ancestral minerals and viscosities we demand as our
‘right’ in the moment of our desperation to continue running in
the very places that we so heavily and wantonly stand! This is
precisely what most of us (who occupy the academy) do – in our
very places of writing and teaching and speaking and latte-
lamenting the state of things. ISIL-like brutality (in the form of
techno-capitalist fundamentalism) is exactly what I imagine we
look like to the natural world around us, as indeed to its indigenous
denizens whose codifications of local ecosystems are the actual
‘culture’ nature has (as says Yupiaq scholar Oscar Kawagley).
I am married to a Filipina who grieves as I write for the incessant
rounds of slayings of Lumad and Aeta and Manobo leaders of
tribal peoples in her homeland – fuelled by Enlightenment-taught
‘modern’ understandings of who counts and who is a mere relic
awaiting removal so that the minerals can be plundered for my
Prius and your Apple. And their slaying is just the most recent
outcome of the slow motion, state- and corporate-sponsored
violence of 500 years’ duration, whose terrors, in magnitude and
continuity and effect, far outweigh the more spectacular backlash
of ‘terror’ we all now lament.
So I write under the sign of Syria as terroristic emblem of
the climate-beleaguered city. Economist Christian Parenti
underscores the conjunction. Noting the ‘new geography of
climate change is pretty much like the old geography of
imperialism with core and periphery’, Parenti (2017:n.p.) details
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Chapter 2
the way neo-liberal policy has left Global South states on the
frontiers of climate catastrophe, bereft (or more accurately,
‘plundered’) of the resources to deal with the eventuality.
In consequence, says Parenti, people are forced to ‘adapt freestyle
on their own’, gravitating in their desperation to ‘ethnic, religious
millenarian violence’ (Parenti 2017:n.p.). The linkage is clear, if
indirect. ‘Displacement leads to poverty leads to deprivation and
anxiety’ leads to vulnerability to whatever demagogue of quick
fixes can translate rage into religious revenge and promised
remedy (Parenti 2017:n.p.). In Syria’s case, climate change–
induced drought pushed Sunni farmers off ancestral land into
cities, where the Assad regime’s austerity, currying favour with
Western priorities, cooked up the crowded influx into a
‘weaponised proletariat’, hell-bent on religious reprisal against
the Alawite elites (Parenti 2017). And now into this very same
conundrum steps Cape Town in the new year of 2018, face to
face with the Zero Hour of water apocalypse, feverishly scrambling
in the shadow of a likely similar working-class explosion. And
thus, our sub-motif for this writing – how do we comprehend the
city in the sight of an entire biosphere in revolt?
‘Animating’ Liberation Theology

In her 1999 publication entitled A Critique of Postcolonial Reason:
Toward a History of the Vanishing Past, literary critic Gayatri
Spivak (1999) at one point waxes oneiric, surprisingly invoking
liberation theology in her laboured send-up of postcolonial
theorising at the threshold of a new millennium (documents.mx).
In her riff on Kant’s project, she suddenly becomes nostalgic for
what she herself deems improbable, a dream of what she calls
‘animist liberation theologies […] to girdle the perhaps impossible
vision of an ecologically just world’ (Spivak 1999:382). In her
concern for ‘transnational literacy’ and in the process of
championing (while querying) ‘globe-girdling movements’,
Spivak opens a profound question for ‘liberation’ theory in our
time (Spivak 1999:377–378, 374). Its subject must become at
47
once planetary in a vigilant political pushback on the forces of

financialisation, while simultaneously taking the trouble necessary
to re-enter local spaces of subaltern responsiveness in a posture
of ‘learning to learn from the original practical ecological
philosophies of the world’ (Spivak 1999:383). While Spivak’s
work has subsequently commandeered attention from my
particular discipline and occasioned a conference (and a book
entitled Planetary Loves: Spivak, Postcoloniality and Theology), it
is patent that the challenge articulated concerning ethical
engagement with animist indigenous knowledges (and struggles)
for the sake of global survival remains a conundrum largely
unaddressed in most eco-theological discourse.
The eye that reads Spivak’s dense demand in my case gazes
over post-industrial malaise. The context for my writing here is
post-bankruptcy Detroit, home base for 30 years of living,
working and theorising out of a devastated east-side
neighbourhood, schooled by a 70-year tradition of black power
and radical labour organising centred around African-American
and Chinese-American activists, Jimmy and Grace Lee Boggs,
more recently elaborating contacts and connections with
Vandana Shiva’s ‘seed politics’ in northern India and Zapatista
innovations in southern Mexico.
Most immediately, my musings key off of a summer 2015
encounter between three constituencies whose collaborative
political commitments in resisting emergency management
takeover of the city since 2013, and more recently in fighting
against draconian water shut-offs of poor people of mixed race,
has given rise to a resolve to ‘learn to learn from’ each other’s
respective sources of inspiration. Local African-American and
Latino(a) hip-hop ‘heads’, young Anishinaabe activists and
Christian practitioners of a new ‘watershed discipleship’ ethic
huddled in July heat with national leaders of each of these three
constituencies, focused on questions of land and water in seeking
to root local politics and intellectual theorising more profoundly
in a spiritual orientation more ‘animist’ and ‘poly-sacral’ than
modernist and univocal.
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Chapter 2
All told, this hothouse experience of activist involvement finds

increasing urgency in the question Spivak raises. In the process of
wrestling against ‘race-gender-class exploitation’ in the ‘affective
subspace’ of the migrant underclass as well as the older ghetto
and barrio neighbourhoods of black and Latino(a) poor – how
hold metropolitan engagement accountable to conditions on the
ground (economically and ecologically) around the globe among
the Global South’s and Arctic North’s indigenous populations?
Indeed, how do so with respect to native losses and pushback
exactly on the spot of Motown’s streets, where tankers ply daily,
in transport of Canadian tar sands product to Marathon
refinements in that oldest of Detroit settlements named Delray?
How take account of such contemporary grief and resistance
where mound builders anciently dug? Where Wendet offered
thanks to sturgeon kin? Where Tecumseh pirouetted with his
1812 youth core in the woods around Fort Detroit – built there
to enforce European occupation and control the trade of fur –
comporting himself like the trickster deity Nanabozho,
mesmerising the ‘American’ troops holed up there into surrender
by ‘shape-shifting’ his small contingent into a seemingly monstrous
embodiment in repeated shadowy appearances among the trees
in front of the fort (Dowd 2002:12–15, 17, 19, 93, 272–273)?
Essentially, how do we engage with contemporary struggle in
a way that does not once more eclipse the deep history and the
present community of native dwellers and the questions their
lifeways throw up before modern technocracies and urban
densities?
Back behind the thicket of intervening agencies scrambling
for power across the globalising stage (the nation state,
international civil society, Non-governmental Organisations
(NGOs) collaborating with Bretton Woods organisations, the
much-touted ‘pax electronica’, cultural studies programmes
making careers on cartographies of Global South realities,
telematic voyeurism of tribal orality, entrepreneurial ‘pimping’
of ethnic art, ‘mainstreaming’ educational initiatives, etc.) lies
a fundamental ecological interrogation (Spivak 1999:370).
49
Given the layered and catastrophic crises fast sweeping in on the

planet (peak oil, climate warming, species extinction, population
overshoot), how alter our lockstep course (Perkinson 2015)?
Where turn for hope and/or challenge adequate to the change
required? Needless to say, given such an overview as this, I am
not sanguine in the face of an Isaac Asimov Foundation invocation
of the 75 million square mile urbano-planet Trantor any more
than Star Trek’s Borg nightmare named the Uniplex, or even the
New Jerusalem of Revelation, reportedly 1500 miles long, broad
and high. Henri Lefebvre’s ‘planetary urbanization’ must be
tempered with Michael Davis’ Planet of Slums and even Elon
Musk’s terror-driven thrust to remove himself and a few other
select billionaires to Mars (Asimov 1955; Davis 2006; Lefebvre
1970; Merrifield 2013:909).
Spivak is prescient in a practised manner that academic
theory in general and liberation theologies in particular would
do well to emulate. In elaborating her dream of animist
liberation theologies, for instance, she is quick to note that
‘theology’ itself is an inappropriate term, as ‘supernature’ and
‘transcendence’ alike lead right back into the global dilemma
(Spivak 1999:382). Indeed, she will insist that none of the ‘so-
called great religions of the world’ stand adequate to the work
as they are already too far compromised with global power
flows (Spivak 1999:382). Alone on the present horizon of our
vanishing historical past stands the witness of certain subaltern
‘humanities’ living in sufficient biorhythmic attendance on their
ecologies to open a possible future for the species. Their deep
contribution (despite the charges of romanticism such a claim
inevitably draws, says Spivak, and in spite of all the intellectual
capital agreements pillaging, patenting and reselling such
knowledges) is persistent deconstruction of ‘the opposition
between human and natural’ (Spivak 1999:383, 383 footnote 97).
The fate of much of the planet may well depend on ‘learning to
learn from’ such.
Spivak cautions on the ethical task, talking about how it
requires the ‘slow efforts’ of a ‘desire-changing’ attentiveness
50
Chapter 2
that amounts to love – what Derrida might otherwise call

‘messianic patience’. Such will constitute the watchword here
(Spivak 1999:383, 383 footnote 97). How do we begin to move
towards a recovery of communicative relationality with floral
and faunal life forms integral to mutual survival, whose codes of
regenerative exchange do not answer to any logic of development
and whose nuances of reciprocity have thus far registered far
more cogently in indigenous mythologies and ritual forms than in
global theories of civilisational viability? What might ‘liberation
mythology’ look like speaking towards the world’s ‘great religions’
(as indeed its metropolitan academicians) from inside an ‘animist’
(or indigenous) grasp of reality and in full cognisance of their
place in contemporary globalisation?
At the heart of each enterprise is an even deeper question of

liberation: What now does it mean to be human? What if it has
never not meant living a form of collective hybridity in symbiotic
relationship with a plant or animal community that mediates
reciprocal (and commensal) relations with a local ecology and
does so sustainably, only to the degree that relationship is also
practised as a form of integral spirituality? An ‘animistic theology’
indeed!
The questions such a perspective raises are rhizome-deep

and lifelong. Spivak conjures a zone of spirits, both living and
gone, whose raison and pain will not be merely ‘comprehended’
in academe. Like pastoralist Abel of biblical fame, their living
refrain and bloodstain speaks from the exact intersection of flesh
and soil. Certainly, many of the 360 million current people on UN
lists of ‘the indigenous’ exhibit something of the global dilemma.
They are already crossed by lines of capital flows, caught in
demands for lands bearing gems and oil, blitzed with the techno-
fascinations of apps and social media. But many of them also,
outside the romance of BBC’s Living with the Tribes, know things
that the rest of us do not even realise we don’t know.
Learning how to know such will not come from a course in a

classroom or Google time on the net. Neither will it come from
51
plumbing the spirit-depths of cracked-up concrete and broken

street lights like a jazz horn or a hip-hop diss rap, as crucial and
liberational as those innovations have been for the offspring of
African populations enslaved in a previous iteration of capital’s
operation of plunder and now indeed for an entire planet of
urban youth calling out the truth of their situation. It is rather, as
Spivak (1999:369 footnote 78) so laconically (!) lambasts in a
footnote, that ‘[a]boriginal practical [wisdom] of living in the
rhythm of the ecobiome is hardly to be dismissed’ as a mere
flash of the past, but rather demands both protective political
combat and ‘one-on-one’ loving contact, capable of changing
both parties. The change anticipated demands relationship
with a culture in place in a temporal flow that is slow. But she
does dream of social movements of such that would girdle the
globe in an ‘animist’ liberation, even as she qualifies the just
outcome of that dream as ‘impossible’. And perhaps more to
the point, when on yearly trek to Kolkata to hunker down
among neo-liberalism’s subaltern survivors in a local educational
forum, Spivak knows – as diasporic denizen of high academic
theory – that she does not know and that all of her academic
conventions and conceits are so much confusing flotsam. And
seeks rather to learn in the local idiom! And such is my own
minute experience of the hope.
Liberating an Animist Imagination

How imagine and work towards a globalised localism, an
international movement of bioregional savvy and commitment?
The animism is crucial to the vision. And here I will elaborate
on top of Spivak’s authoring of the thought. Not enough in what
we now face to retool academic theory in the direction of
responsible redeployment of materiality, as necessary as that
may be. Permaculture design in cultivation and biomimetics in
robotics will not by themselves a just world make. Like Spivak,
I am equally concerned to halt before the only ‘outside’ that
remains to neo-liberal logics and green-zone colonial projects
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hell-bent on remaking the planetary surface into one-world-

under-a-drone. That ‘outside’ is indigenous culture – as inadequate
as the words may be, as already compromised in corporate
infiltration and nostalgic imagination as the reality is. Reading
James Scott on the ‘arts of being ungovernable’ discerned in the
recesses of South Asian hill country, reading Vandana Shiva’s
schooling at the hands of Chipko women defending forests in
northern India, reading of Shipibo synaesthesia in Peru and
Moken island-hopping off the coast of Thailand and Hadza
relations with the honeyguide bird in Tanzania presents a not-
yet-extinct possibility (Charing 2008:2–3; Gebhart-Sayer
1986:196; Greenfieldboyce 2016; Leung 2005; Scott 2009; Shiva
[1988] 2010).
And core to each of these older ways of being is story – a
mythological clothing of the entire local biome in a layered mess
of narration that renders not just plant and animal, but rock and
hill, river and weather as living kin demanding respect and
granting meaning. There is no way in so short a presentation as
this even to hint at the difference such a canopy of story –
inflating a local ecozone into a roaming homeland of wild spirits –
makes compared to theology’s monolingualism or the academy’s
‘scientific’ hubris. The latter’s universal abstraction and the
former’s insipid policing of transcendence are symptomatic of a
much larger destruction of place that is the toxic by-product of
modernity’s drive to re-engineer and commodify for which the
academy is largely a pampered acolyte and faith too often a
cheer-leading servant. Emphasising ‘story’ in the face of corporate
takeover of indigenous land, backed by government-sanction
and police, followed by poured concrete and sunk pipe and clear-
cut ranch and mined mineral – much less the frenzied hyper-
development of mega-cities of tens of millions such as we witness
around the globe – might seem hopelessly immaterial and
powerless. Yet, without at least imagination of something
different and local and sustainable, the possibility of resistance
and alternative creation is simply stillborn. The remainder of this
writing will offer a storied outline – notes on yet extant indigenous
53
‘difference’; a deep history of resistance to our earliest shift from

foraging and pastoralism to state-dominated mono-cropping; an
invocation of the biblical witness to just such a turn away from
urbanised domination; and an accounting of the meaning of such
a turn in my own life.
Local Dwelling in Indigenous

Compass
Two quick examples and a more extensive third – articulating
‘indigenous difference’ in response to large-scale ‘natural’ events
like wild fires, tsunamis and hurricanes – will have to stand in for
more extensive analyses, given space limits. A preacher friend of
mine, at a recent conference hosted by an inner-city church in
Detroit, upon hearing my own thinking about the hour we face
today across the planet, recounted a recent visit to Alaska. The
Inuit folk there, having heard report of the wild fires raging across
California hills and engulfing entire cities like Santa Rosa in the
fall of 2017, told him of their own fire experience. Recent
summertime conflagrations in Alaska had also terrorised white
urban dwellers in the area into desperate action – sweating out
the onslaught as a looming catastrophe and fighting frantically
to contain the flames. For the Inuit, however, the fires were not
‘disaster’ but ‘revitalisation’. They pointedly told my friend that
they themselves were not worried by such, knowing the flames
would be extinguished by nature herself, on her own schedule,
when the snows came. Wild fire, for them, was actually rebirth,
part of a cycle of regeneration. If the flames did not scorch, the
seeds would not be released, the willow would not grow, the
caribou would not feed, and they themselves would not survive.
They had long ago learned to build their homes on pilings out in
the marsh and survived just fine, because they knew the terrain
and its cycles, did not try to live where they could not survive,
and knew how to read the moods and changes.
Similar testament to a pliable ‘dwelling in place’ emerged in
the wake of the 2004 Banda Aceh tsunami ‘catastrophe’ in the
Indian Ocean. Gathering ‘news’ just days after the strike, BBC
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discovered a Sea Gypsy fishing folk tribe known as the Moken

off the coast of Thailand, who had survived the wave just fine.
No member of the tribe had ever seen such a phenomenon, but
as soon as the sea receded prior to rising and roaring inland,
the community instantly came to attention. They regularly
told stories around their camp fires at night of a Human-Eating
Water Creature and recognised the signs. Their ancestors had
experienced such and memorialised the event in myth. The Moken
turned for direction to the animal-kin with whom they shared
their island home, observed what such ‘elders’ did in response
and, imitating them, did not go down to the shore to investigate
the recession but hightailed it to higher ground. This Big Water
Creature was a being they could give place to, because they
understood the planet is not theirs to own and bend but rather a
gift to learn and know and respect, as merely one small community
among a vast panoply of communities – finned and winged, furred
and four-legged, crested and flowing or billowing and dripping –
whose overall concert of living was an orchestration human
beings did not conduct or control but participated in by way of
those couple of notes of beauty they could uniquely contribute.
And then, much more immediately, from the midst of the
sweep of storms through the Caribbean in the fall of 2017, there
appeared the following ‘minority’ witness. As the United States
(US) mainland gasped for breath during the one–two ‘hit’ of
hurricanes Harvey and Irma on the Gulf Coast of Texas and the
entire length of the Florida peninsula, three articles appeared
within days of each other. The first, entitled ‘God Blesses Houston’,
deftly recounted how survivors of Harvey repeatedly offered
gratitude for the Almighty’s answer to their prayers for ‘salvation’
(Thibault 2017). Culling through the self-congratulatory logic
involved, author Thibault underscored the ‘elephant in the room’,
asking why – if the storm was divinely sent – ‘God made Harvey
hit Houston in the first place’, and traced two other possible
culprits for blame. Noting conspiracy theory’s immediate
identification of ‘Man’ as responsible – by way of secret hi-tech
manipulation on the part of ‘evil elites’ – Thibault laughs off
the ludicrous implication. A power-bloc cabal, attacking the
55
central urban hub of their own oil-based profit-stream through

ecoterrorism? Think again. Next up, he explores Nature herself –
as ‘God’s unruly girlfriend’ – once again ‘getting out of hand’ and
the equally laughable refusal of science to name accurately – as
‘global warming’ – the algorithmic certainly of heating it derives
from regularly measuring the unruliness. Increasingly hotter air
plus increasingly warmer water equals gargantuan storms and
record flooding. It doesn’t take a genius…
But he also can’t resist an aside. The ‘Gulf’s revenge’ on
Houston – after decades of draconian drilling, rape of the primordial
sea floor, oily spills of Earth’s lifeblood, mushrooming dead zones
and suffocating toxins – can be read as divinely motivated. A strike
at the exact epicentre of the violent aggression! A measured
‘blessing’, says Thibault, given the much heavier hand hitting other
planetary unfortunates such as in Bangladesh (40 million displaced
and 1200 killed in flooding at the same time) – a ‘hard Houston
lesson’ designed to waken us from our ‘ostrich act’ of denial. But
he also rues the irony of such a projection, as it is the poor who
bear the brunt. And he leaves that reality dangling. I would rejoin
along a more indigenous vein. There is nothing in wild nature that
mandates our species receive special treatment, much less love.
If we want to inveigle a ‘loving’ God in the equation as Author of
Retribution aimed at oil industry hubris, invariably we are left to
opine, ‘but how could you order a gangster hit that targets so
many innocents!?’ I would rather wax ancient and sober – nature
(as neither ‘saviour’ nor ‘monster’) in widescreen posture speaking
back to such foolishness. I am not here to conform to your violent
reordering of the landscape or make up for your immorality. It is
not me who puts members of your species at risk, but you! By
forcing so many into situations of vulnerability for the sake of a
comfortable few! The question is not ‘why do I bring on such unjust
suffering’, but ‘why do you?’ And ‘when will you stop?’
Across the Gulf from the hit on Houston, Hurricane Irma angled
up the peninsula of Florida two weeks later, after doing extensive
damage in the north-eastern Caribbean. The day after the
Category 5 storm dissipated in Mississippi, The Real News
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Chapter 2
Network published an uptake from the Florida outback, offering,

for the argument being sketched here, what might be called a
‘wildlands counter-story’ to the urban irony of Houston. ‘How
Florida’s Native Americans Predicted and Survived Hurricanes’
detailed the experience of one Betty Osceola, a Miccosukee
Indian woman and Panther Clan member, living with her family in
the Everglades, who grew up knowing how to interpret sawgrass
blooms as oracles of impending storms, days before they actually
arrived (Sainato 2017). Sharing her family’s memories on
Facebook in the wake of Irma, she recounted how her Miccosukee
and Seminole ancestors were ‘taught not to fear the hurricane’.
As renegades from the Seminole Wars of the 1800s they had
fought back against President Andrew Jackson’s genocidal
attempts to relocate South Florida Indians and ultimately
‘disappeared’ into the Everglades wetlands as refuge, developing
local knowledge and survival skills. Numerous stories of family
encounters with big storms over generations culminated in
telling her personal experience of Hurricane Andrew in 1992.
Although berated in the aftermath by other Florida residents for
not relocating to a safe shelter – with her husband and children –
she refused to comply. Pointedly noting that in contrast to the
devastation in Miami, the destruction in their camp in the
Everglades was minimal, Osceola emphasised the misperception
of all the well-meaning non-Indians arriving to ‘help’. Seeing little
kids and no electricity, no running water, no air conditioning and
no refrigeration, the counsel was continually advising to ‘go to a
shelter’. But, as Osceola explained, what these well-intentioned
folks did not realise was that the conditions they were observing
were little different from before the hurricane hit. What they
were seeing, she said (Sainato 2017):
[W]as our normal way of life. What they thought they were seeing
was us having loss of basic necessities as a result of Andrew. Nothing
changed for us. I am thankful for that. We lived in an area [where] if
needed we could hunt and fish. We had a way to get food, we had a
hand pump water well. We had firewood to cook with. Our chickees
[huts of palmetto thatch over bald cypress log frame] were still
standing. We were okay. We were self-reliant. And we still are. (n.p.)
57
In between these two commentaries on the aftermath of this

conglomerate episode of ‘climate communication’ appeared a
reflection on the historical settlement of Florida. Miami resident
Michael Grunwald offered his take one day before Irma struck.
‘A Requiem for Florida, the Paradise That Should Never Have
Been’ had as its byline: ‘as Hurricane Irma prepares to strike, it’s
worth remembering that Mother Nature never intended us to live
here’ (Grunwald 2017:n.p). Indeed. Grunwald goes on to trace the
anomaly. As late as 1887, only 300 ‘hardy pioneers’ lived in what
an 1847 Treasury Department report had lamented as an
impenetrable sawgrass marshland ‘suitable only for the haunt of
noxious vermin, or the last resort of pestilential reptiles’ (Grunwald
2017:n.p.). The first white ‘Americans’ to visit – soldiers tasked
with clearing out the Seminoles in the 1830s – had described it
as ‘a “hideous,” “loathsome,” “diabolical” “God-abandoned”
mosquito refuge’ (Grunwald 2017:n.p.). An army surgeon of the
day opined that ‘Florida is certainly the poorest country that
ever two people quarreled for’, while an early visitor to a recently
incorporated Miami (the city was formally recognised in 1896)
declared that ‘if he owned Miami and hell, he would rent out
Miami and live in hell’ (Grunwald 2017:n.p.). But not to be outdone
by mere ‘Nature’, an early governor by 1909 had trumpeted
(Grunwald 2017:n.p.) ‘[w]ater is the common enemy of the people
of Florida’, and in short order the state went to war, ‘vowing to
subdue’ the Great Mother, making vast floodplains safe for
presidential golf courses and Disney World tourists, exurb
dreamscapes and Mar-a-Lago escapades and plotting.
Safety, however, has remained tenuous and the war monstrous
and continuous (Grunwald 2017). A 1926 hurricane flattened Miami,
killed 400 and ended the coastal real estate boom; another
Category 4 in 1928 churned Lake Okeechobee into a dike-ripping
rage, killing 2500. Army Corps of Engineers efforts to sequester
and redirect virtually ‘every drop of water that falls on South
Florida’ (Grunwald 2017:n.p.) have resulted in more than 2000
miles of levees and canals, pumps and pipes, draining half the
Everglades for the sake of boomtown suburbs and sugar fields,
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expressways and farms, swimming pool culture and winter-

vacation timeshares. They have also led to environmental
catastrophes like the wet season rerouting of Okeechobee waters
that resulted in the 2016 toxic algae bloom, shredding surrounding
fishing and tourism industries, or Everglades drainage, now
giving rise to dry season wildfires and structural droughts, affecting
drinking water (Grunwald 2017). The largest environmental
restoration project in history, authorised in 2000, has little to
show. Grunwald concludes the piece, sober. This South Florida
hallucination of development is probably unsustainable; the climate
change threat existential. Yet the flood of sun-seeking ‘pioneers’
to the state remains continuous and oblivious, even in the face of
sea level rise, storm intensification and estuary pollution. The
‘collective amnesia’ seems intractable and the ‘market for paradise’
uninterrupted. For, as he ruefully ends, ‘[m]ost of us came here to
escape reality, not to deal with it’ (Grunwald 2017:n.p.).
And here emerges one form of the question this writing is
championing. In the just-rehearsed ensemble of response to
climate crisis events like Harvey and Irma – will the ‘real’ realist
please stand up? Governor Broward, declaring water a human
enemy, and Army Corps of Engineers resolve to redirect the
entire flow of the peninsula in service of a corporate wet dream
of profit and a suburban delirium of leisure and distraction? Or a
Miccosukee Indian woman, unafraid of hurricanes and not
needing hi-tech shelter, reading sawgrass blooms as weather
omens and living, simple and savvy, ‘on the land’? I do not mean
to argue that a planet of seven billion can return en masse to the
wisdom and practices of the latter. I do mean to say that the
former leads by many recent accounts of science to something
near to extinction for us as a species. It is an open question
for this author – not a taken-for-granted assumption – whether
our planetary process of urbanisation is ultimately tenable.
And certainly, it is a profound ‘throwdown’ for faith, how to
comprehend God in the mix.
I do side at this juncture with an indigenous call for respect for
older ways and humbler manners in relating to more ancient kin
59
like water and air, plant and animal, season and weather. However,
we move ‘forward’, at this point, it seems utterly requisite to
place an ear close to the ground and towards those who have
known how to dwell on it, in the same neighbourhood, for
generations at a time, without wholesale destruction mandating
flight and colonisation elsewhere. I take, as a prime ethical test of
the hour, the calculus of whether I can live without requiring, for
my lifestyle and eating and very breathing, the de facto
enslavement of other humans somewhere else on the face of the
planet, whose labour and jeopardy are necessary to secure my
food and safety (much less the violent destruction of other life
forms, rendering species extinct at the rate of 200 per day now,
the wanton volatilisation of minerals and fossils and degradation
of water and air, bleaching coral reefs and acidifying ocean
depths and depleting potable reservoirs and aquifers, and
‘particle-ising’ of the entire biosphere with such an onslaught of
chemical combinations that some analysts have begun to talk
of the ‘death of birth’ itself).
And the answer, to date, is no. I do not know how to live thus.
I am incapable of ‘dwelling in place’ like Betty Osceola. And to
that degree, I deem myself less than fully human. And I find
myself increasingly eager to listen – not to the Bible, but to the
holy writ of indigenous folk, etched in leaf and branch, wind swirl
and water burble, and keen and chortle and snarl and growl of
other kind, that even Christian theology in its ancient ken noted
as the first ‘scripture’ the Book of Creation. But this First Book
begs reading ‘locally’, within the boundary lines drawn by the
ancestral meandering of life-organising water, in that particular
‘-shed’ where one lives. And here, a line from Grunwald’s fretful
exposition proves prescient. In his testament that the mid-19th
century Treasury Department found the Everglades singularly
inhospitable, he elaborates to the effect that ‘white men avoided
it, because they viewed wetlands as wastelands’ (Grunwald
2017:n.p.). The conceit is telling, because just such an evaluation
governed our species’ earliest experimentation with urban-
centred structures of domination.
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State-Driven Urbanisation as
Human ‘Reduction’
James C. Scott’s Against the Grain stakes out a claim potent for
the argument here. Author of previous texts championing the
marginal (with titles like Weapons of the Weak, Domination and
the Arts of Resistance, The Art of Not Being Governed), Scott is
concerned in his latest work to sift the evidence of our early shift
from hunting and gathering autonomy to state-controlled
coercion. Focusing most of his attention on the Mesopotamian
floodplain as the site of the first urbanised ‘statelets’ beginning
somewhere around 3300 BCE, Scott’s intention is to disrupt the
taken-for-granted narrative of ‘progress’ and ‘advancement’ from
supposedly primitive foraging to supposedly civilised agriculture,
with plant and animal domestication as the gilded technique of
supposed ‘revolution’ (Scott 2017:7–9, 44). Certainly, we long ago
began our romance with ‘domestication’. By 500 000 BCE we
were well on our way to becoming pyrophytes – a ‘fire-adapted’
species – ‘outsourcing’ digestion to the flames of cook fires,
allowing us to spend less energy on processing food internally
and more on developing brain mass (Scott 2017:38, 44).
Within another 100 000 years we were ‘employing’ fire to clear
parts of territories, encouraging the growth of various quickly
colonising plants as food and as browse to attract certain animal
species favoured for hunting. But fire has also remained a fickle
partner – regularly erupting outside our intentions and going her
own way – submitting to ‘domestication’ only episodically.
Domestication as a prime directive of sorts, however, only
begins to gain traction – as the root word, domus, ‘household’,
would indicate – in the form of sedentism about 12 000 BCE
(Scott 2017:73, 267). Settling into a particular area as forager
folk, clumped together in small-scale village life (where wild
plants could be readily harvested, such as in south-eastern
Turkey) set the stage for more rigorous efforts at re-engineering
and niche construction that begin to show up around 9000 BCE.
Here the historical record may be testifying to an early response
61
to climate change, the ‘cold snap’ of the Younger Dryas (10 800–

9600 BCE), perhaps galvanising a turn to different subsistence
strategies in the area of the Fertile Crescent. Cultivation and
pastoralism register in the record at that time as the first
(scattered) instances of concerted domestication of plants and
animals. But it would be another 4000 years, as Scott is quick
to point out, before such experiments give rise to agrarian
economies and even longer for hierarchical state-formation
devoted to coercive surplus extraction supporting elite lifestyle
and urban organisation (Scott 2017:4, 46).
It is not the mere fact of dwelling together that marks the
qualitative change towards oppressive statehood. Quasi-urban
dwelling in ‘towns’ of around 5000 residents is in evidence by
6000 BCE – itself perhaps influenced by another (century-long)
cold spell from 6200–6100 BCE (Scott 2017:4). And by 5000 BCE,
agrarian villages relying on field crops and livestock are putting in
an appearance (Scott 2017:71). These depended in part on the
domestication, some 2000 years earlier, of the major ‘founder
crops’ of cereals and legumes (lentils, peas, chickpeas, bitter vetch
and flax) as well as intentional ‘husbanding’ of goats, sheep, pigs
and cattle (Scott 2017:6, 44, 73). But such domestication is also
not alone the decisive shift. Humans had already long been
developing techniques to encourage the wild to yield bounty –
burning to clear off unwanted plants, weeding to select for
favourable species, pruning, thinning, trimming, transplanting,
mulching, relocating protective insects, bark-ringing, coppicing,
watering, fertilising and selectively harvesting – and, in relationship
to animals, burning to create fodder attractive to game, sparing
reproductive females, culling, hunting focused on migratory
patterns and life cycles, managing streams to encourage spawning
and shellfish beds, relocating eggs and young birds and fish,
sculpting habitats, raising juveniles and so on (Scott 2017:66, 70).
Everything, except harrowing and sowing – as Scott emphasises,
noting the much harder labour involved in ploughing and
‘re-engineering’ a field for concentrated production of a major
staple like wheat or barley.
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Asking how the shift from the former to the latter took place –
how anyone enjoying the relative ease of a hunting and gathering
subsistence strategy could be induced to engage in labour-
intensive cultivation – Scott imagines a strong impetus offered
by what he calls décrue or ‘flood retreat’ agriculture (Scott
2017:66–67). And here our previous highlighting of wetlands
significance comes clear. The alluvial floodplain between the
Euphrates and Tigris Rivers in the complex deltaic waterways
abutting the northern extremity of the Persian Gulf is almost
uniquely fecund, according to Scott. Regular upstream rain
cycles flooded the ‘Mesopotamian’ (‘between the rivers’)
wetlands half the year, before receding and leaving in their
wake a rich alluvium of silt, approximating a well-ploughed and
prepared farmer’s field, but absent the labour. Here, mere
broadcast of the favoured seeds of wheat or barley, after the
flood had cleared out competing flora, would have given these
particular grasses a head start, demanded little work and
provided a rich harvest.
And indeed, looking to the climatological and remote sensing
studies of these now desert-like areas of Iraq and Iran, aridity
does not become a factor until around 3100 BCE (Scott 2017:49,
120-121). Until then, the relative warmth and wetness translates
into high sea levels and strong seasonal flood pulses along the
river channels and intricate deltaic tributaries. Persian Gulf tides,
twice per day, push back on the riparian fresh water flow, causing
backup, and over the remarkably gentle gradient of the lower
Tigris and Euphrates, the effect is a ‘natural’ irrigating of the
grasslands surrounding the marshes (Scott 2017:49–50, 260).
Agricultural irrigation may have been learned, in part, from
alluvial floodwaters themselves, where seeds broadcast on the
first silt-zones to emerge from springtime floods are still
inundated every 8 h or so by the regular tidal ‘pushbacks’. As this
springtime runoff slows and floods retract in late spring, the
seedlings – no longer reached by the pushback pulsations – can
be transplanted to lower grassy areas, where the waters still
collect twice per day. As the recession continues on into early
63
summer and these areas dry out, the plants will have developed
roots sufficient to tap groundwater and no longer need the tidally
generated irrigation (Scott 2017:260).
The situation in the Ubaid period (6500–3800 BCE) of early
settlement is thus one where Mesopotamian populations are
clustering in settled communities, on scattered ‘turtlebacks’ of
land a few feet above the floodplain, enjoying the relative ease
of living at the intersection of multiple food webs, including
a shifting boundary between freshwater and marine-water
ecozones, offering an incredibly rich diversity of wild foods
(Scott 2017:50–52). Combining subsistence strategies of hunting,
fishing, foraging and gathering across a variety of ecosystems,
the populations are enjoying a ‘wetlands paradise’ (Scott
2017:47). Within easy reach are (Scott 2017):
[R]eeds and sedges for building and food, a great variety of edible
plants (club rush, cattails, water lily, bulrush), tortoises, fish, mollusks,
crustaceans, birds, waterfowl, small mammals, and migrating gazelles
that provided a major source of protein. (p. 50)
Hunting – attuned to the rhythmic temporalities of fish, bird and

mammal migrations determined by the water flows – required
deep knowledge of the varied patterns and collective effort – but
hard work for only a very brief season (Scott 2017:50–53).
And the upshot is twofold for Scott. Subsistence in such an
environment is stable, rich and freely available in wild form. And
the very breadth of this subsistence web and the cross-strategy
skill set developed in learning such are ‘insurmountable obstacles
to the imposition of a single political authority’ (Scott 2017:49).
No hunter–gatherer in her or his right mind would trade such a
lifestyle for the duress of full-blown cereal agriculture, serving and
controlled by an urban centre (Scott 2017:8, 18). In fact, urban-
based states eventually do emerge for the first time in the planet’s
history right here, but only, apparently, in response to a period
of aridity following Ubaid warmth and wetness that lowers sea
level and river channels and forces coagulation of populations
away from ‘between the rivers’ fertility to river bank settlements
of containment walls and tax authorities (Scott 2017:121).
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Compared to the early ease and fecundity of wetlands living, these

later city-state economies are unstable amalgams of drudgery,
debt and disease – only held together by force and regularly
experiencing upheavals of population flight, disease outbreak
within, revolt, war and collapse. Resource demands foster
upstream clear-cutting to supply wood for building, and growing
deforestation results in heavy siltation and flooding downstream.
At the same time, the silting up of river channels and simultaneous
lessening of flows requires ever more elaborate and laborious
human irrigation, resulting in increasing salinisation and eventual
abandonment of once-arable land near the population centres
(Scott 2017:31, 121).
There is not space to rehearse the comparison. But the profile
around the globe is similar. Urbanised civilisation emerges
historically as a frenzied slave-enterprise, driven continuously to
aggress on nearby ‘free’ populations to replace its coercive
labour base. It is parasitic upon earlier wetlands settlements,
whose denizens have to be forcibly ‘de-skilled’ and regularly
policed and controlled as captive workers (Scott 2017:117). They
are roped into the drudgery of mono-crop cereal production of
grain surplus to support elite living and army organisation and
feeding, or coerced into canal digging, wall building, mining,
quarrying, logging, monumental construction and textile weaving
(Scott 2017:29). Life expectancy dwindles, skill sets disappear,
food acquisition and subsistence knowledge simplifies and
human beings become vulnerable to pestilential attack, soil
degradation and climate change upheaval; human beings are,
effectively – as later Spanish colonists in the Americas would so
brazenly and (ironically) accurately phrase it – ‘reduced’.
The Biblical Tradition as Anti-urban

‘Re-Wilding’
And the Lord said to Abram, ‘Go from your country and your
kindred and your father’s house to the land I will show you’
(Gn 12:1). That being after Abram’s father had already taken the
65
family out of Ur of the Chaldeans to head to Canaan (Gn 11:31).

Terah leaves Ur for the land, ‘but’, as the text says, settles in
Haran. And then the son is told once again to exit the city for the
hill country. Thus begins the particular witness of the biblical
tradition to a certain combination of spirit and practice, of ritual
and economy, of myth and politics. Ur is exactly one of the
parasitical Mesopotamian city states Scott’s genealogy of
coercion illuminates, nestled in the alluvial floodplain, preying on
surrounding peoples, undergoing regular revolt. Haran is an
upstream urban formation, similarly dependent on wetlands’
provision and captive labour. And Abe goes feral from each.
The reversion to herder life is not incidental to the biblical
witness to divinity or the organisation of ‘dwelling’. Goatwalking
author, Jim Corbett, underscores the radicality. A forest ranger
in the border lands between Arizona and Mexico in the last
quarter of the 20th century and Sanctuary Movement visionary,
provoking US churches to open their pews to refugee
El Salvadorans fleeing the US-sponsored civil war devastating
their homeland, a defiant prophet trekking the sands with his
herds to intercept the desperate migrants before Immigration
and Naturalisation Service agents could interdict and deport
them back to likely death – Corbett insists the biblical witness
is nomadic, in the pastoral sense of the term (Corbett 1991:175,
2005:108). A reversion to living on the land, outside city-state
oppression, relying on herd animals for ‘reintegration’,
economically and ecologically, into wildlands environments
(Corbett 1991:4, 8, 85, 88, 2005:108, 119–121)! The covenant
renewal epithet from Dt 26:5, likely reflecting ancient ritual
assent to membership in Israelite polity, is precise, he will
assert (Corbett 1991:4, 2005:221–222). The confession is
structured with a certain emphasis (Perkinson 2013) – ‘Arami
‘oved ‘avi – [an Aramean wanderer (was/is my) father]. The
Invocation of the Aramean Abram as oved – ‘feral fugitive’,
‘outlaw nomad’, ‘renegade outwalker’ – is more central to his
identity than citing him as avi or ‘father’. (And nothing in there
about ‘faith’.)
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Chapter 2
The upshot is this. The confession is not describing the father

of this movement as (incidentally) a nomad herder but rather
asserting that ‘nomad wandering’ is the founding action of the
movement known as Israel. Anyone going ‘Cimarron’ from the
state, indeed, the entire movement of early pastoralism in exiting
the slave-labour of urban-controlled grain agriculture and re-
habituating to living on the land with one’s herds, can be
embraced as ‘father’ (Corbett 2005:108, 120, 1991:4). ‘Israel’ is
exactly that kind of initiative! Joining the covenant community
implies embracing that ancestral lifestyle value explicitly. And
the Genesis accounts (written in exile long after the Deuteronomic
ritual invocation) will play out the herder lifestyle emphasis quite
explicitly in the double-panelled story of Abraham’s hospitality
shown to visitors over against urban Sodom’s opportunism
and abuse (Gn 18:1–19:38). The former’s welcome is arguably
noteworthy not primarily as an individual virtue, but as a lifestyle
practice; pastoral nomadism is renowned for its open-tent policy
towards guests – ‘strangers’ are the only source of news from
over the horizon, and it is likely the time will come when the need
for shelter and hospitality and food will be reversed (Hillel
2006:78–81). And in contrast, Sodom’s advantage-seeking
violence is emblematic of urban aggression and ‘business as
usual’ almost everywhere.
The delineation sketched for the tradition’s founding act
runs through the entire corpus as a continuing struggle. Life in
the garden is good. The fall is a fall into settled agriculture
characterised by hard labour. The primal murder is farmer Cain
killing pastoralist Abel, with the former banished from cultivation
to become the first city-builder. The logic of the city is underscored
in the post-flood drive to fashion ‘elevation’ by means of artefact –
the Tower of Babel as likely memory of Babylonian ziggurat
shrines, atop which preside the ruling class elites ‘haloed’ by
priestly ritual and royal regalia as quasi-divine sons and daughters,
deciding the fate of the captive labour force ‘below’ them with
impunity, expended in growing the food, digging the canals and
building the monuments (Eisenberg 1999:69, 76–79, 83, 86, 90).
67
And in counterpoint to such coercion, Abram is told to leave and

dwell in Canaan, where indigenous myth and line-of-site vision
makes it more likely that the Lebanon Mountains provision of
‘blessing’ by way of storm and rain and snow will not be forgotten
(Eisenberg 1999:75).
Likewise for the Exodus liberation story. Water-born Moses
will lead out slaves building storage cities for Pharaoh’s grain-
hoarding, re-school them in wildlands living, eating manna (likely
nutritious, honey-like aphid defecation that is collected by Arab
Bedouin today and called man; Eisenberg 1999:15–16) and
teaching them pastoral nomad skills, before delivering them to
the Canaanite hills to engage in subsistence agriculture as a
re-tribalised amalgam of ex-slaves and ex-peasants (renegade
from the imperially dominated city-state systems on the
seaboard). There they will become ‘Israel’, beholden to a Sabbath-
Jubilee continuum of economic practice and eco-ritual, releasing
accumulated debt, coerced labour, domesticated animals and
ploughed land to ‘return to themselves’ as wild creatures, in a
temporal litany of the sevens (every seven days, the seventh
month of Succoth, the seventh ‘Sabbath’ year and the Jubilee
year; Corbett 1991:81–86; 2005:220–223). That primal identity,
covenantally immersed in a pastoral nomad memory of surviving
on the land structured in Sabbath and Jubilee discipline, will
become the axis of subsequent conflict between prophetic
keepers of the tradition and continuing betrayal in opting for
kingship and urban-dominated statehood – whether articulated
in Amos’ sycamore-pruning pastoralism (Am 7:14; 8:4–8) or
Isaiah’s naked-walking warnings (Is 20:2–4; 5:8; 61:2), Jeremiah’s
excoriation of besieged Jerusalem for repudiating the practice of
‘release’ (Jr 34:8–22; 12:1,11–12) or Daniel’s assertion that the lands
will have their Sabbaths (Dn 7:25; 9:2,24–26; II Chrn 36:21; Lv
26:34ff)! Eventually, John the Baptist will call the people back
through the waters to the wild side of the Jordan (Jn 1:28, 10:40;
Lk 3:3; Myers 2014; Tabor 2012). And Jesus – after his ‘vision quest’
there (Mk 1:4, 9–13; Jn 1:29–34) – will galvanise a peasant resistance
movement disrupting synagogue ‘business as usual’ (Mk 1:21–28),
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frequenting the outback (Mk 1:35–37), learning by the water (Mk

3:7,13; 4:1), receiving direction and comfort from a mountaintop
storm encounter (Mk 9: 2–8), lamenting the Holy City’s future
(Lk 19:41–44) and finally ‘occupying’ the Temple Mount in
announcement of its demise (Mk 11:1–19), accompanied by thunder
and then earthquake and eclipse (Mk 15:33,38; Mt 27:45,51–54).
It is only with Paul that the tradition makes a concerted turn
towards the city, becomes the substitute practice and vision for
urban enclaves of people – ripped, by the voracious Greco-
Roman demand for slaves, from their own indigenous contexts
and stripped of their cultures, leaving them homeless and myth-
less and in need of grounding in a shared narrative (I Cor 1:26–
29). And with Constantine, that already ‘landless’ practice is
entirely inverted into becoming a vehicle for the urbanised
imperium, naming and then repressing, killing or converting non-
martial rural dwellers as pagani heathens (Perkinson 2013:94).
And the rest, as they say, is history.
Personal Struggle in the Midst of

Urban Apocalypse
But it is a history that is now ‘eating’ us alive, with no simple
recourse or ready-made ‘salvation’ in sight. In concluding, I can
only offer a fraught and groping account of the ramifications of
this wide-scope understanding of personal life. What is the
upshot for me? With my wife – a fitful attempt to relearn from
this older posture of our species, both by way of marinating in
ancestral myths and grinding away at acquiring a few minimal
skills of actual self-reliance – how to make shoes from deer
hide, spin wool from alpaca by hand, make cordage from yucca
and grow corn on borrowed land. Not that we hope at all to
become self-sufficient but to grow in our hands-on recognition
of the power of what is being lost and try to become capable of
sowing a few seeds of worthiness for a future far beyond our own.
For me, as some mix of Anglo-Nordic-Celt, it is like dipping
back into the deep past of Indo-European flight across the Asian
69
steppe to recover fragments of this same intuition about living in

regal symbiosis with the biota and wildness of a not-yet-paved-
over ecozone, finding (for instance) enough remnants of
Cúchulainn water-ford poetics and Parzival-ian pastoral nomad
chivalrics to anchor a fragmentary pride which is able to push
back on white privilege and collaborate with indigenous colour
in resisting supremacist violence without pretending to be able
to exit the complicity.
For her as colonised lowlander whose people also colonised
the hunter–gatherer highlander Aeta, it is a return to the
archipelago of her birth, peeling off the layers of Peace Core
imposition and missionary hubris to recover a babaylan medicine-
woman orientation to life, organised now in a diaspora enterprise
co-headed by her Santa Rosa–dwelling sister, galvanising kindred
desire among disaffected Fil-Ams on this side of the waters to
facilitate learning at the feet of such babaylan healers as still
work in their original context in the Philippines, visited now each
summer (Mendoza & Strobel 2013).
For both of us, spending 20 days per year with a half-native,
half-white teacher, Martín Prechtel, survivor of the Guatemalan
civil war, whose entire career since as New Mexico cattle rancher,
horseman, corn-growing ‘wild man’, rock musician and visual
artist, labouring continuously to perceive and conserve
indigenous fragments and intuitions wherever such are still
extant, now a virtuoso of this kind of historical recovery across
the planet, majoring especially in retrieval of Indo-European
shards of memory and practice, but equally immersed in Pueblo,
Navajo and Tzutujil Mayan struggle to stay partially outside
imperial takeover (Prechtel 2012).
The Politics of an Animist Turn

And of course, all of that is immensely privileged and problematic
and at one level indeed, ‘more of the same’, in our day of rampant
settler state dispossession and orientalist warfare and racist
incarceration, as a theorist like Andrea Smith might insist
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Chapter 2
(Smith 2006). And so – for both of us, political commitment to

black and brown and red struggle on the ground in core city
Detroit is paramount! In recent years for me that has meant
continual involvement on the street in resisting water shut-offs
and foreclosures of families of black people – marching on JP
Morgan Chase in downtown Detroit to try to secure a moratorium,
interrupting city council deliberations on shut-off policy,
organising water distribution centres in churches and community
outlets, risking arrest in blocking trucks going out to turn off
valves in neighbourhoods, getting arrested (Perkinson 2017).
And all of it as mere support for and coordinated with movement
leadership coming predominantly from older African-American
women long on the front lines in the Car City, more recently
joined by younger activists and artists of mixed race, making
common cause in the crucible of emergency management
assaults on city assets and impoverished citizens.
Most recently, in the summer of 2015, that collaborative street
engagement across multiple constituencies ushered in a
gathering to learn from each other’s sources of inspiration.
Collaboratively named the ‘Detroit Spirit and Roots Gathering’,
the three-day event sought to cross-pollinate stories especially
from hip-hop artists, Ojibwa activists and Christian ‘anarcho-
primitivists’ sharing a common politics around the bankruptcy in
this hour of neo-liberal apocalypse. Far too intense to even
summarise here, the encounter was sharply fraught, richly tense
and complexly negotiated. Issues of cultural appropriation, and a
default privileging (in spite of all intentions to the contrary) of
both white ‘fragility’ and settler myopia, nearly shattered the
gathering. But enough listening and embrace ensued to allow
the cauldron of intentions and experiences to cook up without
entirely boiling over (hot and rattling as the steam did become!).
In outcome – a major question began to make itself paramount.
At its roots, the land beneath our soles bears a witness not yet
fully comprehended in the activist intentionality of most of us
who are non-native occupants of the Car City. The beginning
of our action is our feet and they tread someone else’s soil.
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The context remains settler colonialism in this nation state and

its violation must become ground zero for our theorising. One
young ‘collaboration in thinking’ declaims for critical projects
writ large that, ‘[d]ecolonization is not a metaphor’ (Bowman
2017; Tuck & Yang 2012). Until the land is returned to those
from whom it has been stolen, all other projects threaten merely
to perpetrate more of the same. Initiatives like Occupy, Re-
Opening a Sense of the Commons, Community Gardening, and
Homesteading all work with what remains native land, thus
continuing the settler enterprise, and so easily make its hegemony
seem normal. Until we go back to the root of takeover, all
alliances, all collaborations, all friendships in the movement must
be seen as provisional and subject to an indigenous intentionality
that must not be asked up front to okay the continued presence
of any of us who are not native. Yes, it makes a profound
difference whether we arrived by choice or in a shackle. But the
land and its occupation remains the prerogative of native say-so.
As decolonisation scholars Tuck and Yang insist, the ethic for
now is one of incommensurability (Tuck & Yang 2012:28–36).
Our work does not proceed by first figuring out how to ratify our
settler presence here but begins by positing its overturning. An
actively embraced limbo is the necessary position that any of us
who are non-native must assume, if we would collaborate with
the likes of movements such as Ojibwa Water Walks (around the
Great Lakes Basin), Dakota Access Pipe Line (and other pipeline)
Resistance, Idle No More or the impetus to repudiate the Doctrine
of Christian Discovery (Newcomb 2008; Zauzmer 2016). And such
movements must become the litmus test for our thinking about
movement work in general, if not for our actual time and energy.
What might such mean for the academy? I can only speak from
my own tiny platform of struggle and effort in an inner-city,
majority-black, Christian seminary. Where I teach (Ecumenical
Theological Seminary), little of this is extant. I try to make it so.
I am learning to reread the Christian tradition from the ground up.
Under the influence of Corbett’s writings on pastoral nomadism,
in collaboration with watershed activist Ched Myers as friend and
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Chapter 2
co-conspirator, cautioned by Donna Haraway’s ‘chthulucene’

weaving of kin, listening long and hard to the likes of Winona
LaDuke’s ‘sacred relations’ and Vine Deloria’s ‘vision-questing’
and focusing specifically on scholarship about the history of the
strait (such as the work of Kay Givens-McGowan on sturgeon
ritual and Richard White on the ‘middle ground’), I now posit the
bioregion as the unit of social existence and political organising
and theoretical hermeneusis par excellence (Deloria 1999:120;
Givens-McGowan 2003:27; Haraway 2015:159–161; LaDuke 2005;
White 1991). In rereading the literature to which my scholarship is
beholden, how reimagine the line of conflict Jewish scripture
traces within itself (reviewed above) between those engulfed in
imperial machinations and those seeking to exit such by way of
their Bedouin-beloved herd animals and Baal-schooled small
farming initiatives, from the point of view of the River Jordan
watershed itself (Havrelock 2011)? How grant animals and plants
and waters and clouds agency in the retelling of holy writ? And
then in an attempt at ‘self-composting’, how reread Christianity
from the margins of its imposition on indigenous peoples? Perhaps
Cargo cults and Rasta rags and Vodun drawings and ghost dances
need to become the canon by which my ‘discipline’ deconstructs
the canon of orthodox domination. An anticanon that opens
beyond itself to return us to something of an indigenous sense of
animation! But such a rereading must itself begin by learning to
learn from those others who still dwell in an animated theatre
of eco-reciprocity. That means also embracing their politics.
And ultimately, of course, the question is one of how we commit
to live in place in the present.
How are eco-criticism and indigenous studies invited to
engage my own little segment of the academy (Teves, Smith &
Raheja 2015)? So far, in only the most incipient attempts at
mythically animated reimagination and direct-action collaboration
(although some 300 pastors responding to a call by Standing
Rock elders to show up in support in the fall of 2016 did initiate a
ritual burning of one of the Doctrine of Christian Discovery papal
bulls). And that, I think, is a grave problem!
73
Let me close with an extended quote from Arundhati Roy,

writing in Walking with the Comrades (Roy 2011):
Here in India, even in the midst of all the violence and greed, there
is still immense hope. If anyone can do it, we can do it. We still have
a population that has not yet been completely colonised by that
consumerist dream. We have a living tradition of those who have
struggled for Gandhi’s vision of sustainability and self-reliance,
for socialist ideas of egalitarianism and social justice. We have
Ambedkar’s vision, which challenges the Gandhians as well as the
Socialists in serious ways. We have the most spectacular coalition
of resistance movements with experience, understanding and vision.
Most important of all, India has a surviving adivasi (native) population
of almost 100 million. They are the ones who still know the secrets of
sustainable living. If they disappear, they will take those secrets with
them. Wars like Operation Green Hunt will make them disappear. So
victory for the prosecutors of these wars will contain within itself the
seeds of destruction, not just for adivasis, but eventually, for the human
race. That’s why the war in Central India is so important. That’s why
we need a real and urgent conversation between all those political
formations that are resisting this war. The day capitalism is forced
to tolerate non-capitalist societies in its midst and to acknowledge
limits in its quest for domination, the day it is forced to recognise that
its supply of raw material will not be endless is the day when change
will come. If there is any hope for the world at all, it does not live
in climate change conference rooms or in cities with tall buildings.
It lives low down on the ground, with its arms around the people
who go to battle every day to protect their forests, their mountains
and their rivers because they know that the forests, the mountains
and the rivers protect them. The first step towards reimagining a
world gone terribly wrong would be to stop the annihilation of those
who have a different imagination – an imagination that is outside
of capitalism as well as communism. An imagination which has an
altogether different understanding of what constitutes happiness
and fulfilment. To gain this philosophical space, it is necessary to
concede some physical space for the survival of those who may look
like the keepers of our past, but who may really be the guides to our
future. To do this, we have to ask our rulers: Can you leave the water
in the rivers? The trees in the forest? Can you leave the bauxite in the
mountain? If they say they cannot, then perhaps they should stop
preaching morality to the victims of their wars. (pp. 212–214)
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Chapter 3
Babaylan Healing and

Indigenous ‘Religion’
at the Postcolonial
Crossroads: Learning
from Our Deep History
as the Planet Grows
Apocalyptic
S. Lily Mendoza2
Associate Professor of Culture and Communication
Oakland University
How to cite: Mendoza, S.L., 2018, ‘Babaylan Healing and Indigenous “Religion” at the
Postcolonial Crossroads: Learning from Our Deep History as the Planet Grows Apocalyptic’,
in S. de Beer (ed.), Just Faith: Glocal Responses to Planetary Urbanisation (HTS Religion
& Society Series Volume 3), pp. 75–102, AOSIS, Cape Town. https://doi.org/10.4102/
aosis.2018.BK87.03

75
Babaylan Healing and Indigenous ‘Religion’ at the Postcolonial Crossroads
The time we live in today is one of epochal transition as far-reaching

as the one from hunting and gathering to settled agriculture 11,000
years ago, and from agriculture to industry 300 years ago.
– Grace Lee Boggs
Remembering excluded voices … evokes the trickster. In this process,

we are transformed and cannot continue to be who we once were.
– Kremer & Jackson-Paton (2014:n.p.)
Introduction
I write this on the way home from a gathering of a Beloved
Community I am part of in Detroit, Michigan, USA. A city that
used to be the fourth largest in the world, built by a booming
automotive industry, in its heyday touted as the ‘Paris of the
Midwest’, home of the Great Industrial Revolution in the US,
today Detroit is the poster child of deindustrialisation and urban
decay, decimated by white flight, racialised violence, police
brutality, redlining and – over the years – unrelenting neo-liberal
assault on the city’s economy. In the opening shot of the
documentary film, American Revolutionary: The Evolution of
Grace Lee Boggs, the late long-time Asian-American activist,
philosopher, elder and featured icon of the film, Grace Lee Boggs,
says matter-of-factly, surveying the devastation of the once-
grand city (Sorrels & Sekimoto 2015:n.p.), ‘I feel so sorry for
people who are not living in Detroit. People always striving for
size, to be a giant […] [T]his is a symbol of how giants fall’.
Meditations of the Beloved Community are never without
the grief of what is going on in the city; black mothers burying
their children in early graves, black brothers and fathers routinely
getting hauled off to jail, homes with elderly and/or young children
getting their water shut off, long-time residents having their
homes foreclosed, gentrification causing skyrocketing property
taxes and – happening as we speak – ICE (Immigration and
Customs Enforcement) raids terrorising immigrant communities
in our midst. With unemployment rates as high as 50%, the
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Chapter 3
question of whether to have heat in the winter or to put food on

the table agonises poor residents.
On this particular morning, the tears were of grief around
a young black mother, six months pregnant, considered by
many in the community as a ‘woke’ sister (involved in various
environmental and social justice advocacies in the city), was
charged with two counts of felonious assault and slapped with a
two-year mandatory minimum jail sentence for pulling a gun
(licensed and without incident) on a neighbour in self-defence
after the latter had tried to run her and her daughter down with
a vehicle following an altercation. She had refused a plea bargain,
confident of a jury acquittal, but instead received a guilty verdict,
the self-defence motive rejected.
Everywhere we turn there seem to be states of emergency
of one kind or another, fires constantly needing to be put out. As
people of faith, we pray, we mobilise, we do what we can to
respond, yet nothing seems enough. The much-touted corporate-
sponsored urban renewal programme selling Detroit to
prospectors as the new ‘land of opportunity’, enticing investors
and young (predominantly white) ‘cultural creatives’ to set up
shop in the newly ‘freed-up’ land, is the other part of the equation,
more specifically the reality gentrification driving the
disenfranchisement of poor (majority mixed race) city residents
in what Jones (2004) refers to as the phenomenon of ethnic
cleansing through ‘urban renewal’.
I had come to Detroit about a decade ago from a much better
resourced city, Denver, Colorado, to be in the same place as my
partner (also a contributor to this volume, James Perkinson)
after efforts to have him join me permanently in my place of work
at the University of Denver failed to pan out. Before that, home
for me was a faraway country, the Philippines, that often dreamt
of this one – not in its present nightmarish state but in that
mythical state of a ‘land flowing with milk and honey’ where ‘you
can be whomever you want provided you are willing to work
hard’. Friends finding out that I gave up a tenured faculty position
77
in Denver to move to Detroit have no qualms asking me what

drug I have been taking or whether I had totally lost my mind.
Detroit, I must admit, is a hard place. Driving through its streets,
one gets the feeling of being in a bombed-out city; indeed, its
landscape of dilapidated buildings and partly burned-out
structures has popularised a new form of tourism known as ‘ruin
porn’ or ‘ruins photography’, defined by Wikipedia (n.d.:n.p.) as
‘the capture of urban decay and decline in the post-industrial
zones of the world’ in a kind of perverse voyeuristic curiosity.
But Detroit is also a searing pedagogy about the end-logic of
a civilisational system premised ultimately on the dynamic of
conquest – the domination of nature, the exploitation of the
Earth as ‘mere resource’ in an ever-growing emphasis on
technology in human life, the rule of money and the relegation of
others (the poor and people of colour) to the class of ‘disposable
populations’ within the system’s economy after squeezing from
them every ounce of labour value possible.
In a historic conversation with world system theorist Immanuel
Wallerstein at the 2010 US Social Forum held in Detroit, the then
95-year-old veteran Detroit activist, Grace Lee Boggs, (mentioned
earlier) posed the question: ‘What time is it on the clock of the
world?’ This was her way of foregrounding the crucial need for
us to understand our place in history. Witnessing first-hand the
outworking of the logic of industrial civilisation in Detroit’s
decline from being the centre of wealth creation and the cradle
of the Industrial Revolution to becoming the first post-industrial
city in the world, she named the time we live in today as one of
epochal transition ‘as far-reaching as the one from hunting and
gathering to settled agriculture 11 000 years ago, and from
agriculture to industry 300 years ago’ – intimating the kind of
radical rethinking and reimagining of human life we have to do if
we are to stem the tide of utter chaos, violence and eco-
catastrophe that we see coming down in our world today.
The privilege accorded me as a postcolonial subject (I will say
more about this peculiar positioning shortly) living in Detroit at
this moment in history is that of being allowed a front seat, as it
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Chapter 3
were, to the unravelling of an old story that has all but lost its
raison d’être but that yet refuses to die or yield to another story.
As I like to tell my friends, Detroit is no anomaly but a sign.
What is staring us in the face may well be an augury of the future
of all major cities in the world a decade or so from now. Ours –
devastating as it is – is merely an auspicious, if perverse, head
start in the apprehending of the lessons, and our role as people
of faith is to learn to read the signs, to find some other ground in
which to root a new vision of the possible and hopefully to take
part in the midwifing of a more heartening story than that
proffered by the old story’s architects and purveyors.
That old ground and new story are rooted in a commonly
shared species-ancestry of indigeneity. The text to follow here
will map these common roots by way of the intersections of faith
and spirituality, urban and civilisational logic and the challenge
of radical alterity as refracted through the lens of decolonisation
and indigenisation.
Part of our process in our little Detroit Beloved Community
is working through a workbook, titled Ethnoautobiography:
Stories and Practices for Unlearning Whiteness, Decolonization,
Uncovering Ethnicities (Kremer & Jackson-Paton 2014), which
I have been asked to lead the group in exploring. The triple
task of ‘unlearning whiteness’, ‘decolonisation’ and ‘uncovering
ethnicities’ as described in the workbook are processes that
I have found in both my teaching and personal practice as
necessary in prying open the suffocating boundedness of modern
ideology that limits understanding of our present predicament
mostly to the constricting oeuvre of the last 500 years. The work
centres on ‘indigenous reclamation’ – a way of returning us to a
vision of a larger, more expansive sense of self that serves as an
invitation for us to climb down from the pedestal of human
supremacy. It is a process that involves reconnection with all that
formerly sustained indigenous life on the planet, including return
to embeddedness and relationship with wild nature, land–place,
community, ancestry, mythic stories, dreams, spirituality, memory
and imagination and so on – connections that, in modernity’s
emphasis on individualism and a truncated form of human
79
rationality, have had to be eschewed, denied, or replaced with

dominating or distorted kinds of relationships, thereby creating
the condition of ‘normative dissociation’, now the default
condition of modern humans. Returning the self to a relationship
of reciprocity with both human and more-than-human kin is
believed to open a path towards recovery of indigenous
wholeness, health and balance.
The narration here therefore will be ethnoautobiographical;
the coming-to-awareness of a colonised Filipina subject growing
up Methodist Protestant, modern schooled and educated, hailed
into born-again Christian experience, then radically rearranged in
her sense of the Sacred and of the world through a transformative
encounter with indigenous life and spirituality. What this latter
life-altering encounter with indigenous life has taught me,
encoded in a living healing tradition in my home country known
by the name babaylan (among many other ethnolinguistic
references), is what I offer in this chapter. I offer it as a way of
engaging the issues raised in this volume – among others, how
differently to understand what has brought us to this place of
apocalyptic precipice (some say as dire as portending the sixth
mass extinction, with 25% of the Earth’s total species disappearing
in the last 500 years – a rate said to be 1000 to 10 000 times more
than the normal)? How differently to tell the story of urbanisation
or city-building at such a time as this? What possible glocal
responses can come from abjected voices such as those
of indigenous peoples that might open alternative horizons to
those afforded by the global monoculture of consumption-
driven ‘progress’ and ceaseless material advancement? How to
understand what we mean by ‘just faith’?
Out of the (Earth’s) Womb and into

Colonial Subjection
As already hinted, I work towards the deep tendrils of these
questions by tracking their unfolding in my own personal journey
at some length, recounting, in the process, the development of
the contemporary indigenisation movement in the Philippine
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academy and the birth of a more grass-roots indigenisation effort

centred in an organisation called the Center for Babaylan Studies
(CfBS), in the diaspora. Some of the narration that follows comes
from an expanded version of the required self-introduction in our
Beloved Community process (with parts appearing elsewhere in
other published and forthcoming essays). The goal of the
narration is instrumental, intending to provide cultural grounding
and contextualisation for the discussion that follows.
I am a native of San Fernando, Pampanga, in Central Luzon,
Philippines, the daughter of Esperanza Luna and Horacio Salonga
Mendoza, second to the youngest in a brood of six (one boy and
five girls). Our mother, with the assistance of the local midwife,
gave birth to me (as she did all my other siblings) on a wooden
papag [bed] in our cousins’ basement where our family rented
for years.
My father named me Susanah after Susanna Wesley, virtuous
mother of Anglican minister John Wesley, founder of Methodism,
our Tatang being an early convert to Methodism, against the
Roman Catholic norm. My second name, Lily, ostensibly came
from Eli Lilly, the US pharmaceutical company that produced the
drug mistakenly administered to my mother as she was giving
birth to me, intended to induce contractions but instead stopping
them, nearly costing her life (a rather strange thing to be named
after, if you ask me).
Both ‘Luna’ and ‘Mendoza’ are Spanish names, adopted by our
ancestors when the Spanish colonial government decreed the
systematisation of the selection and registration of names of
Filipinos by having them adopt first and last names instead of
having only one as was the native cultural norm.
The place where I was born, the Philippines, is named after a
conquistador, King Phillip II of Spain, an indelible trace of more
than 350 years of Spanish colonisation of the islands beginning
in 1521. The particular piece of land where my ancestors had
originally settled and that my family ended up inhabiting is called
Pampanga, a province in Central Luzon, one of the major
Philippine islands. Its native place name originated from the term
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pampang ilug, meaning ‘banks of a river’ – an incredibly fertile

land that grew almost anything planted in it – filled with rice,
sugar cane, corn and all kinds of vegetables and fruit trees, its
rivers and streams teeming with fish, shrimps, crabs and other
riparian beings – at least in those days before full-on civilisation-
building took over.
We are told that we are mostly descended from the Chinese
who came from Taiwan, but oral traditions passed down through
generations say we actually descend from a much older people –
from the Malays migrating from the Malay Peninsula and Lake
Singkarak in what is now West Sumatra, who settled by the
riverbanks as early as 300 to 400 AD, with many more arriving
in the 11th to 12th centuries. Interestingly, what is not mentioned
in this story of my people’s origins is that prior to our Malay
ancestors’ arrival, there was a much older people, called the Aeta
tribes, dark-skinned, kinky-haired, skilled hunters and gatherers,
who were already in the area 20 000 to 30 000 years ago, having
migrated from Borneo using land bridges that began to be
submerged only around 10 000 to 15 000 years later.
For many years, we lived downstairs in our cousins’ basement.
It was not until decades later that our family was finally able to
afford to buy a small nipa hut in the barrio of Teopaco, next door
to calesa drivers with their handsome horses and their backyard
stables. The hut had the traditional thatched roof native to most
places in the country, which kept it cool year-round, and bamboo-
slatted flooring that allowed air to further circulate freely (to
clean, you simply swept any dirt through the slats, no sweat!).
We loved it. It was worlds apart from the dark, dank basement of
our cousins – although even there, we made a life for ourselves,
spending most of our waking hours outdoors climbing trees –
fruit-bearing saresa, caimito, santol and sampaloc – in our cousins’
yard and playing with our cousins and the neighbourhood kids.
During rainy days, we spent time watching the nearby creek
swell and roil while outdoing one another telling scary stories
about the old man who lived in the house right next to it.
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Some of my fondest memories are of sitting at our Apu

Sinang’s feet listening to her tell stories as we strung fragrant
sampaguita leis or as we watched with fascination as she
prepared her betel nut chew, breaking open the nut and sprinkling
shell lime on the meat, then rolling the concoction in betel pepper
leaf before putting the bite-size pouch into her mouth for
chewing.
Then there were the home deliveries of fresh milk in unbranded
glass bottles that you handed back when the milkman came back
around the next time, as well as the early morning toot-toot
announcing the arrival of Apay Tinapay on his bike, the hot
pandesal vendor who magically kept the fresh-baked buns
steaming hot in his big newspaper-insulated basket hanging by
the side of his bike.
In our neighbourhood, we stood out as ‘different’ for being
Protestants in a predominantly Catholic country. Although our
mother was raised Catholic, she dutifully converted and became
church organist of our local Methodist church upon marrying
our father. For us, it meant being inured to a lot of wrong belief –
or so we thought; the idolising of saints (particularly during town
fiestas when elaborate processions were held in their honour),
the fanatical self-flagellation of devotees during Holy Week, the
veneration of Mother Mary, the belief in purgatory and what we
regarded as many other ‘superstitious’ (pagan) beliefs that
continued to thrive underneath Catholicism but were summarily
zapped (exiled into the unconscious is more like it) in the heavily
rationalised, sanitised observance of Methodist Protestantism.
(Only much later would I realise that what are often labelled
‘superstitious beliefs’ among native folk are simply practices
that have lost their mooring in stories.) In all this, the feeling of
having a leg up over our Catholic counterparts came at a price –
our exclusion from many community celebrations that looked
like so much fun, if fearsomely ‘idolatrous’, ‘irrational’ and, at
best, ‘misguided’ from where we sat on our self-righteous
pedestal.
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Notwithstanding the long reign of Spanish colonialists in my

country, subsequent US occupation was what invariably shaped
my family’s cultural formation. Along with American Protestant
missionaries who became our close family friends and the Peace
Corps Volunteer teachers we had in the elementary grades, two
older sisters taught Philippine culture at the Wurtsmith Elementary
School (a US Department of Defense Dependents School inside
the US Clark Air Base in the neighbouring town of Angeles) and
routinely brought home American values, regaling us with army
and naval songs, country music, good housekeeping and other
civilising influences. I still recall my excitement every Fourth of
July when the military base in our province opened its gates to
the public (the only time Filipinos were ever allowed entry into the
base), when our sisters took us with them to take a peek at the
sprawling, manicured grounds – the vast camp grounds appearing
to us like a whole other country – and we would get our
complimentary treats of apple, chocolate bar and hamburger
sandwich wrapped in stars and stripes handed to us in little brown
bags. This closeness of our family to the white world of the
Americans (through Protestantism, the Peace Corps Volunteers
and the influence of the US bases) served as some kind of cultural
capital vis-à-vis our Catholic cousins and neighbours. Yet, strangely
enough, it was I who secretly envied our Catholic cousins, who,
though with lesser means than us, seemed to be freer in spirit,
laughed more easily and had no affectation whatsoever.
Our Tatang worked as a sales representative of the Philippine
Bible Society and our Ima earned a small income on the side as
a piano teacher. To supplement our family income, our Tatang
raised pigs and chickens. I still remember the fun of searching out
eggs in the early morning that the hens had laid and having my
turn at collecting kitchen scraps from the neighbours, pail in
hand, to supplement the store-bought commercial feeds that my
father reserved for the pigs. With my five siblings, I shared duties
feeding the pigs and the chickens.
In the kitchen, I routinely assisted my Ima in killing chickens
when we needed to cook one, helping to hold it down while she
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slit its throat and waited for the blood to drain onto a bowl
with uncooked rice that my Ima would also then cook and make
use of later (no part of the fowl ever went to waste). Thus,
I never had the luxury growing up of not knowing that a life had
to be taken in order for us to live. When it came time for the
pigs to be slaughtered, it was an especially hard time because
somehow you would have bonded with the feisty creatures
through the daily chore of feeding, but it also caused us never
to forget that their life was what allowed us to go to school, as
proceeds from the sale of the meat were what was used to pay
for our tuition.
Being a lover of animals, birds, trees and plants, our Tatang
kept a lush garden in our front and back yards. He also dug a
huge compost pit at the back of our modest nipa hut where we
would throw in kitchen scraps and other organic material and
wait for it to ‘cook’ and magically turn into this rich organic
nutrient that is good for growing things. And because we were
surrounded by calesa drivers (drivers of horse-drawn carriages
who kept their stables right in their own backyard) we also
regularly collected horse, or sometimes carabao, manure to use
as additional fertiliser in the garden. Those were the days when
I had no fear of dirt, nor was I overly squeamish about manure or
rotting things. (For before the massive invention of disinfectants,
insecticides and all kinds of modern chemicals, what was one’s
defecation was simply another’s food.)
In those days, we did not have refrigeration. As a result, my
mother would always go to the wet market each day to buy fresh
fish and vegetables. Some of the fish she would cure with vinegar
and garlic, along with salt and pepper, and set the pieces out to
dry, giving us delicious daing [dried fish] for breakfast the
following morning.
Our Ima sewed all our clothes. At Easter and Christmas, we
could always count on having new handmade dresses, courtesy
of our mother. I do not remember us having much of store-
bought possessions. Our toys growing up were mostly found
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objects – sardine tin cans that we turned into go-carts using

soft drink bottle caps as wheels, gumamela leaves that we
pretended were tea cups and soft twigs of the saresa tree that
became our convenient hair curlers. And because we did not
own a television set then, we made up our own entertainment,
having a contest on who could find recognisable shapes and
figures among the thick cumulus clouds, inventing animal
shadows on the wall with adept hands using a flashlight at night
and, best of all, sitting at the feet of our Apu Sinang, listening to
her tell stories.
Life was good.
Until I got to college and became exposed to life in the city

and realised all of a sudden that we were ‘poor’ – never mind if
we never had to skip a meal, had decent clothes to wear and
pretty much had all our needs met.
The city was a whole other world altogether – fast-paced,

competitive and impersonal, its landscape dominated by
imposing cement structures and buildings and flashing neon
signs at night. One could not get around just by walking; you
either had to take the bus or another gasoline-fuelled vehicle,
which always made me feel nauseous – accustomed as I was
mostly to walking or riding the horse-drawn calesa back in my
home province. Seeing my collegiala classmates from the
exclusive girls’ schools arrive in their chauffeur-driven cars, while
I had to take public transportation, gave me my first taste of
painful disadvantage – something I experienced as a cause for
shame.
I also learned quickly that I lacked the cultural markers of

‘class’ because my Kapampangan-accented English speaking
made me sound promdi [from the province]. As the revolutionary
writer Frantz Fanon (1967) said:
[T]o speak the colonial language means above all to assume a culture,
to support the weight of a civilization […] To speak a language is to
take on a world, a culture. (p. 8)
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It was precisely what my twisted rebellious tongue never

allowed me to do – to fully take on that foreign world, the
exclusive world of the elite or, in today’s parlance, the upwardly
mobile folk who knew how to assimilate successfully into that
world’s idiom.
My handmade clothes also readily marked me as being out of
synch with the ready-to-wear, industry-sewn fashion of the day.
It was the moment I first became ashamed of my mother’s sewing
(something that now fills me with great sorrow) when I hankered
for store-bought clothes instead. When my mini-skirted older
sister, who was quicker to adapt to city culture than I was, came
home one day boasting proudly that she had been mistaken for
a ‘Theresiana’ at a college dance party (St. Theresa’s then being
one of those wealthy exclusive girls’ schools), that sealed even
more my awareness that either I would work hard to find ways to
shed my promdi ways and be part of the in-crowd or else find an
altogether different basis for self-worth as an individual striving
to belong.
It is this sudden awareness of an invisible unnamed measure
determining who is and who is not a worthy human being that
became both the source of my intense struggle and my intellectual
fascination to try to figure out.
In college I became a ‘born-again Christian’. Despite growing
up in church and in Sunday School, I learned that prior to
consciously ‘accepting Christ as my personal Lord and Saviour’,
I had only been a ‘nominal Christian’, no matter my devotion.
Becoming born-again through one of the campus ministries
began what would become one of my life’s great adventures,
discipling many in Bible study and leading many of my peers in
the task of ‘biblical integration’. Tutored by bright Christian
intellectuals, I, in turn, became an ardent evangelist and a self-
appointed missionary to the intelligentsia for much of the
decades that followed, mentoring graduate students, diplomats-
in-training and faculty members in biblical integration. Although
I finished my masters in Philippine Studies and for many years
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became centrally involved in a state-sponsored ‘Cultural

Liberation Program’ (under then-President Ferdinand Marcos),
I took in much of the nationalist discourse mainly through the
lens of ‘incarnational’ theology, adroitly learning Filipino native
‘culture’ (still in the singular at the time), only to have it serve as
a vehicle for furthering Christian missionisation. Born-again
evangelicalism presented a clear and all-encompassing narrative
that gave a grand meaning and purpose to life. In its culture-
transcendent and universalist articulation (imported from the
British and North American theological traditions of the campus
ministry I became part of), it provided certainty and comforting
assurance.
Or so it seemed. Yet, unbeknownst to many, for much of my
Christian life, I was beset by a wrenching sense of being ‘weighed
and found wanting’. In private, despite my spiritual leadership in
circles, my Christian walk was far from life-affirming. Much of my
prayer life was consumed with morbid self-introspection and
grovelling supplications, always asking for forgiveness for a
sense of generalised failure whose source was a mystery to me.
It was a malady that no amount of preaching of God’s
unconditional love could soothe or alleviate, no matter how
fervently my mind sought to believe such assurance. It was only
later that I began to understand the nature of that mysterious
affliction when I heard the Brazilian educator and philosopher,
Paolo Freire, say in an interview, ‘[w]hen all the representations
around you have nothing to do with your own reality, it is like
looking into a mirror and finding no one there’. Indeed, growing
up under colonial institutions (the US having systematically
inscribed its Western cultural ideology into all our institutions,
education in particular) was an exercise in self-alienation. In a
kind of reverse ethnocentrism, one learned about oneself and
the world from the view from the outside, so much so that one
grows up split, with one’s native subjectivity abjected, driven
to the margins, while conscious awareness is consumed with
this other world that had nothing at all to do with one’s lived
experience.
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Whether speaking of the dynamics of encounter with city life

or with Euro-Western Christianity and modern education, what
I have found is that the terrain of encounter, far from a level
playing field, is saturated with coercive power. In the Philippines,
a purportedly ‘postcolonial’ country where the foreign colonisers
have long gone, such conditions of domination continue to
inflict much of their damage viscerally, mostly out of conscious
awareness. Our notions of worthiness, of what it means to live
meaningfully, of what constitutes wholeness and well-being,
have all been effectively hijacked, supplanted by other notions
that purport to be universal (not culture-bound) and the
only legitimate ones. How this dominating process happens
largely through the power of symbolic representations
(alternatively theorised in the literature as ‘ideology’,
‘hegemony’, ‘regime of truth’, doxa or ‘normativity’) would
become my animating scholarly passion, tracking meticulously
the discursive production, naturalisation and universalisation
of what often turn out, in the end, to be merely historically and
culturally contingent assumptions.
Indigenous Encounter: Pathway to

Release and Freedom
The unexpected irruption into my all-Christian world of what
I consider a spirit visitation from another world would serve
as my gateway out of self-negation into a newfound freedom.
I, too, like the renowned Christian writer C.S. Lewis (1955), was
‘surprised by joy’ – but pointing in a quite different direction
than his.
The occasion was a graduate course in the humanities titled
‘The Image of the Filipino in the Arts’, taught by an ethnomusicology
professor, where I encountered for the first time the amazing
artistic creations of our indigenous communities that were least
penetrated by modern development and Christian missionisation –
their intricate weaving designs, the wild vibrant colours of their
textiles, their basketry, dances, songs, chants, mythic stories and
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so on – and what they signified in terms of a different way of being

in the world. I was stunned! Nothing prepared me for the power of
that encounter with wild, untamed beauty – complex geometric
designs that mathematicians noted could not have been wilfully
conceived by the rational mind, mellifluous melodies able to call
up grief out of all its hidden places, polyphonic sounds and rhythms
coming from native instruments that not only sounded but looked
utterly beautiful, dances as diverse as their ecologies of origination,
intricate architectural structures that used not a single nail to bind
parts together and so on, and all of these creations of beauty
ritually sourced, many given in dreams, with materials taken from
the wild only with the accompanying respect, honouring and
asking for permission, and, always, in service of beauty.
I still remember walking back to my dorm room bawling my
heart out, not knowing what it was that hit me from all the
innocent descriptions of those works of art. It was as if my body
knew something that my mind could not (yet) fathom. Only later
would studies in Filipino Liberation Psychology [Sikolohiyang
Pilipino], along with insights from Frantz Fanon, Carl Jung, Paolo
Freire and other critical thinkers, provide me with the conceptual
tools with which to make sense of that moment of epiphany. It
was one that I now understand as a moment of profound
recognition. Here, at last, was a people I could finally belong to
and identify with, who were beautiful and whose lives were
beautiful, contrary to their depiction in the textbook (colonial)
narratives as ‘backward’, ‘primitive’ and ‘in need of civilising’.
That moment also gave me permission to finally get off the
hopeless treadmill of vying for entry and inclusion into that other
world – the world of the white colonial masters where successful
assimilation would have meant grave psychic violence from the
resulting dynamic of self-hatred and cultural deracination it
invariably generated.
It was also the moment I came to understand that the sense of
never being enough, of not being able to measure up vis-à-vis
Western ways of being, was not simply my own, but one shared
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(to varying degrees) by an entire people who have collectively

undergone the violence of a protracted colonial history that is
not really over but ‘a continuing past’ (Constantino 1978, from
the book title). It would take another decade or so, however,
before I came to understand that my Christian formation was
part and parcel of that process of colonial subject formation. For
the years that followed, I would pursue recovery of my repressed
indigenous memory with the same passion and intensity as I did
my Christian discipleship.
When a series of personal crises led me to apply for doctoral
studies in the US, the cultural awakening that began for me in
that class in the humanities prompted me to study the growing
Philippine indigenisation movement both in the homeland and
among Filipino scholars and community practitioners in the
US diaspora for my dissertation topic. That study took the form
of a comprehensive intellectual project pushing back on the
dismissive stance knee-jerked by practitioners of the ‘post-
theory’ discourses (of postmodernism, post-structuralism
and postcolonialism) towards all movements for indigenous
reclamation (conjuring spectres of ethnic cleansing and
sectarian separatism) and at the same time offering a much
more nuanced and contextualised analysis of the movement as
it arose in the Philippine academy and was exported abroad
among Filipino American scholars. My dissertation, now a book
publication (cf. Mendoza 2002/2006), became the first
programmatic examination of the Philippine indigenisation
movement both in the homeland and in the diaspora, one that
valorised the movement’s creative potential for knowledge
transformation, at least in its insurgent (vs hegemonic) stage of
formation, that is, while the movement was still struggling to
birth something new. Beyond the impulse to counter the
epistemic distortions of the US-introduced academic disciplines
and their mangling of Filipino ways of being, I found fascination
and comfort in the desire to give form to an alternative
discourse on self and nation no longer beholden to Europe and
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the West as its primary discourse partners. In other words

(Mendoza 2006):
What would our discourse look like when we no longer feel the need
to continually justify ourselves to others but instead begin talking
among ourselves? What other kinds of issues, subjects of discussion,
and interests begin to emerge? […] What new perspectives might
arise […]? (p. 168)
In the US diaspora, the movement’s rise in the early 1990s served

as a belated popular awakening to a different mode of relation to
Empire other than the default norm of assimilation, which had
earlier garnered for the Filipino American community the moniker
‘the invisible minority’. Among others, it witnessed the flowering
of nationalist cultural pride and a more empowering sense of
community among a people previously racialised and often
consigned to the bottommost rung of the ladder of Asian-
American ethnic hierarchies. Of particular significance was the
rise of what Strobel (1996) calls, ‘the born-again Filipino’
phenomenon, that is, the power of the first-time (re-) connection
with an older, more affirming genealogy than the figure of
the ‘little brown American wannabe’ being akin to a religious
conversion. Activist scholars took it further and avowed
(Gonzalves as quoted in Mendoza 2002–2006):
It is never only exclusively about the subjectivity of the ethnic or the
racial ‘minority;’ nor is it ever exclusively a critique of modernity’s
heavy trace of racism […] It is also about recovering the political
significance of style, language, food, religion, theology, and the arts.
(p. 176)
The impact of the first-time exposure to this alternative discourse

on Filipino subjectivity reverberated beyond the halls of the
academy to the community, infusing such fields as mental health,
social work, youth education and other kinds of cultural vocations
with a new figuration of Filipino subjectivity, displacing much of
the pathologising ascriptions of the old colonial framework
premised on the ‘cultural deficit model’. Formerly abjected
Filipino cultural patterns that went against the rationalism and
individualism of the West began to be recognised as actually
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redeeming, for example, the values of kapwa or shared being

(vs. atomic individualism), openness of loob or inner-being
(vs. the exaggerated guardedness of the privatised self),
pakikiramdam or intersubjective sensing or intuitive knowing
(vs. low-context communication norms requiring verbal spelling
out for clarity), dangal or honour (vs. the priority of getting a leg
up over others), bahala na or tacit trust or courage in the face of
adversity (vs. its colonial interpretation as fatalism and
resignation) and so on.
For a time, the movement in both places generated a lot of
cultural and intellectual energy, inspiring many young people
(in the US, in particular) to take up graduate studies, excited not
only to push back on the Western canon but to speak back to
Empire. In the Philippines, particularly in the aftermath of the
1986 People Power movement that deposed the 20-year Marcos
dictatorship, advocates of indigenisation successfully instituted
Tagalog (vs. English) as the language of intellectual discourse.
Crying Out for Vision: Babaylan

Rising and the Turn to Spirit
But movements grow and die. At the University of the Philippines
that birthed the movement for indigenisation, Sikolohiyang
Pilipino appeared to have lost momentum as Western
experimental psychology one more time regained hegemony
as the dominant model after only a decade of flowering. The
strand in the discipline of history, Bagong Kasaysayan [New
Historiography], for its part, did gain adherents across the
country, but the strictly national and nationalist framework left
untouched the question of state commitment to modernising
priorities and what that might mean for the fate of the many
ethnolinguistic communities still land-based in the countryside.
As well, the heavy emphasis of the movement on nationalist
integration unwittingly gave rise to an ethnonationalist backlash
decrying the threat of cultural erasure of the various
ethnolinguistic communities with the imposition of a putative
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‘national language’ and ‘culture’ (in the singular). Ironically,

although the indigenisation movement paid lip service to
‘indigenous difference’, when raised as a material concern in
regard to the estimated 14 to 17 million indigenous population
(belonging to over 110 ethnolinguistic communities) in the
country, the vision was far less clear.
Meanwhile, in the US, a similar impasse appeared to afflict the
movement. While still resonant as an alternative sense-making
framework in community empowerment projects, what had been
an influential nationalist resurgence seemed to go into a period of
hibernation, as though begging for a larger vision beyond mere
concern for identity politics and self- and community-edification.
That larger vision would emerge out of a confluence of events
taking place mostly at the margins of the academy. In the US, the
impetus arose from an auspicious meeting of (primarily) women
writers engaged in various kinds of decolonising activist work
among Filipino Americans, including feminist cyber activist Perla
Daly, poet and publisher Eileen Tabios and American Multicultural
Studies faculty member Leny Mendoza-Strobel. It was at this
meeting that new questions began to be raised, such as, what
now? What is the task after we have begun to decolonise? What
is the larger vision? It is also here where the figure of the babaylan
(healer or shaman) practitioner of an ancient precolonial healing
tradition in the homeland begins to take on significance and
breathe new life into the flagging indigenisation movement.
Initially, the turn to the babaylan as a rallying figure began as a
feminist antidote to the degrading images of Filipinas online
(where typing in ‘Filipina’ in any search engine pulled up scantily
clad ‘mail-order brides’ and exoticised dolls on pornographic
sites or the other stereotype of nannies and domestic workers)
(Daly 2013). The historic babaylan, many of whom were women,
were healers, priestesses, ritualists, herbalists, mediators between
realms and fierce warriors in resistance movements against
colonial oppression. As such, they were deemed to epitomise an
alternative, more empowering point of identification for Filipino
women other than the prevailing stereotypes.
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When opportunity arose for those of us involved in the

indigenisation movement in the diaspora to attend a series of
what were called ‘International Kapwa Conferences’ in the
homeland that were uniquely designed to bring together in the
same space academics, activists, cultural workers, artists and
indigenous representatives from the various Philippine
communities and neighbouring countries such as Thailand,
Japan, Australia and even Native America for mutual learning,
another moment of life-changing challenge materialised. It is one
thing to learn of indigenous traditions from written studies; it is
quite another to encounter their practitioners up close and
personal. Suffice it to say, the first-time encounter with living
babaylans and indigenous culture-bearers left a deep impression
on all of us; for me, it was one that exceeded even the power of
my earlier encounter with the indigenous cultural productions in
the humanities classroom that I narrated earlier.
Coming back to the US at the conclusion of the first conference
we attended, Leny Strobel, who headed our delegation, decided
it was time to organise more formally and create a vehicle not
only for disseminating the invaluable information that was shared
but also to begin reflecting more centrally on what it meant for
Filipino Americans in the diaspora to learn from living carriers of
indigenous knowledge traditions such as the elders encountered
in the Philippine Kapwa Conferences.
Thus, the CfBS was formed in 2009. The centre would be
organised as an incubator and launching pad for scholarly
research, culture-bearing creative expression and, eventually, for
political advocacy around indigenous peoples’ rights. Initially,
I was not part of these organising plans. Although an active
contributing member in other discussion venues and a known
theorist of the Philippine indigenisation movement, I was wary of
romantic appropriation of a tradition (babaylan) I hardly knew
about (not to mention the residue of having been raised
Protestant and Christian and growing up believing such a
tradition as largely ‘the work of the devil and of evil spirits’).
Attending the formal launching of the CfBS in a 2010 conference
95
at the Sonoma State University, Strobel’s home institution,

however, I was astounded at the tremendous resonance it had
in the community – something none of us had seen even in
the heyday of the previous Sikolohiyang Pilipino movement. That
first-time gathering, centred on the theme ‘Honoring Our
Babaylan Ancestors’, brought together about 250 participants
coming not only from the US but also Canada, with a few from
the Philippines (including a babaylan and four indigenous elders).
It was the beginning of a new movement that would catch
like wildfire across the Filipino diaspora and gain substantial
following in the years that followed.
The turn to the babaylan tradition among Filipino scholars in
the US diaspora brought the challenge of doing intellectual work
differently. Whereas most scholarly writings on the babaylan in
the homeland were in the tradition of social scientific writing that
was careful not to breach the norm of objective study, the
personal journeys of those involved in the budding CfBS
movement began embarking on scholarly work that became its
own hybrid genre committed to modelling an ethic of ‘embodied
knowing’. Strobel’s writing, in particular, was both literary and
deeply personal, effectively translating theory into the idiom of
the popular (cf. Strobel 2001, 2005, 2010). It was as if this whole
other world of spirit (and of non-human kin) demanded its own
language and forms of honouring. Again, I mostly stood witness
to this unfolding transformation, my own conference contribution
still in the usual mode of a paper presentation, albeit with a
beginning turn to storytelling as an alternative form of subject
exploration.
But the conference space itself, with the plenary hall adorned
richly with exquisite indigenous fabrics, baskets, wooden
sculptures, rice gods, colourful mats and other materials of
prehistoric significance, immediately invited one into a different
kind of awareness, hailing one into the fullness of embodied
presence, not simply cognitive engagement. At the entrance,
one was greeted by a visually stunning Talaandig altar set up in
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the indigenous tradition of ritual offering to the spirits and

ancestors. Then, once participants had quietly settled in, an
Ilokano healer–researcher, dressed in traditional garb and
speaking in his native tongue, opened the conference with a
ceremonial incantation calling on the ancestors to bless the
gathering. This was followed by an honouring of the babaylan
ancestors through a ritual invocation of their names, as these
were culled from history books written by the Spanish chroniclers.
Clearly, this was no place for bystanders and aloof observers.
As the invited keynote speakers spoke, it became clear to me
that these were not merely scholars, but ones whose lives had
been personally touched and transformed by their tutelage
to living babaylans. One in particular, Grace Nono, an
ethnomusicologist and internationally renowned singer, artist
and scholar, used to be well known as a pop music vocalist in the
Philippine music scene, until the day she heard the chants of
oralist-healers in one of the indigenous communities and felt
something awaken in her spirit; she realised this was the kind of
music she was meant to sing – and has sung ever since.
Consequently, she spent decades documenting the chants of
the babaylan among the various tribes in the Philippines, at the
same time embodying and innovating in her own style and
performances elements of the native musical genre. In her
written work (Nono 2013), she throws down the challenge to
those who would invoke the tradition not merely to get to know
the babaylan as a historical or symbolic figure but to take interest
in the quite-real struggles of living babaylans whose beleaguered
conditions vis-à-vis corporate mining and other industries
threaten their very existence.
Indeed – along with the conviction already awakened through
the indigenous encounters at the Philippine Kapwa Conferences
earlier on – it is this challenge of the need not only to study reified
indigenous traditions for use as resources for cultural revitalisation
abroad but to enter into relationship with the bearers of these
traditions in their living material context and conditions that
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created a new awareness in my own work. This is particularly the

case around the question of the relationship between the heavy
resource-utilising, consumption-driven, upwardly mobile middle
class lifestyles of non-indigenous urban folks (like many of us in
the Filipino American community) and the growing endangerment
of indigenous peoples by mining, logging, industrial fishing and
other corporate extractive activities whose end products
primarily benefit the former – one that could be summarised by
stating that they (indigenous peoples) live the way they do
because we (urbanised consumers) live the way we do.
Why the Indigenous?

Over the years, my own studies have increasingly taken on an
ecological turn in the face of climate change and the growing
crises of species extinction and other indicators of ecosystems
collapse, necessitating the revamping of all my teaching, thinking
and scholarship to take this context seriously. This new trajectory
led me to trace the roots of the crisis – not to inherent human
venality but to the invented system and cultural logic of our
modern industrial civilisation with its utilitarian view of nature
(as mere ‘resource’ for the exclusive use of humans) along with
its enshrinement of infinite growth, progress and development
as the primary markers of what it means to be a human being in
the world. This is a cultural logic that could only lead to predation
and rape of the planet for short-term gain. As I wrote elsewhere
(Mendoza 2013b):
I am referring to the core logic and culture of modern civilisation
itself and its claim to monopoly of the only legitimate vision of what
it means to be a human being on the planet. The presumption, of
course […] is preposterous, [given] modernity’s very short career on
the planet (at least relative to the totality of humankind’s history),
with roots in a mere 10,000 years of settled agriculture; inaugurated
on a grand scale with the onset of the project of colonial conquest
(1492 onwards); accelerating to its most productive moment in the
era of the Industrial Revolution (beginning in the 1800s); and now
hurtling into what some say is its dizzying last phase or final stage
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accompanied by never-before seen time-space compression in the

age of information technology and economic globalisation. A now
globalised culture wedded primarily to wealth accumulation,
individualism, private ownership, racial supremacy, and consumption
as the taken-for-granted key signifiers of being human, it is a culture
whose record of the past five hundred years has brought, ironically,
not the promised thriving of all but rather the institutionalisation of
inequality, violence, militarism, ecocide, and the patent rule of brute
economic/financial/political power over any avowed democratic
ideal in international and global relations. (pp. 3–4)
In my encounter with, and tutelage to, the indigenous, I have had

the scales finally fall off my eyes. Far from being mere relics of
the past whose destiny is to vanish in the face of inevitable
progress, indigenous peoples stand today as the last remaining
witness to a way of life whose record in our species history alone
attests to any measure of sustainability and recognition of the
sacredness of all life, not just human. Indeed, this is what
ultimately separates us (urban and Christian) folk from indigenous
peoples: our alienation from living Earth and our treatment of her
and her beings (plants, animals, minerals, rocks, rivers, mountains,
forests, etc.) as nothing more than dead asset or commodity.
Which is why we could do what we do, building an entire
civilisation on the blood of ancestors, blowing off mountaintops
to abduct her daughters, turning magnificent grandfather trees
into two-by-fours, damming living waters, and so on. Having
exiled God to the realm of transcendence, we have declared his
(gendering intended) creation as ‘free-for-all’ and the kinship
ethic of indigenous peoples towards all beings (as encoded
in their legends and mythic stories) as only so much
anthropomorphising from ignorant folk who have yet to progress
enough to understand nature as inanimate and therefore without
spirit (what gives animism its bad rap).
And yet, our indigenous kin are the ones that have much to
teach us. Theirs is a spirituality of honouring of all relations (both
human and the more-than-human); of courtesy, respect and
asking for permission; of not taking without giving something in
return; of feeding the Holy in nature in order that life may continue
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in perpetuity. Theirs is an ethic of generosity, gratitude and

beauty-making in everything they do even in the midst of struggle
and suffering. As I recorded in a journal entry at the end of a
10-day gathering with indigenous elders (S.L. Mendoza pers.
comm., 15 August 2015):
I’ve glimpsed life-giving beauty – the building of a Manobo tinandasan
hut using no nails, each piece of bamboo, nipa, or rattan, sang to and
praised before harvest until permission is granted, master builders
still retaining memory of the old way of doing things; a people who
co-exist and honor the crocodiles on their marshlands as the Spirit
Guardians of the waters (in stark contrast to the town mayor’s
bloodlust upon capturing – and eventually killing – the crocodile
Lolong, touted to be the largest in the world); a woman indigenous
leader being ministered to in ceremony by Muslim patutunong healers
so she could finally accept her calling to become a healer herself;
native youth taking up the mantle of leadership in fighting corporate
encroachment of their ancestral lands; the laughter of Manangs and
Manongs [women and men elders] as they told their stories, and the
beautiful chanting of other elders in response. It is these kinds of
encounters – with our Indigenous Peoples (and those working on the
ground alongside them) – that now serves as the homeward beacon
for me. Just like our indigenous brothers and sisters everywhere
else around the globe threatened by the relentless incursion of
our extractive economy into their territories, our own indigenous
peoples in the Philippines struggle bravely to keep their beautiful
ways of being alive amidst the assault. The grief (at their beleaguered
condition) compels, but so does the grace, beauty, and courage of
their spirit […] Often harassed by forces beyond their control, they
find ways to continue living indigenously anyway, nurturing the land
with their beautiful rituals, dances, and ceremonies even in the face
of death. (n.p.)
In the search for a new story to replace the dying one, we need
not look farther. As mythic storyteller and writer Martin Shaw
(2016:n.p.) writes, ‘[T]he stories we need turned up, right on time,
about five thousand years ago’. The key is to re-member, to
re-enflesh ‘bone memory’ – a primal knowing of our home in the
Earth no matter our separation in civilisation. This is the resonance
of the babaylan healing tradition for many Filipinos in
the diaspora, the spark of recognition when encountering living
ancestral traditions for the first time – ritual traditions that
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embody Earth knowledge and encode memory of the ‘original

instructions’ believed to have been given to all natural peoples
for how to live in a good way in a given local ecology.
The task then is to re-member. It is the kind of remembering
I have tried to do in my ancestral storytelling piece in this
chapter – my way of healing my own separation from organic life
as I became educated and urbanised, and from modernity’s soul-
constricting individualism by reclaiming my own ‘long body’
(that calls to mind the admonition among the Haudenosaunee
to only make choices and decisions with the next seven
generations in mind and the wisdom of seven generations back;
cf. Krippner 2014:xxiii). It is also what our little Detroit Beloved
Community has committed to undertaking at this time – to no
longer simply ‘work for justice in the world’, if by this is meant
working exclusively for the thriving of human communities. For
‘community’ – as we are learning in our process of decolonisation
and unlearning of whiteness as a world orientation – has no
exclusions, just like my people’s understanding of kapwa as
encompassing kinship relationship with all living beings in nature.
In reclaiming our respective spiritual traditions from our ancestral
origins, we come down from the pedestal of our modern hubris
and supremacy (yes, including Christian supremacy) and
recognise that it is we – not our indigenous kin – who have lost
our way and who are in need of tutoring again in the old ways.
Shaw (2016:n.p.) expresses pessimism when he laments, ‘[a]s
things stand, I do not believe we will get a story worth hearing
until we witness a culture broken open by its own consequence’.
But in Detroit, the quintessential (post-)industrial city, now a
ghost of its former splendour and promise, this is what seems to
have already happened or is happening, as we speak. I therefore
write about Detroit as also a ‘place of fruitful gestation’ (Mendoza
2013a), one that, in the midst of collapse and disillusionment:
[A]ppears to be birthing a whole other culture, this time no longer
the color of rust, steel and iron, but green. Organic life is slowly
returning to the city, with its residents knowing the bitterness of
betrayal by the false promise of development, unlimited growth,
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wealth and prosperity. The miracle is that neighbors now are

speaking to each other, forming communities, growing gardens
and taking care of their poor and homeless. It is no accident that in
the year 2010, it was chosen to host the second U.S. Social Forum,
a gathering of 15,000–20,000 peace and justice activists looking
to learn not only from the problems and challenges the city faces,
but from models of humanity there already in practice. (p. 255)
Returning to Grace Lee Boggs’ call to take seriously the epochal

transition we are in currently, any re-visioning of urban or city life
needs to be informed by the long view of the excluded voices of
our time – those who, at this point in time, represent the only real
alternative to the reigning logic of our time, that is, the voices of
indigenous peoples. Such re-visioning is exemplified by this
prayer meditation for Detroit from one of our Detroit Beloved
Community members, the Rev. Bill Wylie-Kellerman, and with
this I will end (Wylie-Kellermann 2017):
Die and arise. In your weakness is your hope. You are at an end
and a beginning […] Your industrial heyday has gone to rust. You
will not see its like again. Now think small. Encourage the modest,
an economy of creativity and self-reliance. Nourish the projects of
human scale, the works of community and struggle. Let your empty
lots bloom green; you will find there a hidden economy all its own.
Sit light upon the river, but not as real estate frontage for the rich. Be
in right relationship to its life, and through it to the region, to earth
[her]self. For your sins, enough. Now you have my blessing. Sing to
glory and come to life. (p. 12)
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Chapter 4
Guatemalan Grass-
Roots Theology as
Resistance to Global
Sacrificial Theology
Joel Aguilar3
Street Psalms Resource Centre
Guatemala
Introduction3
Mimetic desire and urban society are two terms that I have not
yet discovered together. Both come from different disciplinary
backgrounds, and perhaps that is why these concepts have not
met each other on paper. In this chapter, I will attempt to
introduce these terms to one another and see if a conceptual
paradigm can flourish that takes both concepts into account. It is
How to cite: Aguilar, J., 2018, ‘Guatemalan Grass-Roots Theology as Resistance to

Global Sacrificial Theology’, in S. de Beer (ed.), Just Faith: Glocal Responses to Planetary
Urbanisation (HTS Religion & Society Series Volume 3), pp. 103–133, AOSIS, Cape Town.
https://doi.org/10.4102/aosis.2018.BK87.04

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Guatemalan Grass-Roots Theology as Resistance to Global Sacrificial Theology
important, however, that such an introduction not fall into the

ethereal realm of ideas. If that happens, all of the possibilities to
solidify the implications of mimetic desire as a concept and body
of thought that could serve as a lens to see the urban would fail
through the impracticalities of mere academic work. For that
reason, what I will attempt in the next pages is to connect the
academic ideas of different authors with the street to see if
mimetic desire can provide a lens to reimagine the Guatemalan
urban context from below as grass-roots theologies become a
mode of resistance to the global sacrificial system. I will use my
vivencia4 as the starting point of the following reflections.
Stories like the one narrated before are in the background of
what I write. I have seen countless violent situations during my
experience and work in slum communities, and I have also
officiated at the funerals of teenagers who were tortured and
killed by the organised crime syndicates of Guatemala City.
As the reader will see, urban society and its inequalities are the
result of a sacrificial theology that is willing to sacrifice the most
vulnerable in the name of progress. In Guatemala, we can see the
urban centres needing more and more resources to sustain their
functioning and production. It is in these urban centres, especially
in Guatemala City, that decisions are made that affect all ways of
life. In a sense, Guatemala has fallen prey to planetary urbanisation.
As the urban increases its reach everywhere, its shapelessness,
formlessness and boundlessness make it hard to know where its
borders reside (Merrifield 2013:910).
Before I use René Girard’s idea of mimetic desire as a lens to
interpret urban society, let me begin by attempting to summarise
what mimetic desire is. More advanced Girardian scholars may
find the next few pages simplistic. This summary, however,
attempts to make mimetic theory accessible for readers who
may be entering into these waters for the first time. Mimetic
theory is a complex body of ideas that takes into account
4. Vivencia is the full experience of an event with all its possibilities.
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different elements of the creation of human culture to understand

violence. Mimetic theory contains a variety of concepts, and I will
explore a progression that may help the reader grasp the basics
of how it works.
Mimetic Desire, Violence and

Urban Society
The development of a grass-roots theology in resistance to a
global sacrificial theology is not a small task, because a global
sacrificial theology is a system that is willing to immolate those
who are considered as disposable to appease the gods of
contemporary urban society. As I embark on this adventure, I am
aware that my reflections and thoughts cannot resist a global
system on their own. What I will attempt in the next pages is to
develop the base of a Guatemalan grass-roots theology that can
only be built with the help of emerging leaders working in the
toughest places of Guatemalan urban society. As the reader
accompanies me on this adventure, let me start with a story and
an introduction to what I will endeavour to do in the next pages.
A Story About Violence

Violence is a social issue that a lot of people claim to understand;
there are anthropological and sociological studies about its
causes. But the truth of the matter is that violence ‘is the result of
a peculiar deficiency, a lack of being that inevitably bring us into
conflict with those whom we believe will be able to remedy it
[…]’ (Dupuy 2013:43). I cannot say that I fully understand how
violence works or how a sacrificial theology is formed, but what
I can say is that I am in search of a better understanding of
violence in order to also understand peacebuilding and conflict
resolution as a vital aspect of a grass-roots theology in resistance
of global sacrificial theology.
Violence is a pervasive issue in most of the communities where
I have worked. On one occasion, I had an unforgettable encounter
105
with violence. One sunny afternoon in 2005, a friend of mine from

the US and I were hanging out with teenagers from one slum
community where we worked. Most of the guys were teenagers
between the ages of 13 and 19 years, with the exception of 5-year-
old Rigo and his 7-year-old brother. Rigo and his brother were
playing with marbles on the ground. My friend and I were talking
with the kids, cracking some jokes and having a good time
laughing at the ‘gringo’ with the funny accent. One of the two little
kids lost his marbles and wanted the other one to give him his.
I assume Rigo was the one who had the marbles, but I do not
know that for sure. As the two little kids were arguing about the
marbles, the atmosphere unexpectedly filled with violence, and
the next thing I saw was a fight between the two little kids.
I have seen kids fighting for toys before, but this time it was
different, more vicious. Rigo’s brother was on top with his fists
closed, beating down on Rigo’s face. I do not even know if I have
the words to describe the scene. The fight was brutal. The guys
we were hanging out with were fuelling the fight, cheering and
yelling, ‘Come on! Come on! Harder! Harder!’ (2005, afternoon,
male crowd). I did not intervene. Although I was really afraid the
little kids were going to hurt themselves badly, I did not know
how to react and stop the fight. Somehow, Rigo made it out of
the beatdown and saw his mother walking down the street.
Dropping his marbles on the ground, he ran as fast as he could to
embrace his mother’s legs. He was looking for protection. For a
moment I thought, thank God she showed up – I do not have to
stop the fight! Shockingly, when Rigo hugged his mother’s legs,
instead of finding care, security and love, he found a kick right
into his belly and an angry voice yelling, ‘Don’t be such a pussy!
Go fight your brother like a man! That is how you learn, you
shithead!’ (2005, afternoon, Rigo’s mother). I could not believe
what my eyes were witnessing. It felt I had landed in the plot of
an intense Flannery O’Connor story.
Rigo’s face reflected uncertainty, rejection, sadness, anger,
fear and pain. Tears started rolling over his cheeks, and he had no
option but to get back into the fight and take the beatdown. I do
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not remember how the fight stopped. I remember Rigo’s face

bruised, a bloody nose and a swollen eye. All I know and regret is
that I did not know how to take the shame of that little boy.
Perhaps I did not want to take his shame and invest myself in his
life by stopping the fight. I did not have the theological or life
categories to understand violence or how to serve people who
live in the midst of poverty and violence, let alone violence in the
midst of rejection and shame. While I still do not fully understand
this encounter, the implications of such experiences propel me
to struggle with the Crucified Christ as the shame-taker, innocent
forgiving victim and peacemaker.
It is important to recognise that once violence, fear and shame
visit the human heart, they acquire their own momentum and
developmental logic and need little attention and almost no
additional investment to grow and spread (Bauman 2007). The
journey towards an incarnational grass-roots theology in
resistance to a global sacrificial theology needs to take shame
and curse as a vital part of it. It is in allowing myself to be in that
place of shame that the mechanism of violence is revealed and
I am given the opportunity to be forgiven by God and others, and
to forgive (Alison 2010). I could have been incarnated in Rigo’s
reality of violence, fear and rejection if I had entered that place of
shame. It was in that place and moment when violence against
Rigo could have been stopped. I did not do anything. I did not
know how to be with him and for him. I cannot say that I know
today how to face the violence that consumes impoverished
communities in the Global South, especially when that violence is
fuelled by a sacrificial theology that sees the most vulnerable as
rejects and scapegoats in the name of progress.
Mimetic Desire and the Scapegoat

Mechanism
Mimetic desire is the core that holds mimetic theory together.
This concept, developed by René Girard, can be understood as
the lack of capacity humans have to desire something on their own.
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Humans, thereby, resort to the imitation of each other’s desires.

Girard proposes that ‘human desire is not based on the
spontaneity of the subject’s desire, but rather the desires
that surround the subject’ (Palaver 2013:35), implying that our
way of being in the world is defined by the other. Girard used
different exchangeable terms to explain these dynamics including
triangular desire, imitated desire and, as used in this chapter,
mimetic desire.
As humans imitate each other’s desires, they lead each other
into rivalry. For Girard, violence happens when my desire of an
object or person enters into rivalry with the desire of somebody
else for the same object or person, meaning that both are
imitating the desire of one another for the same object or person.
This imitation could also lead the parties in rivalry into positive
imitation of one another for the common good. However, when
it comes to an object or person that two humans want to possess,
the misplaced desires drive each person into rivalry and violence
against each other. Then, because humans become obsessed
with what they desire, they will do all they can to obtain the
object or person they want regardless of the consequences, even
to the point of killing to obtain the object or person of desire.
In Girard’s (2009:11) own words, ‘the principal source of violence
between human beings is mimetic rivalry, the rivalry resulting
from imitation of a model who becomes a rival or of a rival who
becomes a model’. Remember the story at the beginning of this
chapter? The marbles were the object of both Rigo’s and his
brother’s desire. Both of them wanted the same marbles. They
imitated each other in their desire for the same object, and that
led them into rivalry with each other to the point of violence to
obtain the same marbles.
The problem is that, at some point, others begin to imitate the
desire that takes us into rivalry with one another and we end up
spreading not only our desire but also the rivalry and violence
that is generated through the imitation of each other in a
more transcendental way. When Rigo and his brother were
fighting, those of us witnessing the fight became participants of
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the violence in distinct ways. The teenagers cheering for the fight
did not know they had been contaminated by the excitement of
violence. That is why they were cheering and fuelling the fight.
I was also contaminated by the spread of violence. My fascination
with it froze me. I did not intervene to stop the fight and wanted
an external force to stop the violence. Humans take their rivalries
beyond the physicality of the conflict to the metaphysical realm,
which then affects our understanding of the world and the
other. It is at this point that the more intensified stages of desire
carry an extreme potential for contagious spread (Palaver 2013),
making the parties in rivalry want to differentiate from each
other, seeing the other as a monster while simultaneously
becoming a ‘monstrous double’ of the other (Girard 1977:143–162).
This stage of metaphysical transferring of desires, or ‘mimetic
crisis’ as Girard calls it, takes on a new spin that paves the way
for those involved in the crisis to look for a surrogate victim of
their violence, a scapegoat (Girard 1977, 1987). This crisis is a
‘crisis of distinctions’; people want to ensure they are different
from the others with whom they are in rivalry. The apparent
differences affect the cultural order of any given society (Girard
1977), and as a way of restoring it:
[E ]ach member’s hostility, caused by clashing against others,

becomes converted from an individual feeling to a communal force
unanimously directed against a single individual. The slightest hint,
the most groundless accusation, can circulate with vertiginous
speed and is transformed into irrefutable proof. The corporate sense
of conviction snowballs, each member taking confidence from his
neighbour by a rapid process of mimesis. The firm conviction of the
group is based on no other evidence than the unshakable unanimity
of its own logic […] All the rancors scattered at random among the
divergent individuals, all the differing antagonisms now converge on
an isolated and unique figure, the surrogate victim. (p. 79)
Girard’s mimetic theory takes a key turn, as he understood

religion to be the institution that controls violence by creating
the rituals needed to contain violence and avoid a brutal carnage
within primitive societies. The sacrifice of an innocent victim,
then, becomes the religious institution that becomes a cathartic
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element to keep violence in check (Girard 1977) through the

execution of the scapegoat in a sacrifice. In other words, religion,
the sacred, contains violence in two senses. The sacred becomes
a container, a vessel, that holds violence in check while
simultaneously becoming a violent means of protecting us
against violence. Human violence is not a symptom of inherent
evil (Dupuy 2013):
[I]t is the result of a peculiar deficiency, a lack of being that inevitably
bring us into conflict with those whom we believe will be able to
remedy it […]. (p. 43)
Jean-Pierre Dupuy (2013) proposes that the heart of Girard’s

analysis is the idea that the sacred is a form of human violence
that has been put as an external force, meaning that violence is
out of human control and that the gods are regulating human
fate.
In the preceding paragraphs, I attempted to summarise the
process of mimesis between humans as proposed by Girard.
In that process, I used two terms that are integral to the
understanding of violence presented by mimetic theory, as well
as the beginning of a global sacrificial theology, the surrogate
victim and scapegoat. It is important, however, that the Girard
reader does not fall into the temptation of oversimplifying the
term scapegoat. The scapegoat is a mechanism at play throughout
the metaphysical stages of the mimetic crisis. Girard, as quoted
here, sees the scapegoat mechanism as a process capable of
creating unanimity in a group that was divided by the mimetic
crisis. It is in that unanimity that the victim becomes the one
responsible for the mimetic crisis and thus the incarnation of evil
itself. ‘The monstrosity of the preceding crisis is now manifested
in one single monster; we are dealing with one victim, which has
become the scapegoat for the entire community […]’ (Palaver
2013:152). In the end, as the group gathers against the scapegoat,
‘the persecutors always convince themselves that a small number
of people, or even a single individual, despite his relative
weakness, is extremely harmful to the whole society […]’ (Girard
1986:15).
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The scapegoat mechanism is key to the understanding of

violence proposed by Girard. For that reason, I will number four
elements that will help us use Girard’s anthropology as a lens to
interpret urban society. Firstly, the scapegoat or victim must be
vulnerable, someone who is different from the group and lacks
the power to defend himself or herself against the majority.
Secondly, the victim is seen as necessary to protect the goodness
and cohesion of a society. Thirdly, the sacrifice of the victim will
relax the masses and the tensions within any given human group.
In summary (Girard 1986):
[A]ll our sacrificial victims […] are invariably distinguishable from the
non-sacrificeable beings by one essential characteristic: between
these victims and the community a crucial social link is missing, so
they can be exposed to violence without fear of reprisal […]. (p. 13)
Finally, the story of the victim has to remain hidden.

At this point in our process of utilising mimetic theory as a
lens to understand and interpret Guatemalan urban society, it is
important that we understand that religion, the sacred, especially
in its archaic forms, is the beginning of the social apparatus and
institutions we have today and consequently the origin of a
global sacrificial theology. Jean-Pierre Dupuy (2013:xv) has
proposed that the sacred should be the light that shines on the
adventures and misadventures of human reason. Dupuy arrives
at this conclusion following Durkheim’s understanding of religion
as the origin of all great human institutions. If one were to follow
Dupuy’s proposal, one would have to agree that all human
institutions or forms of rationality are inherently violent in one
way or another. It is important, however, that we understand that
Dupuy is not explaining the concept of the sacred, which
Durkheim, Freud, Levi-Strauss, Girard and others explored in
countless pages. Dupuy (2013:xv) shows us that human reason
‘still has the marks of its origins in the sacred, however much it
may regret this fact’.
Paul Dumouchel is another scholar who can help us enter into
the realm of contemporary understandings of violence and the
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way violence permeates urban society. Dumouchel approaches

the conversation from an economic perspective. In his analysis of
contemporary society, Dumouchel exchanges the term sacred
for scarcity, opening the conversation of mimetic desire to a
more practical, contemporary level. For Dumouchel, scarcity and
the sacred are one and the same and are ambivalent in their
meaning. The ambivalence lies in the fact that in contemporary
society, scarcity is presented as the cause of violence in many
social and political discourses, while simultaneously understood
as the incentive to move forward and excel in economic growth.
Economic growth, then, becomes the best defence against social
conflict and chaos. Hence, scarcity becomes the institution that
regulates the progress or demise of a society (Dumouchel
2014:ix). In the sense of the sacred, the ambivalence comes in
seeing violence as a problem that needs a violent solution.
Taking into account the perspectives presented by Dupuy
and Dumouchel, we set the framework to interpret contemporary
forms of violence and urban society from a Girardian perspective.
This implies, for the purpose of the analysis presented here, that
violence is defined as the process of escalating rivalry between a
model(s) and a rival(s) in conflict with each other, trying to
eliminate one another for the sole objective of possessing the
object of desire.
Violence: Global Forms of Violence

in Urban Society
Before we enter into the understanding of violence and how it
impacts urban society, let me explain a little bit of the process I
have followed in writing this chapter. Firstly, I have forced myself
to move around Guatemala City while writing. I have written
from my studio at home, coffee shops in the more developed
and wealthy parts of town, the central plaza in the historic district,
during tattoo sessions to cover the tattoos of former criminals
and in slum communities in some of the most forgotten areas of
our city. Secondly, I have taken reading materials to the places
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listed above and engaged in informal conversations with friends

and strangers. All of this was done to understand and interpret
violence as the source of a global sacrificial theology and see this
theology at play in urban Guatemalan society.
Up to this point, Girard has allowed us to create a framework
to understand and explore violence from an anthropological
perspective. This focus, of course, opens the door to explore
different forms of violence, understanding that violence comes
from our misplaced desires in rivalry with others. It is impossible,
however, to enter into the conversation of a global sacrificial
theology without mentioning our current globalised imperial
system and its forms of violence. For the heart and spirit of
Empire, in the words of Míguez, Rieger and Sung (2009:130), ‘is
a sacrificial theology that demands and justifies human suffering
in the name of the realization of impossible desires and objectives
through submission to an institution falsely transcendentalized’.
It is important to understand that this chapter is not the space
to enter into the conversation of the forces of Empire that
shape the urban, especially the market, as a self-regulatory
‘transcendentalized’ system. What is important to point out is
that the heart of the global system that we live in is sacrificial
in the sense that it is willing to reject, even kill, those at the
margins of society in the name of progress and social cohesion.
In the next pages, I will explore different forms and understandings
of violence presented by different scholars I believe explore
global forms of violence.
It is in this global system that the criticism presented by the
Slovenian philosopher Slavoj Zizek will help us understand
different global forms of violence. Zizek (2008:66–73) goes back
to the Heideggerian understanding of language as our house of
being to connect two different kinds of what he calls ‘objective
violence’. Objective violence is the violence we do not necessarily
see but feel, even when it has very concrete implications and
representations in our everyday life. Firstly, objective violence
(Zizek 2008:1) is symbolic violence ‘embodied in language and
its forms’. The way we speak can be violent and perpetrate
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violence; and if we go beyond speech, language is an institution

that also contains violence with the full ambivalence of the term.
Secondly, Zizek (2008:2) calls ‘systemic’ violence to the
‘catastrophic consequences of the smooth functioning of our
economic and political systems’, meaning the rejection and
sacrifice of those living in poverty as one of the omitted sins of
late capitalist urban societies. The acknowledgement of language
as an institution that contains violence is of high importance as
the sacred and language are two of the most ancient institutions
that are part of the development of human rationalities.
Finally, Zizek takes on a kind of violence that we are all too
familiar with, subjective violence. Subjective violence is the
perpetration of a violent action against somebody else, beating
somebody down, killing, war and so on. A clear example of
subjective violence is the interaction between Rigo and his
brother. Interestingly, humanity is fascinated with the subjectivity
of violence as its carnage separates us from the truth that lies
beneath such violent acts – violence comes from inside the
human heart and creates a false sense of moral outrage.
The danger of subjective forms of violence, for Zizek (2008:6),
comes with the urgency to act when we face the enactments of
subjective violence. The urgency to intervene does not allow us
to think about the true nature of violence. There is no time to
reflect. Violence hides itself from our sight, giving space for more
hidden ways of perpetrating violence. In the case of Guatemala,
those discrete forms of violence have transformed into
humanitarian aid, Christian missions and the international
cooperation for our development. In Zizek’s (2008) words:
Let’s think about the fake sense of urgency that pervades the left-
liberal humanitarian discourse on violence: in it, abstraction and
graphic (pseudo)concreteness coexist in the staging of the scene of
violence – against women, blacks, the homeless, gays […] ‘A woman
is raped every six seconds in this country’ and ‘In the time it takes
you to read this paragraph, ten children will die of hunger’ are just
two examples. Underlying all this is a hypocritical sentiment of
moral outrage. Just this kind of pseudo-urgency was exploited by
Starbucks a couple of years ago when, at store entrances, poster
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greeting customers pointed out that a portion of the chain’s profits

went into health-care for children of Guatemala, the source of their
coffee, the inference being that with every cup you drink, you save
a child’s life. (p. 6)
One could say that the objective violence presented by Zizek is

the very mark of the sacred, as understood by Girard, and then
developed by Dupuy and Dumouchel. Then, subjective violence,
meaning the overpowering acts of violence and the empathy
with the victims of such acts, functions as a lure that prevents us
from thinking. In this sense, empathy – not justice – becomes the
justification of violence, thus putting us on the side of the
executor (Zizek 2008:6). As subjective violence hides itself from
our sight, we are faced with the same dilemma our ancestors
faced: is good violence needed to stop the perpetration of
subjective forms of violence that could annihilate our society?
Should we do nothing, just sit and wait, as we are in the presence
of violence? To the second question, Zizek (2008) answers with
an emphatic yes!, further stating that:
There are situations when the only truly ‘practical’ thing to do is to
resist the temptation to engage immediately and to ‘wait and see’ by
means of a patient, critical analysis (p. 7).
Zizek and Dupuy have much in common in their understanding

of violence. For both scholars, violence is, or becomes, a hidden
mechanism. In the case of Dupuy (2013), violence, the sacred, is
hidden and permeates all contemporary institutions as a result of
human rational evolution. For Zizek (2008:213), ‘violence is not
direct property of some acts, but is distributed between acts and
their contexts, between activity and inactivity’. In a sense,
violence becomes hidden and relative to the context.
It is in the subjectivity of violence that we misunderstand
violence as the mere act of hurting the other. Violence, however,
goes beyond the point of its own subjectivity. Hannah Arendt
(1969) tapped into the subjectivity of violence from the
perspective of totalitarian regimes and how those exert violence
as an instrument to control people. For Arendt, violence is an
instrument in the hands of those who want to impose their
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strength over others. Violence ‘always stands in need of guidance

and justification through the end it pursues’ (Arendt 1969:51). For
Arendt, violence is the tool for power to be exerted over people,
especially when we talk about political power. The problem with
the instrumentality of violence, as understood by Arendt, lays in
the lack of understanding of the dynamics that create violence.
Violence is much more than an instrument; ‘it is the result of a
peculiar deficiency, a lack of being that inevitably bring us into
conflict with those whom we believe will be able to remedy it
[…]’ (Dupuy 2013:43).
Following up with the ideas of Zizek, Dupuy and Dumouchel,
and using Girardian anthropology as a lens, I would like to attempt
a brief interpretation of how academic ideas are tested on the
street. Mimetic desire works in very subtle ways in the human
heart. In the case of those of us who work with people living in
communities marked by poverty and violence, we tend to think
that we are the liberators of those under oppression. Even more
so, we feed from the sentiments of belonging that we develop,
imitating each other based on the needs of those we claim to
serve. We develop co-dependent relationships where we need
to be needed by the needy. In addition, our academic ideas of
economic, emotional and social development are imposed on
the poor, thus perpetrating more violence on people who have
been hurt already.
As mentioned before, the dynamics at play in mimetic desire
can take us to two possible outcomes. Firstly, we can develop
positive mimesis, which can lead us to transformation and
development, or we can develop negative mimesis, which leads
to rivalry and violence (Girard 1987:290). In the case of the
individuals and organisations who work to serve those in poverty,
the imitated desire is the desire to help the other, the poor, the
marginalised, the vulnerable and other labels that we want to
put on those we serve. The significance of this desire is given by
the model who desired the object in the first place. We all saw
something we admire in those who serve people in need, and we
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want that as well. We imitate each other in serving or helping

the poor, and we enter into rivalry because the true desire
behind our help is the desire to possess the poor. People talk
about ‘my children, my youth, my beneficiaries’ and so on. When
we take this into account, it is hard to accept the fact that we
have made of ‘the poor’ the object of our desire. We are
fascinated with the exoticness of ‘the poor’, so we enter into
rivalry with one another because we want to access the resources
available to ‘help the poor’. As we develop programmes, projects
and help for those in need, we are willing to accept all
consequences to get the last bit of grant money for the
programmes we run. Those of us involved in this kind of work
start trampling upon each other, so we turn our eyes towards
the ones we swore to help in the beginning.
Secondly, in making the poor the object of our desire, we have
turned each other into a rival. At some point, when our attempts
to change the world seem futile, we realise that the problems are
bigger than what our organisations can tackle, and then we turn
to somebody to blame for the lack of success our programmes
have. It is at this point that the poor become not only the object
of our desire, but also the scapegoat we need to re-establish the
cohesion among those who work for the development of
impoverished communities. In the end, if development does not
work, if micro-credit does not work, if housebuilding projects do
not work, it is and always will be the fault of the poor, or the
government, or perhaps the rich, maybe even the global
economic system or, in the case of Guatemala, everything is the
fault of corrupt politicians.
After 15 years of working in the slum communities of Zone 3
in Guatemala City, I have noticed that positive mimesis is
not as common as one would like to see. Sadly, individuals
and organisations have turned the poor into the object
of their desire and goldmine. For this reason, every
organisation working in the area of Zone 3 zealously protects
the beneficiaries of their programmes, even when this implies
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a stunted development and loss of human dignity. As a friend

in the slums once told me:
Joel, you can move down here tomorrow. I know where to take
you so you do not work another day in your life. I know where you
can send your kids for free schooling, breakfast, lunch and dinner.
We do not need to work anymore. (A friend, undisclosed location,
undisclosed year)
In the case of the slum communities in Zone 3 in Guatemala City,

I led a study and community mapping process that helped us
account for 29 organisations working in a 1-km radius.
Interestingly, there are organisations that started their work
almost 35 years ago. Today, the slum communities keep
multiplying with all of the social issues that affect the fourth and
fifth generation of slum dwellers and, alongside, NGOs keep
sprouting. In the words of G. K. Chesterton (1934:92), ‘If the poor
are thus utterly demoralized, it may or may not be practical to
raise them. But it is certainly quite practical to disenfranchise
them’.
Positive mimesis would take us seeing those living in poverty
as equals, not as the objects of our desire as we try to possess
each other. It is sad to accept that I have fallen prey to the
dynamics going on through mimetic desire. I, too, have objectified
those living in poverty. It is important to remember that the least,
last and lost of our society are bearers of the image of God. Our
desire to serve and change the structures of our urban
environments must be focused on the liberation of every human
we encounter.
What I found in the midst of great despair in slum communities
is violence with the mask of false generosity. I borrow the concept
of ‘false generosity’ from the Brazilian educator Paulo Freire. For
Freire, the violence of oppression has a dynamism of its own. The
oppressors hide the legitimisation of violence through their
generosity towards the oppressed, thus creating a structure that
allows them to perpetuate the unjust system in place. For Freire,
the unjust system is the constant source of false generosity,
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which is sustained by poverty, violence and death. This system

has become so strong that those in power react negatively to
any attempt to change the system for the benefit of those who
have been oppressed for so long (Freire 2003:540).
All of the preceding reflections put us into a moral quandary.
If we are working with people who are the bearers of the image
of God, we should not objectify them as the placement of our
desire. Sometimes, we believe that in working with the poor in
the ‘right way’ we are free of the moral judgements and ethics of
those who do not work in a sustainable or healthy way. We fall
prey to the false sense of moral outrage that Zizek talks about.
We engage the different forms of oppression and violence, diving
in head first, without stopping and thinking about what lies
beneath, thus perpetuating the system and falling into the game
of false generosity. It is as if we believe we are beyond good and
evil thinking and that we have not fallen into the trap of our moral
judgement and mimetic rivalry. In a sense, we are better followers
of Nietzsche than followers of the carpenter of Nazareth. It is
important, though, to remember that working with the least, last
and lost is one of the most morally relative kinds of work. It is so
morally relative that we tend to do evil instead of good, even
when we have the best of intentions. A sign of a grass-roots
theology in resistance to a global sacrificial theology will take us
to tackle the causes of false generosity and will rehumanise those
who have been objectified for so long.
Global Sacrificial Theology

The term global sacrificial theology is loaded. Before I explain my
understanding of the term, I have to acknowledge I am borrowing
it from Míguez et al. (2009). I am using their theological proposals
as the basis for expanding the concept in a way that helps me
understand and serve my context in Guatemala City. We have
the global, which I am interpreting as the process of planetary
urbanisation in a late-capitalist society, which affects our
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contemporary understandings of the city and the urban.

In Guatemala, this process is better understood by the concept
of the post-metropolis presented by Edward Soja (2000). For
Soja, the city is becoming more and more difficult to represent as
a geographical, economic, political and social unit. The borders
of the city have become blurry, confusing our capacity to draw
clear lines between the city and the countryside, rural and other
geographical concepts and, I would add, national and foreign.
The post-metropolis is, then, a product of intensified globalisation.
The global becomes localised, meaning the process of moving
from a city-based society to an urban society; and the local
becomes globalised as inequality and oppression sprout as
unwanted consequences of planetary urbanisation. This
phenomenon makes the city an ambivalent term, as it is
simultaneously a real and imagined place, a place nonetheless
(Soja 2000:150).
There are nuances, of course, to the development of colonial
cities, and Guatemala City was founded under colonial ideology.
For example, the colonial city was built with the purpose of
controlling subdued cultures and land. Centralisation of power,
politics and economics happened in the city. Contrarily, cities
like Manchester were built and achieved their status as
cities through the Industrial Revolution. Guatemala City still has
vestiges of colonial ideology, as the country’s political, economic
and religious power are centralised in Guatemala City. It is
important to understand that, even though Guatemala still has
remnants of colonial ideology, planetary urbanisation is blurring
the lines that used to divide the Guatemalan countryside and the
city. As communication networks blur the distinctions between
the city and the rural, Guatemala develops more inequality
between the different sectors of its population, being the fourth
most unequal country in Latin America (Justo 2016).
Secondly, we have the sacrificial part of the concept. This is
seen from the Girardian perspective of sacrifice as the foundation
of archaic and modern societies. Míguez et al. (2009:37), quoting
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Friedrich Hayek (2011:98), propose that the system of

contemporary sacrificial religion ‘increases the desire of all in
proportion as it increases its gifts to some’. Progressive societies,
as understood by Hayek (2011) in his Constitution of Liberty,
come with a price, the service of the rich experimenting with new
and more fulfilled styles of life, while the poor wait for those
styles of life to be tested and approved. What Hayek could not
measure with his ideas, as Míguez et al. critique, was the pervasive
nature of mimetic desire and rivalry, which has paved the way to
develop a social and economic system that by design is willing to
sacrifice groups of people in the name of progress through an
impersonal, falsely transcendentalised system like the market.
The system proposed by Hayek is the prime example of
mimetic rivalry. The desire that guides the global sacrificial
theology of late capitalism is not natural. It does not come from
the essence of human dignity. It is a constructed desire that ends
up confusing desire and need, thereby leaving aside the needs
of the most vulnerable members of society as supposed
commodities to be attained. For Míguez et al. (2009:40) ‘the
sacrificed are those who appear less competent, who resist the
laws of the market, and those who seek to regulate the market’.
This sacrificial perspective opens the conversation again to
different kinds of violence within the system in place. In a
structure that is designed to leave the weak and vulnerable aside,
the violence of the weak, or of those who are in opposition to the
impersonal system that marginalises them, is labelled as violence.
In contrast, the violence of those in power, the ones who test a
style of life before the poor, is legitimate (Míguez et al. 2009:61).
In other words, it is not violence. As Arendt suggested, it is the
instrument of those in power to impose their will. Even more so,
it is a kind of violence that restores the threatened order of
planetary urbanisation.
A clear example of the difference between acceptable violence
and not acceptable violence happened in November of 2016. La
Sexta Avenida [Sixth Avenue] is a pedestrian stretch of city
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streets located in the historic district of Guatemala City. During

the last 15 years of the Guatemalan armed conflict, La Sexta
became a very chaotic place as street vendors, criminals and
low-end stores flooded what once was an exclusive part of town.
After the signing of the peace accords in 1996, Guatemala City’s
mayor, Alvaro Arzú, who happened to be the president when the
peace accords were signed, started a process of ‘cleaning’ and
‘ordering’ La Sexta. As time went by the old vendors were
displaced and safety was improved, making La Sexta a desirable
part of town again. In the last five years, though, La Sexta has
become a contested space in Guatemala City. Rumours say that
the mayor and his friends are buying property in the historic
district, becoming the owners of Guatemala City and designing
what progress and economic growth look like. Sadly, there is no
way of actually proving this real estate hoarding of properties as
the public information about properties in Guatemala City is not
really open to the public. It is virtually impossible to know who
the owner of a building without a judicial order.
People who are part of the informal economy tend to sell their
goods as they walk the pedestrian street of La Sexta, while the
formal business and restaurants have taken all the accessible
locations to do business. The mayor, however, has entered into a
rivalry as he feels the informal street vendors make his La Sexta
look ugly and dirty. So, in November 2016 the mayor of Guatemala
City decided that it was time to clean La Sexta once and for all.
He took the municipal police to the streets and started walking
down La Sexta to forcefully remove the informal street vendors.
The police wore riot gear and formed lines standing their ground
as they walked and pushed away the informal street vendors.
This, of course, was not well received by the vendors and they
responded with violence. The municipal police then took action
and gassed the sellers as they fought for their right to work and
sell their products.
The press covered the events in an intriguing way. They
portrayed the events with headlines saying, ‘Riots destroy the
street art of La Sexta’ or ‘This is what La Sexta looks like after
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the riots’. These perspectives led the general population of the

city to believe the riots and destruction were only the fault of
the informal vendors of La Sexta, thus criminalising the vendors
for being poor and not able to have a locale to sell their products.
The headlines reinforced the stereotypes of people living in
poverty as violent criminals who refuse to enter the system in a
way that can benefit all Guatemalans. The violence perpetrated
by the mayor and police was seen as good and needed, as it
controlled the situation and brought peace back to the city. In
contrast, the violence of those defending their right to work was
seen as destructive, insolent and against the common welfare
of Guatemala City. Once more, those who could not afford to
be a part of the system were scapegoated by the majority of
Guatemalans.
The system of global sacrificial theology is founded in scarcity,
which is ‘the universalized abandonment of the solidarity
obligations that used to unite the community’ (Dumouchel
2014:34). In other words, scarcity is the spiritual and economic
institution that says that there is not enough for everybody. In
contemporary urban society, scarcity is presented as the cause
of violence in many social and political discourses, while
simultaneously understood as the incentive to move forward and
excel in economic growth. Economic growth, then, becomes the
best defence against social conflict and chaos. Hence, scarcity
becomes the institution that regulates the progress or demise of a
society (Dumouchel 2014:ix). Scarcity is an institution in itself, not
a social construct. Scarcity is beyond the concern of the economic
domain, and it is instituted by separating and creating a distance
between the communal and individual consequences of human
actions and violence, leaving those actions outside of the realm of
human responsibility. In the systems of progressive urban societies,
archaic violence and religion have not disappeared. Their form has
shifted and changed. Violence has become institutionalised in a
very special way and transformed into envy and impotent hatred
by those who have been forgotten by the system. It has become
resentment as Nietzsche proposed in On the Genealogy of Morals.
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In summary, ‘[s]carcity is the social construction of indifference

to the misfortunes of others’ (Dumouchel 2014:51).
The problem in a system like the one we live in is that the
exteriority of the members of society, meaning the isolation
created by breaking the bonds of solidarity, transforms all
individuals into potential sacrificial victims. As the reader may
remember, the exteriority is the missing social link between the
scapegoat and the rest of the community. As Dumouchel
(2014:50) has argued, ‘by abandoning traditional obligations, we
ensure that no one will avenge those who are the objects of our
violence’. In the case of the informal vendors of La Sexta, nobody
was for them, no one stood up for them as victims of a system
that excluded them based on their inability to afford to enter into
the system. This violence, in theory, is ensured to be contained,
unlike in archaic societies, as there are now institutions, aka the
justice system, designed to control the sprouting of contagious
forms of violence among rivals. In other words, the law will
avenge the first murder from the start (Dumouchel 2014). Hayek’s
ideas have become more concrete; thus, we are faced with the
emergence of impoverished, miserable, excluded people to
whom we have done no intentional harm. Sacrificed victims keep
appearing and we are the ones who sacrifice them through the
means of our apathy. These victims are outside the mimetic
rivalry. As those in power and in the middle class are obsessed
with eliminating each other, those outside of the rivalry are left
to their own demise as the bonds of solidarity are already broken.
These third parties, as Dumouchel (2014) calls them, are not seen
as our own victims, as in the present system we do not see the
correlation between our actions and these consequences,
between our unconcern, apathy, indifference and the poor.
Finally, we have the ‘theology’ part of the term. Jean-Pierre
Dupuy (2013:1) opens his book, The Mark of The Sacred, with a
truthful yet scary statement that ‘our societies are machines for
manufacturing gods’. This asseveration recognises the human
potential for violence, as one of the marks of the sacred is the
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exteriorisation of violence as something that is completely other

to our humanity. From the beginning of human societies, we
have created divinities as the entities that control our fate,
whether it is for success or our demise. Dupuy proposes that the
evolution of human rationality took us to the place of putting
humans in the place of gods as we adopted a secular perspective.
This movement in world view has allowed humans to go
beyond themselves in order to exert a power over themselves
(Dupuy 2013:2–6). This power to create self-transcendence has
fostered the evolution of what is sacred through the ages. In the
beginning, the sun, the giver of life, was a god that needed to be
appeased so that the hunter-gatherer societies could have good
outcomes for their survival. The same exteriorisation of human
transcendence has created different gods for today; we call
those ‘the market’ and, for the purpose of this reflection, ‘the
urban’ or ‘progress’.
When I started writing this chapter, I had one image in my
head: the tower of Babel. In the account of Genesis 11:1–11,
humans want to become famous by building a tower that will
reach the sky. This, in my perspective, marks the birth of
the god of urbanisation. We have been fascinated from the
beginning of our existence with equating progress to the
greatness of our urban environments. For example, recent
discoveries have shown that our land, in Guatemala, was more
urban that we ever imagined. The birthplace of Mayan civilisation
happens to be bigger than archaeologists thought it was, and
now it is believed to be a megalopolis that could have hosted a
civilisation of 15 million people. Contemporary Guatemala keeps
worshipping and paying dues to the gods of urbanisation.
Cement is being poured all over the city as high-rises keep
going up like flowers growing in a garden. Just in the first
trimester of 2018 there are 60 new apartment high-rises going
up at the same time in Guatemala City. This Guatemalan garden,
however, is full of despair and suffering. According to the World
Bank, 59.3% of people live in poverty and 23% live in extreme
poverty. The theology that we have created paves the way to
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see the other as a possible victim to be sacrificed in the name

of progress and urbanisation.
In summary, global sacrificial theology is the birthplace of
planetary urbanisation. It is, in fact, the system that has made of
urbanisation the god that best represents the capacity humans
have for greatness to be created on the back of slaves, the poor,
children, men and women whose bonds of solidarity have been
severed from the wider community.
A Grass-Roots Theology in Resistance:

Communities of Practice and Desire
As we have seen up to this point, the current system of planetary
urbanisation is based in a sacrificial theology. It is willing to
dispose of anybody who opposes it, and it will embrace the
furthest consequences to preserve the status quo. For that
reason, it is important that a grass-roots theology in resistance
to global sacrificial theology understands how the system works.
That is why I have taken extensive space to explore different
forms of violence and the mechanism behind it. It is important,
though, that in the midst of theologico-practical resistance we
name what is hurting us, ‘[f]or without the courage to name our
pains, we are also without words to articulate our deepest joy,
soaring hopes, and creative imagination’ (Fernandez 2004:3).
It is in naming our pain that we start resisting the powers that
have forced us to be in silence. It is important, however, that we
also open the space for those who have been violated by the
system to name the ways in which they have also been
perpetrators of systemic violence to others. In one of the slum
communities I worked, a team of researchers and I found out
that the neighbourhood committee leaders were asking for
sexual favours in exchange for helping single mothers. Communal
transformation has stalled as the leaders refuse to acknowledge
their participation as perpetrators of violence to their female
neighbours.
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As we start resisting the forces of a global sacrificial theology,

we ought to open up spaces for pain to be voiced. These spaces
have to be open to the voices of those who have been shunned
by the sacrificial system that institutes them as the obstacle of
progress. These voices have the capacity to disrupt normalcy
within the system of planetary urbanisation. For Míguez et al.
(2009) and Dumouchel (2014), the voices that the system needs
to hear comes from those who have been left behind. However,
it would be unfair to say that the power of the humble, poor,
excluded, of the current sacrificial victims, is the power that will
destroy contemporary sacrificial theology. This would place a
ridiculous amount of responsibility on shoulders that already
carry the sins of all. It would be just another burden to be carried
by the poor (Míguez et al. 2009:22), hence sacrificing them once
more.
The Centre for Transforming Mission of Guatemala
(CMT Guatemala by its initials in Spanish) is the place where I
develop my faith practices to serve my city. It is with the CMT
Guatemala team that we have developed different ways of
naming our pain in a way that includes the voices of the sacrificial
victims of our society. We try our best not to place an unfair
burden on those excluded by Guatemala society as we theologise
with them. One of those ways of voicing our communal pain is
through what we call cemetery reflections. The cemetery
reflections are tours through Guatemala City’s General Cemetery.
The General Cemetery has the tombs of different Guatemalan
personalities that have shaped the course of our country. One
can find presidents of old, writers, poets and many influential
figures. The majestic tombs where these personalities are buried
clash with the common burial grounds, where the poorest of the
poor are buried. In addition, the back of the cemetery collides
with the ‘living dead’, Guatemala City’s garbage dump, where
approximately 7000 people work in inhumane conditions to
sustain their lives. These clashing images are the background for
conversations that reflect four representations of the Guatemalan
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collective woundedness, that, as a community, we have named

the social-economic division, the racial wound, the religious
disunion and the wound of the internal armed conflict. As we
walk with different groups of people, we enter into the collective
woundedness of Guatemala City. We have talked about our
pain with businesspeople, students, academics, religious people
and short-term missionary groups. We have all come to the point
of accepting that we have hurt each other even if we did not
mean any harm to each other. It has taken us 10 years of cemetery
reflections to get to a place where we can acknowledge that the
current urban capitalist system in Guatemala is hurting us all in
different ways.
We have also arrived at the understanding of oppression and
violence as the birthplace of our current system. It is in this way
of thinking that Eleazar Fernandez (2004) has been of great
help in understanding how oppression works. For Fernandez,
oppression and violence work in a way that makes it difficult
to create structural change. Change is possible, nonetheless.
Fernandez names the system of oppression as an interlocking
system, meaning that working on one form of violence is not
enough to create systemic change. The system is interlocked
between classism, racism, sexism and the abuse of nature.
Fernandez proposes that the theological work of reimagining
humanity has to be done in a holistic way by reimagining our
humanity in the midst of the interlocking structures of oppression.
Fernandez (2004:5) invites us all to be atheists in the current
system, ‘in the face of the idols of death of our time, prophetic
atheism is a mark of our Christian faithfulness’. We see the
cemetery reflections as an atheist act in the midst of a system
that sacrifices those who live marked by poverty and violence to
the god of urban progress. It is through the naming of our
pain that we are able to identify the gods of urbanisation and
progress as the idols they are.
Another way we resist and unplug from the rivalry and
violence of the current system is by removing the scapegoats
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from the system. We have developed a brief version of a

workshop in Girardian anthropology that serves as the catalyst
for conversations regarding violence. The way the workshop
is structured takes the participants through a progression
that starts with an introduction to Girard’s theories, then to
the scapegoat mechanism, to then acknowledge that we all
have people we are willing to sacrifice for our own benefit. We
name our scapegoats starting at the personal level, then the
societal and structural levels. What has been interesting about
these workshops is people’s responses, especially those who
work with communities marked by poverty and violence, when
we touch public scapegoats who they consider as needed
sacrifice. On one occasion, one of the attendants yelled at me,
saying, ‘I am angry. I am mad at you because you are asking me
to surrender my scapegoats as a step towards peacebuilding’.
All of this is done in a way that takes us through the gospel, in
a way that allows us to read the Bible through Jesus’ eyes. I do
not have space in this chapter to explore it, but the practical
hermeneutical implications of all that is mentioned in this
chapter are deeply rooted in non-violent ways of reading
scripture.
Both examples presented here, the cemetery reflections and
the workshops, allow us to create communities of desire that
will hopefully lead to positive mimesis. At CMT Guatemala, we
focus on the development of communities as we understand
that our theologising and actions alone cannot pose enough
resistance to the current global sacrificial system. A community
of desire is based as a centred set community. This implies that
we do not need to believe in order to belong. If someone wants
to work and contribute to the social and spiritual renewal of
Guatemala, they will be welcomed regardless of the religion
they profess, their political affiliation or sexual orientation.
A community of desire in resistance to global sacrificial theology
has a Eucharistic shape; there is space for everyone at the table,
even for those we consider our foes. These actions seem
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very simple. It is, however, with great intentionality and effort

that grass-roots leaders have opened their hearts to others who
are different. The temptation will always be to replicate the
patterns of the oppressors onto others. It is easier to exclude
than to make community with others. If removing the exteriority
of those at the margins is part of a grass-roots theology in
resistance, then the exclusion of others becomes a sin; in the
words of Miroslav Volf (1996):
[A]n advantage of conceiving sin as the practice of exclusion is that it
names as sin what often passes as virtue, especially in religious circles
[…] We exclude because we are uncomfortable with anything that
blurs accepted boundaries, disturbs our identities, and disarranges
our symbolic cultural maps […] We exclude because we want to be
at the center and be there alone, single handedly controlling the land
[…] (pp. 71–74)
If the Eucharistic shape of urban mission calls exclusion a sin,

then we are faced with the choice of entering into the sacrificial
system or unplugging from it. There is no space for the
righteous exclusion of anybody, thus avoiding the formation of
virtuous unanimity against others who seem to be different in
any way, shape or form. If we fall in the temptation of uniting
against a new scapegoat, we will reinforce the system once
more.
In conclusion, a grass-roots theology in resistance to the
global sacrificial system has three signs of hope. Firstly, it takes
shame and curse as a vital part of it. A theology in resistance is
not afraid to get dirty. The theologian in resistance is not
concerned with comfort. The theologian is preoccupied with
breaking down the idols of urban capitalist society, even if the
idols are inside the church. Secondly, a theology in resistance will
tackle the causes of false generosity and will rehumanise those
who have been objectified for so long. In rehumanising the
other, the grass-roots theologian will know to make a clear
distinction between self-sacrifice and self-giving. A self-sacrifice
will reinforce the system.
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In contrast, the gift of oneself to others implies an understanding

of the sacrificial system, the refusal to become a victim and doing
so without resentment.
Finally, a theology in resistance to the global sacrificial system
claims the power and responsibility of removing scapegoats.
It does not matter who is the sacrificial victim to appease the
rivalries. A theology in resistance will always struggle to
rehumanise those who are about to be sacrificed. During 2015,
Guatemalans went out to the streets in resistance through
peaceful demonstrations to ask for the resignation of the
president and vice president at the time. There was proof of both
of them being involved in a massive corruption scandal, and
Guatemalans had had enough. We went to the central plaza of
the historic district every Saturday of 2015. What was interesting
to me during that time was that, even though the protests
were peaceful, the power of the mob was violent and sacrificial.
We were all asking for the ‘execution’ of our leaders in order to
restore the peace and transparency of government institutions.
Our desire for justice turned into a desire for vengeance as
our leaders became so monstrous that we did not want to
be connected to them. Guatemalan society exteriorised the
president and vice president in such a way that anthropologists
could have studied the co-relation between archaic kingship
rituals and sacrifice, and Guatemalans asking for their leaders to
be taken by the justice system. The mimetic crisis in Guatemala
came to such a high point that our leaders were responsible for
all the ills of our society. As a consequence, the judicial system
was pushed to accept the cry for blood coming from the people,
thus presenting the evidence to impeach our leaders and start
the trials to put them away in jail.
The response of our people was of festive excitement and
victorious unanimity. We went out to the plaza again, but to
celebrate the victory and executions of the causes of all of our
evils and misfortunes. What we failed to see was the reality of
the sacrificial dynamics that took us to the point of executing our
131
leaders before the gods of urbanisation and progress. I am not

saying here that the president, Otto Pérez, and the vice president,
Roxana Baldetti, did not have any responsibility in the exclusion
and death of countless people because of the corruption that
kept hospitals out of medicine stock, or that of children who died
of malnutrition because of the corruption that did not deliver the
fortified foods. What I am saying is, we fell right into the sacrificial
reinforcing of the global sacrificial system. We ostracised our
leaders because they were just like us. There was no difference
between us and them, and we wanted someone to be blamed for
the rivalries and violence that came from our hearts and have
made of Guatemala what it is today.
During the televised imprisonment of our vice president,
the cameras caught the images and audio of Roxana Baldetti
falling apart as she realised the conditions of her imprisonment.
The audio captured her cries of desperation for just a few
seconds, and as soon as that happened all news channels cut the
scene and went back to the analysis of the political implications
of her imprisonment. For the scapegoat mechanism to work, the
story of the sacrificial victim needs to remain hidden. Even more
so, the humanity of the surrogate victim needs to be veiled for
the sacrifice to work. The scenes briefly captured by the news
channels could have broken the animosity against Baldetti by
showing her humanity. That is why I believe that, in an unconscious
decision, they immediately cut the possibility of seeing Baldetti
as a human once more. A theologian in resistance will always
emphasise the humanity of Otto Pérez and Roxana Baldetti. The
struggle for such rehumanisation of the victims happens as we
remind our peers and ourselves that our leaders are just a
reflection of who we are. In the end, we are just humans who do
not know what to desire outside of imitating the desires of others.
Once we enter into rivalry to obtain the object of our desire, we
will comply with corruption and reinforce the system of a global
sacrificial theology.
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I hope that I was able to connect the academic ideas of Girard,

Dupuy and others with the street in this chapter. In the process
of reading Guatemalan society through the lens of mimetic
theory, I have learned that a prophetic imagination does not limit
our capacity to rehumanise those who benefit from the system
of global sacrificial theology. It is, however, with acts of prophetic
atheism that we resist the idols of urban progress and the gods
that keep asking for the sacrifice of the vulnerable, meek and
humble. Let us keep an eye out for those sacrificial victims,
regardless of where they come from. We need to remember we
can be the victims of violence while simultaneously perpetrating
it to others. We ought to follow Jesus, the forgiving victim who
was resurrected without fire and storm to avenge his death and
make his executors pay.
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Chapter 5
Households of
Freedom? Faith’s
Role in Challenging
Gendered Geographies
of Violence in Our Cities
Selina Palm
Unit for Religion and Development Research
Stellenbosch University
South Africa
Elisabet le Roux
Unit for Religion and Development Research
Stellenbosch University
South Africa
Introduction
Myths of a ‘golden urban age’ have increasingly drawn more
women to cities, often imagined as places where streets are
How to cite: Palm, S. & Le Roux, E., 2018, ‘Households of Freedom? Faith’s role in
challenging gendered geographies of violence in our cities’, in S. de Beer (ed.), Just Faith:
Glocal Responses to Planetary Urbanisation (HTS Religion & Society Series Volume 3),
pp. 135–164, AOSIS, Cape Town. https://doi.org/10.4102/aosis.2018.BK87.05
135
Households of Freedom?
paved with excellent opportunities. Urban settings have been

lauded by some as good for all women, typically contrasted as
progressive, against a stereotyping of the traditional rural space
as inhibiting women’s rights and opportunities. However, a more
critical gender lens (Chant 2013) highlights the heterogeneity of
women’s experiences in many cities and their ongoing
vulnerability to multiple forms of violence within this space. This
chapter offers a contextual reflection on the endemic violence
against women and girls (VAWG) that shapes South African
urban realities and the need for urban theology to speak up if it
is to remain true to its commitment to intersectional liberations
grounded in lived realities (De Beer 2014; Hankela 2014).
In 2014, with a special collection in HTS, entitled ‘Doing urban
public theology in South Africa: Visions, approaches, themes and
practices towards a new agenda’, Swart and De Beer called for a
new agenda to be introduced in South African public theology,
namely one that prioritises the urban. They (Swart & De Beer
2014) argued that:
[P]ublic theology in South Africa has, despite its established position
today, not yet imbedded itself in, and intentionally engaged itself
with the contextual challenges of our country’s cities and urban
environments by and large. (p. 11)
Despite this call to take note of contextual challenges, issues of

VAWG in cities – which have consistently been highlighted in
global discourse – remain underexplored. This is despite recent
reports and official statistics showing that VAWG is reaching
pandemic proportions in post-apartheid South Africa, with over
one in five women experiencing domestic violence (Sibanda-
Moyo, Khonje & Brobbey 2017; Statistics South Africa 2017).
This specific issue is tied to the wider exploration of cities
themselves as gendered. It is important to note that this needs
to be seen as a gendered continuum and not as a binary.
Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transexual, Queer and Others (LGBTQ+)
violence is another disturbing manifestation of gender injustice
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Chapter 5
also seen in South African spaces. While it is beyond the scope

of this chapter to explore this troubling and interconnected
manifestation of violence, it reinforces the call by the authors
for urban public theology to think not in binaries but along
continuums.
This chapter suggests that complex interlinkages exist
between public and private violences against women and girls
in urban spaces, often underpinned by deep-seated harmful
social norms about masculinity and women’s ‘place’. Empirical
research undertaken by one of the authors shows that urban
settings remain key sites of VAWG, often forming vicious cycles
of intergenerational abuse, shaped by overcrowding and lack of
privacy in many urban homes. Respondents insisted that
churches have an important role to play in transforming, rather
than reinforcing, the misogynistic roots of these gendered
violences. But they also noted that churches are currently failing
to fulfil this role, for their public voice should disrupt these
patterns and not reinforce them or protect perpetrators.
Scholars have noted that South Africa is beset by mobile
‘geographies of violence’ (Scanlon 2016:1), shifting between
public and private domains.
The chapter draws on feminist theologian Letty Russell’s
metaphor of a ‘household of freedom’ as a potential resource to
assist urban public theology to avoid the androcentric reiteration
of a false public–private dualism. Instead, it offers possibilities
that can focus attention across the continuum on the nurturing
of multiple safe habitats for the most vulnerable. Reclaiming this
metaphor, with its roots in the socially disruptive practices of
early house churches, may assist faith actors and institutions to
play important theological roles in nurturing creative forms of
gender-just faith. By doing so, emerging urban theology
discourses can help to tackle the roots of gendered violence and
contribute to the global conversation on faith and transformation
of all shared spaces.
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An Urban Public Theology Rooted in

Lived Experience
In calling for the need for urban public theology in South Africa,
Swart and De Beer (2014) emphasise the need for it to be rooted
in the lived realities of people:
[S]uch deepening attention to context should inevitably involve a
far more pointed concern with the reality of the urban and the way
in which this reality will increasingly hold the key to the dreams and
hopes of a more flourishing and inclusive South African society. (p. 1)
Therefore, this chapter starts with an overview of empirical work

done in South Africa, reflecting on the lived experiences of sexual
violence of people living in six different urban communities. This
is done to emphasise that our call for urban public theology to
directly concern itself with VAWG is not merely academic but is
because this is a daily reality in women and girls’ lives. We argue
that considering the urban cannot be done without engaging
with the violences experienced by women across both rural–
urban and private–public continuums. We suggest that if the
work of urban public theology in South Africa is to complete the
‘unfinished task of liberation’ (De Beer 2014:1), with particular
attention to its spatial dimensions, then this task will remain
incomplete without a gender lens. A lack of specific attention to
this is arguably itself a ‘violent silence which perpetuates
exclusion’ (De Beer 2014:1).
However, it is also not enough to merely add gender into
the existing parameters of urban public discourse, in an ‘add
women and stir’ approach. If urban theology’s starting point,
as its proponents suggest, is to be situated within concrete
sites of struggle, then the household forms one key contested
site in South Africa today. If our vision of the city is to ‘place
humans at its core’ (De Beer 2017:8), this requires gendered
interrogation if an androcentric lens is not to unwittingly shape
our definition of the human. Without this lens, public theology
may perpetuate a displacement of women into unsafe and
marginal spaces where systemic abusive patterns remain
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shrouded by a false veneer of privacy. If the politics of space

is a key locus of struggle in post-apartheid cities, women’s
intra-household struggles to find and to own their space, and
to inhabit existing shared spaces safely, must be intentionally
engaged. Urban public theology, if it is to be ‘a disruption of
an elitist conception of the city and the socio-spatial political
order’ (De Beer 2014:5) in the name of liberation for all, needs
to link its politics of spatiality not only to race and class but
also to gender, in ways that can disrupt the public–private
binary rather than reinforce it.
In 2013, one of the authors (Le Roux 2013) conducted research
on the role of Christian churches in sexual violence in
South Africa.5 Funded by Tearfund UK, qualitative work was
conducted in six communities in South Africa.6 Five of these
communities were within cities (Cape Town, Pietermaritzburg
and Durban), while one was peri-urban (Bredasdorp). The
communities were diverse in their racial make-up, comprised of
an English-speaking mixed race7 community, a refugee
community with refugees mainly from the Great Lakes Region,
two Zulu communities, an Afrikaans-speaking and mainly
coloured community and a mainly black African informal
settlement with a history of xenophobic violence. Using
structured interview questionnaires, in-depth semi-structured
5. The Unit for Religion and Development Research at Stellenbosch University, with whom
both authors are affiliated, has been doing research on this issue for the past 10 years.
Focusing on faith-based, and particularly church, responses to VAWG, it has conducted
empirical research in various countries, including South Africa, the Democratic Republic of
Congo, Rwanda, Burundi, Liberia, Uganda and Colombia.
6. Data used here with Tearfund’s permission and with recognition that they funded the
original research project. The views presented in this chapter, though, are solely those of
the authors.
7. The term ‘mixed race communities’ is used here to connote communities that emerged as
a consequence of specific apartheid policies, in particular, the Population Registration Act of
1950 and Groups Areas Act of 1950 (see Ebr-Vally 2001:44–52). These communities descend
from African, Asian and European people, and it is an accepted and non-pejorative way to
refer to communities of this descent.
139
interviews, focus groups and nominal groups, the research

explored how community members understand and experience
sexual violence, and how churches are part of and responding to
it. Overwhelmingly, the study showed that sexual violence was
perpetrated predominantly against women and girls.
In all six of the communities, irrespective of race or class,
everyone agreed that sexual violence is a problem of pandemic
proportions. However, counter-intuitively, people in the
community remain very hesitant to talk about it, reinforcing
the sense that this issue is framed as a ‘private’ one where
everyone knows what is happening, but nobody discloses it.
Female survivors pointed out that generally the police are not
seen as effective, leading to low levels of reporting because of
community stigma as a result of reporting, and yet impunity for
the perpetrators. This undergirds the systemic pattern of abuses
where survivors are failed at multiple levels. Responses reflect a
sense that there is a wider lack of public accountability within the
justice system on this type of violence against women where
even when people in the community are aware of what is
happening, they turn a blind eye and do not report.
Contrary to dominant narratives of public ‘stranger danger’,
but in line with statistical realities, the household was seen as the
most dangerous space. Fathers, stepfathers, uncles and cousins
were identified as the most common perpetrators, with youth,
children and women being targeted in their own homes by
people they knew well. Generations of women have been sexually
violated by family members, from a young age and continuing
into adulthood, often perpetuating intergenerational cycles of
violence. One survivor explained how all of the women in her
family had been raped repeatedly and how all of the men in her
family were perpetrators:
If my dad was not a dead-beat dad, if he was like a dad that was
responsible for the family, and wasn’t also abusive to my mother, it
would not have taught me that that’s the norm [sic]. Nobody really,
even up to my brother, nobody really showed us a leadership from a
male role [sic], being a role model I should say [sic]. Because my uncles
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Chapter 5
in their own times also abused their wives. My mother was abused by
her husband from the time we were small. (Female survivor, Durban,
2013)8
This issue of repeated victimisation came across in all the

communities. Violence at household level is rarely reported, as it
involves people who are financially dependent on the
perpetrator(s); therefore, survivors usually remain within reach
of perpetrators. Rarely did a survivor have only one experience
of sexual violation, even those not engaging in what is seen as
‘risky behaviour’. Women themselves, already victims, can also
become complicit in the abuse of girls within an unsafe household
because of these complex, relational, economic realities of who
holds provider power:
The mother has gotten, what you call, into a relationship with a
stepfather. The stepfather is putting food on the table and they are
all depending on this and the mother is looking away, because if
she talks, this man is going to take the support, the food from the
table. So, this child cannot tell the mother because maybe she has
tried [telling the mother] and [the mother] has not [done anything
about it]. (Female survivor, Pietermaritzburg, 2013)
The drivers of sexual violence are also linked to the spatial

and socio-economic consequences of apartheid and racial
segregation. A number of participants explained how
overcrowded housing, especially the too-small Reconstruction
and Development Programme (RDP) houses, leads to adults and
children sleeping together in one room. This leads to children
copying parents’ sexual practices and is also a fertile ground for
sexual abuse. Drug and alcohol abuse and poverty were seen as
other key drivers. Furthermore, the fragmented nature of the
communities, with different factions only working for their own
welfare, means that there is no joint effort to address sexual
violence. But participants also identified discriminatory social
norms as drivers, particularly cultural beliefs that identify men as
8. The quotations used in this section are from the primary research data (transcribed audio
from interviews and focus groups) collected in 2013. This was also reported on in a research
report published in 2013 (Le Roux 2013).
141
superior to women. It is apparent in the misogynistic language

common in these communities, with the way people speak about
women serving to strengthen the narrative of male superiority
and often reinforced by church teachings:
So, I think it is a crucial thing because I think it is our mind-set, our
upbringing, our culture all cut out in our language and how we talk
to one another. So, if we want to have genuine mutual respect and
mutual submission […] not about the one being in power over the
other and to get there we have to relearn how to talk to one another.
(Female NGO leader, Durban, 2013)
When asked to reflect on how their churches were responding to

sexual violence, the participants were unanimous: very little. This
is seen as a result of churches not seeing sexual violence as an
issue it should be addressing, as it is only concerned with so-
called higher matters, such as prayer and Bible reading. According
to the participants, churches do not take sexual violence seriously
and do not apply the Bible contextually to the issue. Participants
consistently spoke of the misogyny of churches and their
theologies, their complicity not only in ignoring the reality and
silencing those who speak out, but their own role in perpetration.
According to the majority of participants, many church leaders
were themselves guilty of perpetrating sexual violence. However,
they remained unconfronted by the wider church leadership
because these perpetrators were persons with authority. But
churches can only have the credibility to address sexual violence
in the community if they confront and eradicate the sexual
violence in their own churches:
Fundamentally what needs to happen is a whole paradox shift in the
cultural, in the religious area in terms of the way men see women and
there are some unbelievably weird teachings in the church, as you
are probably aware of. One of the things of course is ‘wives listen to
your husbands’. I believe anything preached from the pulpit gives
moral oxygen to those. They will breathe it in and go and say that
the church has said, ‘you must be submitted to me’. Now they will
translate it into whatever way that they feel that the person should
be submissive. So, I think that has a large [impact]. It is an overlooked
area that we have a huge influence and responsibility as those who
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are in public space, you know. If you get up on the pulpit, you are in
a public space because there were public people there before you
and you are influencing minds. You are influencing a mind-set. (Male
church leader, Durban, 2013)
Although some level of pastoral care is offered at times to

survivors, in practice there is a reluctance to engage with real
situations or to ask hard theological questions around why this
pattern is endemic. This suggests a need to move from merely
pastoral care only to theological engagement also. A community
leader in Bredasdorp explained the church’s limited engagement
as follows:
[O]ther reverends or other churches they just check their scriptures
that Jesus died, what, what, finish and klaar […] They rather say like
‘we are praying for those in hospital’, ‘praying for those who were
in prisons’. But they do not come [out and say] ‘why is the person
in prison, why is the person in hospital?’ They don’t come to that […]
point. (Male leader, Bredasdorp, 2013)
Therefore, it is surprising that, despite overwhelmingly negative

experiences of church, church leaders and congregation
members (especially by survivors), participants remain convinced
that churches can and should play a central role in addressing
sexual violence. They expect churches to take action through
awareness-raising, intervening in violent and unstable households,
assisting survivors, engaging theologically by revisiting the
texts that are read and how they are interpreted, and, most
critically, confronting sexual violence publicly within their own
constituencies:
The church should be playing a big role but it isn’t always so. There
is a big gap between community members and church members.
Church members think they are perfect, they think they don’t have to
connect with community members. It might be due to the way they
interpret the scriptures. (Male community leader, Cape Town, 2013)
Violence and abuse within marriage was highlighted by leaders

participating in a focus group in Cape Town as an area where the
church held authority and the potential capacity to speak out
and intervene. However, this conviction that the church could be
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a refuge remained in tension with the reality expressed by

survivors that often its leaders themselves remained complicit
on the issue:
The church is an anchor for the community, it is their refuge, it is
actually the only refuge in the world that we are now living in, and if
the church have such things going on, the pastor sits on the internet
the whole night and looks at pornography, and Sunday morning he
preaches so he gets his salary, who will then be interested in the
church, because I mean, there are no examples. (Female survivor,
Bredasdorp, 2013)
What this research shows us is that VAWG is a daily reality within

the partially private spaces of South African households, schools,
churches, campuses and workplaces and is often underpinned
by misogynistic ideologies reinforced in public pulpits and
continuing silence on sexual violence by many religious leaders.
Recent events have highlighted that these patterns of lived
experience continue today. For example, young women staged a
2018 protest at the Central Methodist Mission church because of
the silence of church leaders in the face of reports of repeated
sexual harassment by someone in a position of church authority.
As one of the victims poignantly said after the protest in an
interview with News24 (2018:n.p.), ‘You call them tata [father]
and they treat you like a piece of meat’,9 saying that she was
disappointed in this place that she had called home and had only
gone public in the face of refusals to act within the church.
A series of sexual allegations reported within the Anglican Church
going back decades led South African Anglican Archbishop
Thabo Makgoba to publicly announce in March 2018 a series of
consultations to strengthen multisectoral procedures for dealing
with cases of sexual abuse in the churches (Ritchie 2018). But
promises have been made by churches on this before and have
not translated into structural action.
9. See http://www.702.co.za/articles/290018/listen-sexual-harassment-claims-at-church-
emerged-months-ago
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The houses of our urban churches remain to this day unsafe

spaces for many women and girls. The concreteness of these
lived experiences emphasises that the appeal to urban public
theology to concern itself with VAWG is rooted in the current,
constant lived realities of women and girls in South African
communities, households and churches. How can one speak of
making our cities safe and free and not address the violence in
many of the hidden spaces of the city that most consistently
threatens and limits women’s safety and freedom? A theology
of the urban requires what Graham and Manley-Scott (2008:1)
term ‘the prompting of “vernacular” theologies that reflect the
rhythms of everyday experiences of the city’s inhabitants’,
including, we suggest, all its women and girls.
Feminist theologian Letty Russell’s (1987) starting point for
a reflection on households of freedom, to be explored later in
this chapter, is the claim that authoritarian hierarchies of the
public city are intimately bound to hierarchies of the private
household. She terms this public–private binary a ‘false
dualism’, often reiterated in our sacred texts and traditions.
She argues that it leads to a false democracy based on the
ongoing oppression of families that creates homes of bondage
(Russell 1987:25). This is why we began with the lived reality of
those many ‘privatised’ spaces of oppression within our urban
spaces. To explore this dualism further, we turn to an analysis
of the wider South African context with its specific urban
history.
South Africa’s Gender-(un)Just Cities

South Africa, where both authors live, offers an example of
historically segregated and colonial city geography in ongoing
and urgent need of urban transformation – a term that gained
traction in the post-apartheid transition phases of the 1990s.
Williams suggests that, because of the legacy of decades of
apartheid racist planning first institutionalised in the Group Areas
Act of 1950 and only overturned in 1991, there is an ongoing
145
structural need to undo this legacy within cities (Williams 2000).

As a result, he (Williams 2000) notes that:
[T ]he future of South Africa is inextricably linked with the future of
its cities. It would, therefore, be no exaggeration to suggest that the
South African city reflects the state of the nation and the welfare of
its people. (p. 167)
The apartheid system systematically built on early colonial

patterns of domination to engineer a separatist geography
involving a number of facets. These included the national
legalised co-optation of valuable urban land and resources by
white men, the relegation of black families to rural homelands
and the deliberate racialised re-engineering of cities through
forced evictions and removals. This led to segregated areas of
affluence and poverty living side by side but inhabiting different
worlds (De Beer 2014; Williams 2000). The contentious
development of a pass system controlled the mobility of those
perceived to be racially inferior and enabled laws and governments
to police the bodies and movements of one group for the benefit
of another.
This apartheid racist geography, layered over an existing
colonial pattern, also had gendered dimensions in a number of
ways, but these intersections are rarely fully acknowledged.
Large numbers of black women were relegated to the rural areas,
while black men lived in urban overcrowded hostels for months
on end. This created a disconnect between where they stayed
(urban) and where their home was (rural), with townships
forming ‘liminal’ spaces of temporary residence for the purposes
of providing cheap labour for cities, which were reserved
primarily for white citizens.10 This was further shaped by the
reinforcement of a split-gendered legal system of customary law
application in rural homelands and colonial law in cities. This
decades-long relegation of black women to the rural areas often
10. While the implications of this complex township space are beyond the focus of this
chapter, Vuyani Vellem (2014) offers a provocative contribution to an urban black theology
in ways that resonate with our points here.
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shaped a static understanding of both gendered and cultural

roles, which arguably bleeds into the new dispensation. Davies
and Dreyer (2014) note that:
The complexity of South Africa’s social and political history has
contributed to conditions that lead to various kinds of interpersonal
violence. Since the end of apartheid, researchers and policy makers
have increasingly focused on girls and young women’s experiences
of violence in households, including sexual violence […] [T ]he
transition to democracy has redefined gender and sexuality in ways
that challenge traditional and cultural views of masculinity. (p. 3)
They draw on a 2008 study with Xhosa youth that suggests that
men’s ‘disempowering sense of irrelevance in the domestic
sphere’ shapes the high levels of violence in South Africa today
(Wood, Lambert & Jewkes 2008:47). It connects this to longer
history of colonial rule, where losing agricultural land, increased
migrant labour and a developing cash economy reshaped
traditional patterns of male authority. Wood et al. (2008) note
that, for many men:
[P]articipation in a violent lifestyle and the instrumental use of
aggression against women and girls became one way of wielding
power in a racist, capitalist society from which they were excluded.
(p. 49)
The need for urban transformation in post-apartheid South Africa

opened up possibilities for the reshaping of multiple power
relations. However, in practice the focus remained predominantly
on racial transformation, while questions of gender (although
raised) were seen as secondary and at times even became
invisible in the transformation process. This was arguably a lost
opportunity. For example, while the Women’s National Coalition
did excellent work in the 1990s, resulting in strong constitutional
provisions for a non-sexist society and preventing a return to an
idealised gendered past of customary traditional laws and
policies, the Truth and Reconciliation Commission process failed
to engage explicitly with a gender lens (Meintjes 2009). Despite
responding to many women’s suggestions, it ‘did not heed the
group’s call for a more integrated understanding of the gendered
147
nature of struggles and a gendered methodology in research and

reporting’ (Meintjes 2009:106).
National discourses of reconciliation often focused on
narratives of forgiveness, theologically inflected, that despite
recommendations did not follow up on practical restitution and
needed structural changes. This has been seen as a contributory
factor to ongoing high levels of VAWG in private and public
spaces to this day (Scanlon 2016), with the failure to use a
gendered lens turning attention away from multiple local power
relations, for the sake of a high-level discourse of national unity
(Meintjes 2009, 2012). Scanlon (2016:8) notes in this context that
reconciliation processes that do not tackle wider social justice
issues can become preoccupied with individual human rights
violations only and may fail to confront entrenched legacies of
gendered socio-economic inequalities and violence. Gendered
harms were not probed and ongoing consequences of
apartheid laws that had treated many women as minors and
disallowed them from owning land were ignored.
As a result, we suggest that South Africa still needs to take
closer note of the need for a gendered lens on urban transformation
as part of its unfinished intersectional work of liberation. Although
post-transition, South Africa was seen formally as a women-
friendly state, with progressive gender legislation domestically
embedded and senior political representation by women (nearly
45%) achieved through an effective quota system, effective
implementation of gender laws and policies remains a clear
concern (Meintjes 2009:103). Real material and economic
transformation remain elusive for many women, with feminisation
of poverty, high unemployment and few female economic leaders
(Meintjes 2012). Feminist scholars point to an erosion of women’s
cultural gains in recent years, with a patriarchal backlash seen
against women’s autonomy (Gqola 2015:15).
This lack of systemic attention to gendered harms arguably
shapes current-day VAWG statistics here (Meyersfield & Jewkes
2017). For example, the 2016 South African Demographic and
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Health Survey showed that 21% of ever-partnered women 18 years

and older have experienced physical violence from a partner,
while 6% have experienced sexual violence from a partner. In the
12 months preceding the study, 8% of women experienced
physical violence from a partner and 2% experienced sexual
violence from a partner (Statistics South Africa 2017). Yet
VAWG is arguably severely under-reported in South Africa
(Meyersfield & Jewkes 2017). A 2017 report by the South African
Medical Research Council entitled Rape Justice in South Africa
demonstrates that rape remains a significant societal issue with
severe under-reporting of sexual assault, suggesting that only 1 in
25 South African women even report their rape to the police,
arguably because of extremely low conviction rates and the
strong likelihood of secondary trauma within the system,
reinforcing what our 2013 study had suggested.
Scanlon (2016:1) notes the ongoing chasm between the
promises and realities of South Africa’s reconciliation narrative in
specific relation to ongoing gendered realities, where some of
the highest rates of VAWG in the world continue to shape the
post-apartheid dispensation 20 years on. She critiques South
Africa’s reconciliation process as potentially contributing to the
shifts in the ‘geographies of violence’ seen for women from public
to private spheres. This contemporary saturation of violence
against women here and now is captured well by Pumla Gqola
(2015:80), who points to the manufacture of a ‘female fear
factory’ in post-apartheid South Africa, which, while dominated
by a political rhetoric of women’s empowerment, remains deeply
culturally conservative. She notes that increased public
representation by some woman remains allied to a ‘cult of
femininity’ in the so-called private realm, with women expected
to ‘exhibit traditionally female traits’ (Gqola 2015:65). A rigid
reinforcement of this public–private binary is often utilised to
reinforce different expectations on women depending on the
space they inhabit. For example, a senior female executive is
often still expected to submit to her husband in all things when
she gets home.
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However, these spaces are also being reclaimed from below.

Recent protest actions by young women on university campuses
such as the Rhodes Reference List11 (Seddon 2016) have been
challenging the normalisation of forms of VAWG and the
underlying ideologies of patriarchal power that justify VAWG in
multiple spaces. Nevertheless, patriarchal power remains deeply
connected to space and place. Women, especially those also
vulnerable through race, class or sexuality, are often still expected
both to ‘know their place’ and to be responsible for avoiding
dangerous spaces. Creating cities safe for women may require
focusing not only on external safety measures that protect
women but also more on what discriminatory social norms still
seek to limit the places they may step into. This global debate
around safe cities for women may offer important insights for
South Africa, which was rated D in a recent ActionAid report,
locating it at the very bottom of their safe cities for women
scorecard across 10 countries in relation to putting measures in
place to address VAWG in urban public spaces (Falu 2017:28–29).
It is therefore to this wider discourse that we now turn.
Gender (in)Justice in Cities: Ignoring

the Private Spaces
Jarvis, Cloke and Kantor (2009) suggest that ‘cities function as
key sites in the production, reproduction and consumption of
gendered norms and identities. At the same time, cities are
themselves shaped by the gendered embodiment and social
realities of gendered daily routines – at home, in public and on
the move’ (Jarvis et al. 2009:1). For example, fear of harassment
on public transport can lead to women remaining home as a
result, but this lack of mobility then shapes the citywide patterning
11. On 17 April 2016, a list of 11 male names entitled ‘Reference List’ was posted anonymously
on Facebook at Rhodes University. It gave no descriptions or made any allegations. However,
students identified that rape allegations connected them and demanded a suspension and
investigation of the individuals on the list.
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of public transport to suit the needs of men only. Jarvis et al.

point to this co-constitution of city and gender identity as
requiring joined-up approaches. These enable a gender lens to
be mainstreamed into urban planning discussions to also
generate new ways of seeing cities as gendered – and thus
leaving no one isolated.
Specific concerns about women’s safety and their roles in
urban city spaces have a long genealogy. Taylor (2011:1) charts a
formal, global ‘safe cities for women’ movement emerging in the
1970s, with women in various countries worldwide organising
protest marches to ‘take back the night’. This has gathered
increased momentum in the last decade. Yet British feminist
urban geographer Sylvia Chant (2013) highlights the need for
such movements to have a critical gender lens that acknowledges
the heterogeneity of women’s urban experiences. Taylor (2011:57)
emphasises further that the complex intersections of race and
class with gender in these spaces are shaped by ‘long-standing
colonial geographies’. Gendered inequalities often persist in
cities, despite a prevalent myth of the ‘golden city’ as a modern
urban space offering all women the freedom and opportunities
denied in many traditional rural spaces (Chant 2013:9). In actual
fact, she notes that intra-household dynamics within high-density
urban spaces often remain harmful and high risk for many women.
The UN Women Global Initiative to Make Cities Safe for All
Women, launched in 2010, has piloted initiatives around the
world that take a gendered approach to cities more seriously.12
It focuses on women-friendly transport, practical safety measures,
women’s empowerment, gender-sensitive planning and VAWG.
This attention to gender in city spaces is welcome. However,
Chant raises concerns that gender equality is increasingly being
12. The New Urban Agenda (Habitat III), agreed at the United Nations Conference on Housing
and Sustainable Urban Development in Quito, October 2016, reinforces the idea of a right
for all to a just and sustainable city (see http://nua.unhabitat.org/). It has been noted since
that ‘it is fundamental that in this agenda, women’s voices are heard, and their experiences
considered when shaping the city’ (Falu 2017:1).
151
instrumentalised to serve a neo-liberal ‘smarter economics’

market lens (Chant 2016:4). This can be in danger of seeing
women and girls primarily as potential economic contributors to
the city (in terms of what they do for the city), rather than
holistically through justice lenses as gendered, rights-bearing
individuals (in terms of what the city does for them) (Chant
2013):
[I]t is important to bear in mind that, although mobilising investments
in women can have huge impacts on the generation of wealth, there
is also a serious danger of instrumentalising gender to meet these
ends. As such, if women are to enjoy a ‘golden urban age’, then gender
rights and justice should remain uppermost in urban prosperity
discourse and planning. (p. 24)
What we see is that the notion of a ‘right to the city’, popularised

in the 1990s and still used today, including the right to use and
the right to participate, often lacks sufficient attention to the
underpinning patriarchal power relations, which are often ethnic,
cultural and gender-related (Fenster 2005). Fenster (2005)
notes that city discourses of citizenship can be blind to these
power relations on women’s rights to the city being realised in
practice, requiring linking rights in both public and private
spaces:
[W ]hat women’s narratives show is that even in ‘private’ their right
to use is denied. This shows that we must look at the right to use from
both private and public perspectives in order to fully understand the
roots of the restrictions of the right to use. Therefore, the discussion
around the right to use public spaces and the right to participate
in decision-making must begin at the home scale […] in spite of the
idealised notion of the ‘home’, the ‘private’ – the women’s space,
the space of stability, reliability and authenticity – the nostalgia for
something lost which is female, home can be a contested space
for women, a space of abuse of the right to use and the right to
participate. (p. 220)
Recent empirical reports by non-governmental organisations

such as ActionAid and Promundo (Falu 2017; Taylor 2011; Taylor
et al. 2016) suggest an urgent need to emphasise the interrelated
continuum of VAWG within cities and to trouble the binary of
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separate spaces (private vs public) as well as its fixed gender

stereotypes (Jarvis et al. 2009). Paying attention to this full
continuum focuses on the underlying harmful social norms and
patriarchal institutions that underpin, legitimate and tolerate
VAWG in multiple shared spaces (Taylor 2011):
[T ]he dangers that women experience in public and private spaces
are closely linked. For example, male control in the domestic arena
can restrict women’s mobility in public spaces. Violence against
women and women’s urban safety risks are normalised through social
norms and attitudes that permit – and even justify – disrespectful,
discriminatory, and violent treatment toward women. Normalisation is
reinforced through impunity of perpetrators and lack of accountability
of those who should provide protection. Women are blamed and
held responsible for the violence and insecurity they experience. Men
were identified [by research participants] as perpetrators, but also as
potential allies and decision-makers. (p. 8)
Until women feel safe in their own homes, the building blocks of
all cities – schools, communities, campuses, places of worship –
will also remain unsafe. An approach to violence against women
that takes note of the multiple interrelated levels where this
violence is concretely experienced also requires a gender-
relational analysis (Myrttinen, Naujoks & El-Bushra (2014).13 This
emphasises not solely the safety and empowerment of women,
who are then made responsible and even blamed for their failure
to remain safe, but also unpacks the assumed ‘unsafety’ of male
perpetrators and the gendered social norms that arguably
legitimate and underpin VAWG. As Phumzile Mlambo-Ngcuka
(Safe Cities Global Initiative 2013:2), UN Women Executive
Director, acknowledges in their 2010 Safe Cities Global
Initiative policy brief, ‘we have to work with communities to
change harmful social norms and attitudes, and social institutions
that discriminate and tolerate violence against women’.
13. ‘A gender-relational approach goes beyond focusing on women and girls only, to examine
the complex relationships between gender and other aspects of identity such as age, class,
sexuality, disability, religion, marital status and geography. It notes that gender identities
are constructed jointly by men, women, and sexual and gender minorities in relation to each
other’ (Myrttinen, Naujoks & El-Bushra 2014:5).
153
Unfortunately, despite paying rhetorical tribute to the

continuum of VAWG from private to public spaces, as wells as
the need to challenge harmful social norms, much discourse
around safer cities for women tends to focus on VAWG in the
public domain only. It foregrounds issues such as sexual
harassment in public, unsafe transport, bad lighting and the need
for better policing of public spaces. For example, despite what
was stated in the previous paragraph, UN Women also prioritises
the public sphere in their Safe Cities work, as noted by Morsy
(2012):
UNWOMEN will limit the understanding and scope of ‘Safe Cities Free
of Violence against Women’ to gender-based sexual harassment and
sexual violence against women and girls committed in urban public
spaces. (p. 156)
Global movements such as #MeToo have also shot to social

media prominence in 2017. The stories shared emphasise the
reality of sexual violence and harassment across the continuum
of homes, workspaces, schools, campuses, churches and
church-run social services. These movements have arguably
amplified the local voices of some women to mobilise shared
resistance and reclaim agency, highlighting that survivors come
in all shapes and should not just be reduced to one sensationalised
stereotype.
If the public–private binary is maintained rather than
deconstructed, well-intended prevention approaches may
focus predominantly on addressing only visible public
symptoms, reshaping infrastructure to ‘keep women safer’.
This allows an avoidance of the more complex task of tackling
the deeply rooted ideological underpinnings that shape social
norms and attitudes that lead men and boys to see women
and girls as legitimate targets and influence a lack of reporting
by and support for survivors. Arguably, cities will never be
safe for women unless these underlying harmful, gendered
social norms are challenged and transformed. Social attitudes
to women and girls are often formed and reiterated in
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so-called private spaces, which need to be tackled together in

ways that refuse the perpetuation of a simple public–private
divide on VAWG.
VAWG in urban spaces should also not be reduced merely to
physical abuse and harassment. Questions of structural economic
violence form embedded patterns of power that underpin this
violence, where women predominantly remain insecure tenants
within homes owned primarily by men. This arguably remains a
structural form of patriarchal control within households
themselves, based on a model of the male head of the household
that builds on public land-related ideas of men as the chief of the
land and king of the kingdom. Women live under the fear of
forced evictions and homelessness for them and their children if
they take a stand against violence by male partners, who are also
often the landlords within that space. Strategies of survival,
patriarchal bargaining and acceptance of violent practices within
the home are based on acceptance of these unequal power
relations. Chant (2013) notes that women’s lack of ownership or
entitlement (to land) and their fear of homelessness can
perpetuate domestic violence. She insists that ‘the more “private”
space of housing is an indispensable part of this picture’ (Chant
2013:23) and suggests that female ownership and tenure security
can play a major role in strengthening women’s positions within
the house.
Jarvis et al. (2009) suggest that, while many cities are
journeying towards becoming gender-just spaces, they have not
yet arrived and that a discriminatory social norms approach can
mobilise bystanders at all levels to take action to tackle pervasive
VAWG. They note that, while cities do not generate VAWG, they
can either heighten risk factors and/or create opportunities to
deal with it. This need for engaging discriminatory social norms
as a constructive strategy resonates with the themes raised by
South African urban participants earlier and their suggestion that
churches can and should play a role here. It is to this question
that the following section will turn.
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What’s Faith Got to Do with It?

What the previous sections show is how real and relevant the
safety and freedom of women is within our cities – in both public
and private spaces. Any attempt to transform urban spaces into
safer spaces of freedom will have to prioritise how multiple urban
spaces are experienced by women and girls, including schools,
churches, campuses, workplaces and homes, reflecting a
continuum of violent geographies. As discussed earlier,
transforming violent practices, both within and outside
households, requires deepened engagement with gendered
social norms around how people construct and value men and
women differently. This is arguably why religion and religious
communities, such as churches, are an essential player in
addressing VAWG, as they have been shown to impact people’s
social norms and to be a key driver of action and behaviour
within societies (Bartelink, Le Roux & Palm 2017).
South Africa also remains a deeply religious and hegemonically
Christian country. According to 2010 statistics by the Human
Sciences Research Council (Rule & Mncwango 2010:n.p.), over
80% of South Africans attend church regularly and 76% hold to
very strong Christian beliefs about God and Jesus as ‘the answer
to all the world’s problems’. Churches remain the most trusted
institution in both rural and urban settings for 83% of
South Africans today, a figure significantly above that of the trust
placed in the government, police, defence force, media or law
courts (Rule & Langa 2010). This space and the faith ideologies
within it therefore have the influence and potential to either
reinforce or disrupt harmful social norms around gender. Much as
progressive strands of religion played a role in reshaping public
narratives from monarchy to democracy, so they could also
support transformative gender constructs and help to reshape
ongoing social norms around the shared spaces of the household.
But this requires the amplification of what Hankela (2014:1) terms
‘liberational voices’ that insist on an intersectional paradigm that
‘destabilises dichotomies’ often still taken for granted, such as
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the public–private divide. In this way, gender could become a

more visible factor in the urban debate and can highlight ongoing
androcentric biases in its very framing.
However, religious communities have an ambivalent history in
relation to engaging issues of social justice, especially within the
South African context. Christian churches were instrumental in
upholding apartheid, but minority prophetic faith voices were
also key to opposing and dismantling its theological legitimations.
This is typical of what Villa-Vicencio (2014) calls the ‘split
personality’ of the church; while some churches and believers
prioritise social action, others avoid it and prioritise institutionalised
rituals, doctrinal purity and the status quo. This also appears to be
the case when responding to VAWG in the post-apartheid
dispensation. A number of theological voices called for gender
and sexuality to be public issues addressed prophetically as part
of post-apartheid church struggles (De Gruchy & De Gruchy
[1979] 2004; Maluleke & Nadar 2002; Pityana & Villa-Vicencio
1995), with a call by Albert Nolan for a reconstruction and
development programme for the family itself (Nolan 1995):
Families can be the very places where racism, sexism, patriarchy,
selfishness and greed are being passed on from one generation to
the next […] the church needs to start a movement to renew family
life as a place where the rights of women and the rights of children
are deeply respected. (p. 155)
Unfortunately, empirical research post-apartheid suggests that

most churches have, in the main, failed to respond to this ongoing
task to engage prophetically on these issues in an institutional
way. They remain trapped in a haze of ambivalence around human
rights issues that mitigate against coordinated practical action in
these new struggles (Van der Ven, Dreyer & Pieterse 2004).
South Africa has a long history of socio-religious reinforcement
of multiple hierarchical social orders and identities in relation to
colonisation, race and sexuality as well as gender. It should not be
underestimated how the dominance of religiously legitimated,
gendered constructs support and reiterate heteropatriarchy in
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ways that are conducive to normalising existing patterns of

gendered violence. Hierarchies of gender are still normalised and
reinforced in many religious spaces, particularly tied to the
spheres of home and family. This can be seen, for example, in the
Mighty Men and Worthy Women religious movements of Angus
Buchan, which endorse a problematic protectionist model with
the man seen as the God-ordained head of the household (Pillay
2015). An urban public theology here that seeks to disrupt elitist
sociospatial city patterns and offer full spatial liberation (De Beer
2017) must also refuse to be co-opted into a private–public binary
in ways that can normalise violent silences against women. In this
task, Letty Russell offers some alternative theological tools to
help liberate both the public and the private sphere from violence.
From ‘Houses of Bondage’ to

‘Households of Freedom’
Thus far, this chapter has argued that South African cities can
only become gender-just spaces if work is done on addressing
the harms suffered by women across the public–private
continuum. This has been shown to be particularly shaped by the
sociospatial history of South Africa. It has suggested that
churches can potentially be influential in promoting gender
justice within urban communities but that currently their role has
often remained harmful. Even within the emerging spaces of
urban public theology, this silence is noteworthy. In this
concluding section, some theological clues are offered that may
assist emerging urban public theology to deepen its gender
engagement and equip urban churches to be assets and not
liabilities on these issues of gender justice within cities.
Feminist theologian Letty Russell forms a recognised part of
the canon for urban public theology in South Africa today.14 Her
contribution, in line with many other feminist theologians, insists
14. Course outlines for tertiary programmes in this field, offered in both Pretoria and Cape
Town, reference her work as a core text (De Beer 2018).
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on taking experiences seriously as an authoritative source, and

she reminds us that our location and where we stand inevitably
shape how we both inhabit and see both our theological heritage
and our cities, within which so many of us are now located
(Russell 1987:29). In her 1987 book Household of Freedom, she
points to the danger of a theological reinforcement of what she
suggests is a false duality between the polis of the city state,
traditionally the arena of only free, white, propertied men, and
the oikos or household, seen as the arena of wives, children and
slaves (Russell 1987:25). She ties this androcentric pattern back
to ideas of authority of ‘founding fathers’ underpinning much of
Western civilisation (Russell 1987:25). This forms a patriarchal
paradigm in which both household and city become entangled,
often authorising monarchical domination in politics, culture and
household – reinforced down the centuries by many other
colonial powers seeking obedient subjects. Russell (1987:25) also
notes that Greek culture, while modelling a more democratic
polis, still held to a monarchical oikos (household) where the
master rules as the natural order of things. She suggests that the
biblical texts of the New Testament, especially the Pastoral
Epistles with their ‘household rules’, are greatly influenced by
both these models and that subsequent readers continue to be
shaped by them. She notes that these models of timeless
authority often remain rooted in the past, believing that an
orderly household always requires someone to be ‘in charge’
(Russell 1987):
[I]t is important to remember that all households are linked together
in God’s oikos or world house. The false dualism of the city polis
(of free men with property) and the household oikos (the arena of
women, children and slaves) ruled over by ‘free’ men that is found
in Greek society condemns the oikos to be a household of bondage,
a miniature replica of what was to become the larger household of
Caesar that spread across the Roman empire. It also leaves the polis
to be a false democracy based on oppression of the families and the
workforce of the society. (p. 25)
Instead she suggests that we must orient ideas of authority not

to the past but to the shared future, if authority is to be seen
159
differently in God’s world house. When authority is understood

as a top–down dictatorial patriarchal rule shaped by a kingdom
motif, then, just as Caesar rules the kingdom with an iron fist, so
the man rules his household. This model of authority creates
‘households of bondage’ (Russell 1987:26). She calls, instead, for
the reclaiming of an alternative scriptural tradition of the ‘open
house’ as a household where freedom dwells, as possible
alternative to this oppressive dualism. It begins with what she
terms a ‘biblical understanding of God’s householding (oikonomia)
of the whole earth’ (Russell 1987:26). Here God is reimagined as
a liberator in covenant partnership, rather than co-opted to
legitimate a sovereignty of dominating power (Russell 1987:26).
For Russell (1987:35), this requires a shift of our ‘household’
paradigms at all levels, from top–down authoritarian models of
power-over to partnership models of power-with. This theological
lens enables the exercise of authority in both public and private
realms to be seen as a participation in God’s householding and as
partnering activities for freedom and not for bondage. This
household of freedom foregrounds concrete human interactions
in all parts of society across the public–private continuum and
can offer ways to challenge the ongoing oppressive experiences
of households by placing freedom at its core. She reclaims a
tradition of covenant partnership between God and humans that
draws on Jubilee images of released captives and liberating
journeys, rather than on static hierarchies of domination and
subordination (Russell 1987:28).
Russell insists that God’s authority is always evoked on behalf
of the outcasts of the social household and not as a tool to
dominate. She ties this to the subversive vision of the New
Testament of the household of God where all genders live in
community with one another in shared power. For Russell
(1987:26), only if churches become places where these households
of freedom are experienced do they become a sign of God’s
oikos. Russell’s theological deconstruction of the authority
patterns historically present in both polis and household may
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offer ways to systematically navigate and contest the mobile

geographies of VAWG seen in post-apartheid South Africa.
Deepened engagement with this spatial metaphor may assist
urban churches to negate the false dualisms that prop up
patriarchy and offer a resource in their journey towards a
gender-just faith. De Beer (2008:192) points to the need for
urban theology to model the alternative community of the
household of God, as one that reflects greater spatial justice
and defensible life space. Russell’s gendered critique of
the hierarchical household offers a reminder that, if we are to
see the world as God’s household, we must ensure that we also
interrogate what sort of household is being imagined and who
benefits within that house. We suggest, drawing on Russell’s
metaphor, that our cities will never become households of
freedom within God’s wider world house of our shared planetary
space until actual concrete households are also reimagined
away from bondage towards free spaces. Russell notes that the
household is an ambiguously gendered space, often seen as
man’s castle (denoting kingly ownership) but also framed as a
feminine space within which women are expected to remain
and nurture life. By reimagining God as the good housekeeper
who seeks out and cares for forgotten persons within all houses,
she offers an alternative tradition, reinforced in sacred texts
(Russell 1987):
When our relationship to God is what matters ultimately, we can
dare to live in patterns other than those provided by the customs
and traditions of our own culture. Many of those traditions render
household an ambiguous term […] the patriarchal household
separate from public life but still constituted as ‘man’s castle’
[…] the household of God where the church of the fathers came
to replace the early egalitarian house church as the servant of
Constantine and Caesar’s household […] At the same time though,
the household […] is understood in every culture as place where
human life is to be nurtured […] if there were a household of
freedom, those who dwelt in it could find a way to nurture life
without paying the price of being locked into roles of permanent
domination and subordination. (p. 41)
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This theological insight is arguably in need of urgent application

to the contemporary South African context, where, despite its
new constitutional democracy, many of the social practices still
reiterate apartheid ideologies of intersectional hierarchy and can
reinforce rigorously policed ideas of ‘difference’ in the realm of
gender. When faith actors in South Africa use naturalised
theologies of domination and subordination shaped by imperial
patterns of thinking that underpin gendered patterns of
dominance and violence as God-ordained, they remain complicit.
Russell (1987:72) challenges the prevalent idea that authority has
to be dominating and offers a new paradigm of shared authority
whereby the place we call home reflects a new quality of
relationship between men and women (Russell 1987):
[T ]his new house of authority belongs to God, the housekeeper of all
creation. Against the old house of patriarchal bondage, God stands
as the one who suffers the cost of sin and domination and rebuilds
creation itself through the work of Jesus Christ. (p. 72)
For Russell, we are all invited to join as partners in the work of

cleansing the Temple as the house of God, becoming house
revolutionaries to rebuild creation as a house of freedom and a
place that all of us may one day call home. This sociospatial vision
of a house of freedom for all resonates with the early liberational
tradition of African National Congress founder Pixley ka Seme,
when he told South Africans in 1911 that ‘we are all children of one
household and we must learn to live together’ (cited in Asmal,
Chidester & Lubisi 2005:34).
Russell offers a reminder that our metaphors matter.
Believing you live ‘in the master’s house’ creates a very different
image to being on the liberating journey towards a new home
of gendered freedom. She notes that, if households are to
sustain life at all levels, on this journey towards freedom we
must all participate in the shared task of home-building.
Churches are called to choose between the radical vision of a
home of a discipleship of equals, or of a reinforcement of the
hierarchical household rules that require obedience from slaves
to masters and women to men.
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In light of the gendered cycles of violence that are a deep

concern in South Africa (Davies & Dreyer 2014:5), Russell’s (1992)
later reflection on the city as a battered woman must also haunt
us. She insists here that churches must show concrete acts of
solidarity with all who struggle to break the chains of these cycles
of violence against women in all spaces (Russell 1992:154).
Women’s screams, she suggests, are an essential part of the cries
of all those who remain oppressed and reflect the voice of the
Spirit, which needs to be given voice (Russell 1992:154). This
reclaims the theological idea of the Holy Spirit as an advocate for
justice, taking to the streets to hammer out a new message of
hope, not only for our public streets but also for the private
hidden alleys of women’s lives, where they are often seen as
second-rate occupants or insecure tenants even in their homes,
where they are not often legally named as the owner. In the
South African context, the ever-shifting geographies of violence
mean that much violence against women still takes place in the
hidden corners of the city where their voices are stifled, silenced
or go unheard.
Conclusion
If our cities are to be spatially transformed into ‘households of
freedom’ within a South Africa that nurtures cities as safe homes
for all women who live here, then the actual homes within those
cities also need to be radically transformed as places of
shared structural power that are free from gendered violence
and its theological underpinnings. Urban public theologies in
South Africa need to avoid reinforcing a false dualism of the
public–private binary on which myths of stranger rape and dark
alleyways flourish, to be resolved merely by increased policing,
women taxi drivers and better street lighting. The most dangerous
alleyway for many women remains the one in the household
where they are often insecure tenants. The man who makes them
want to scream in fear is unlikely to be a stranger and more likely
to be someone they know and are even financially dependent on.
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If churches do not find ways to talk about these streets and these
men, they will remain unable to respond to or address the
violences that women and girls experience on a daily basis.
Churches exist in almost every urban street in South Africa.
As the survivors in our earlier study and those speaking out today
remind us, their influence around gender constructs reaches into
families and homes, sacramentalising marriages, births and child-
rearing patterns, with pastors the first point of call for ethical
guidance. They can be important role players in the journey
towards gender-just homes, communities and cities as concrete
households of freedom. Alternatively, they can continue to
maintain the master’s house. The same is true for urban public
theology.
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Churches, Urban
Geographies and
Contested Immigration
in the United States
R. Drew Smith15
Professor of Urban Ministry
Pittsburgh Theological Seminary
Introduction
The portion of the US population residing in urban areas has
increased noticeably during the last 100 years, expanding from
46% of the US population in 1910 to almost 81% by 2010
(US Census Bureau 2000, 2010). These urban populations tend
to be younger, poorer, less frequently married, more frequently
How to cite: Smith, R.D., 2018, ‘Churches, Urban Geographies, and Contested Immigration
in the United States’, in S. de Beer (ed.), Just Faith: Glocal Responses to Planetary
Urbanisation (HTS Religion & Society Series Volume 3), pp. 165–188, AOSIS, Cape Town.
https://doi.org/10.4102/aosis.2018.BK87.06 15
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Churches, Urban Geographies and Contested Immigration in the United States
college educated and significantly more racially and ethnically

diverse than rural populations. It is also in urban contexts where
the vast majority of new immigrants to the US reside, with 85%
of immigrants residing in the 100 largest metropolitan areas in
2010 (the top five areas being New York, Los Angeles, Miami,
Chicago and Houston) (Singer 2011). The immigrant population in
the US is substantial in fact, numbering almost 44 million in 2016,
or approximately 13% of the US general population (as compared
with 10.3 million in 1900, which was also 13% of the population at
the time). The US’s immigrant population includes an estimated
11.5 million undocumented immigrants, 81% of which resided in 171
largely urban counties numbering 10 000 or more undocumented
immigrants per county (Zon, Batalova & Hallock 2018).
Many coastal cities and several large metropolises within the
US interior have served as major immigrant gateways for more
than a century, including New York, Boston, Philadelphia and
San Francisco (on the US coasts) and Chicago, Cleveland,
Cincinnati and St. Louis (in the US interior). The immigrant influxes
that established these cities as major immigrant hubs during the
1800s and early 1900s came mainly from Global North contexts
(and from Asia). Although some of the ethnic groups that came
to the US through these earlier waves of immigration faced
challenges to their integration and acceptance within the US
(especially immigrants coming from Asian countries and southern
Europe), American ethnic prejudices proved less intractable than
the racial prejudices that would confront the latter-20th-century
immigration waves of brown and black peoples coming from the
Global South (including from southern Asia).
The challenges to newly arriving black and brown Global South
immigrants have been most evident and pronounced in more
newly targeted immigrant destinations in the south-eastern and
Midwestern US – places such as Atlanta, Georgia; Charlotte,
North Carolina; and Indianapolis, Indiana (to name a few). As large
numbers of black and brown immigrants have settled in cities and
towns previously unaccustomed to large Global South populations,
bringing with them distinctive social worlds and collective claims
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on economic and social opportunity, their presence within these

contexts has been met oftentimes with resistance. These new
‘immigrant gateway cities’ and the states (and subregions) in
which they are located have become ground zero for some of the
fiercest contestations within the US over immigrant rights.
The chapter here examines racialised US thought and practice
specific to immigration and citizenship, especially as operative
within south-eastern and Midwestern immigrant gateway
contexts. The analysis explores tensions related to race and
socio-economic life within these contexts, as well as the role of
religious and political leaders in either fostering or dispelling
these antagonisms, often directed at newly arriving immigrants.
The analysis concludes with theological affirmations of inclusivity
towards immigrants from US Catholic and Protestant leaders.
Linkages Between Immigration

Policy and Social Opportunity in
Gateway Contexts
Global South immigrants in recent decades have begun settling
in various US cities and regions not previously viewed by their
respective countrymen and countrywomen as favoured US
destinations. South-eastern and Midwestern contexts where
ethnicities and national origin distinctions had long since been
collapsed into flattened versions of American whiteness and
blackness were not perceived previously by many Global South
immigrants as places hospitable to their cultures and concerns.
But with increasing Global South immigrant numbers in the
decades after the US’s liberalising 1965 immigration reforms, and
with an expanding commitment to multiculturalism in the
decades after the mid-20th century civil rights and identity
politics uprisings, new geographies for immigrant settlement
became real possibilities.
By the latter 20th century, new concentrations of Global
South immigrants were discernible in states such as Indiana,
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North Carolina and Georgia. Between the years 2000 and 2010,
the population of foreign-born persons from Africa grew from
7308 to 18 959 in Indiana (a 159% increase), from 20 369 to
48 472 in North Carolina (a 138% increase) and from 40 423 to
74 556 in Georgia (an 84% increase). During that same time
period, the population of foreign-born persons from Latin
America grew from 77 457 to 143 142 in Indiana (an 84% increase),
from 239 853 to 413 888 in North Carolina (a 72% increase)
and from 300 357 to 515 382 in Georgia (a 71% increase)
(Federation for American Immigration Reform 2017). Many of
these new immigrants resided in the states’ major cities, including
Indianapolis, Charlotte and Atlanta. Metropolitan Atlanta, in fact,
had the fifth highest percentage increase among the nation’s
largest metro areas between 2000 and 2010 in foreign-born
residents. Its overall increase was from 10% to 13.5%.
The increasing numbers of Global South immigrants in these
new gateway contexts were accompanied by a noticeable
pushback by local citizens against the racial, cultural and
sometimes religious diversifications brought about through the
presence of persons often regarded as ‘social others’. Although
Global South immigrants with demonstrated professional skill
sets have found greater acceptance within the contexts into
which they have emigrated, Global South immigrants (especially,
but not exclusively, undocumented immigrants) have tended to
be regarded by their host communities less as social contributors
than as fiscal burdens, cultural threats and economic competitors.
This was especially true among the predominantly working-
class to lower-middle class native-born American populations
comprising Midwestern and south-eastern Bible-Belt states such
as Indiana, North Carolina and Georgia.
Perceptions of immigrants often do not match the cost–
benefit realities with respect to new immigrant social impact
within these contexts. For example, Indiana’s immigrant
population (whether legal or undocumented) was estimated in
2014 to have earned $8.1 billion, on which they paid $702 million
in state and local taxes and $1.6bn in federal taxes. Rather than
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focusing on economic contributions by new immigrants, the

Republican-controlled Indiana State Senate issued a report
criticising $131m per year in estimated state spending on services
to immigrants, including education spending (which itself
contributed to a more well-trained work force) (Wang 2016).
In North Carolina, a 2014 report showed 7.9% of businesses in the
state were owned by immigrants, including almost 33% of
Charlotte’s ‘main street’ businesses. North Carolina’s Asian-
owned and Latino-owned businesses alone accounted in 2012
for $13.5bn in sales and 79 000 employees, and the state’s Latino
population paid a total of $2.5bn in federal, state and local taxes
in 2013 (Fyler 2016). A 2014 report from the Federation for
American Immigration Reform pointed out, however, that the
cost to North Carolina for services to undocumented immigrants
is about $2bn per year (about half of which was for K–12
education), while state taxes collected from undocumented
immigrants only amounted to about $288m per year. Although
suggesting the fiscal burden to the state would be lessened if
undocumented immigrants gained legal status, the report
concluded the ‘only sure way to reduce the fiscal burden from
illegal aliens is to reduce the size of that population’ (Martin
2014).
Although there are many practical considerations that must
be taken into account in public responses to new immigrants,
responses have often been dominated by an ‘immigrants-as-
threat’ trope. Although this emphasis is in no way unique to
new gateway contexts, such characterisations of immigrant
populations have gained in intensity with expanding numbers
of undocumented immigrants crossing into the US primarily
from Mexico and Central America and a growing resistance to
Muslim immigrants brought about by concerns over terrorism.
Long before these more newly contested populations were
the focus of anti-immigrant attention, however, US citizenship
status and benefits were being hotly contested and conferred in
a discriminatory manner to a succession of new waves of
immigrants – dating back to at least the late 1700s. During the
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initial decades of the US republic through at least the 1830s, only

propertied white males could be classified as rightful US citizens,
given that they alone possessed the right to vote. Native
Americans were formally denied US citizenship prior to the 1924
Indian Citizenship Act, except occasionally in exchange for land.
Although African Americans were not technically excluded from
citizenship by the Constitution, black slaves were designated as
three-fifths of a person, and free black people could rely on few
constitutional rights prior to the civil war. Black people were
officially excluded from citizenship when the US Supreme Court
ruled in the 1857 Dred Scott case that black people (whether
slave or free) could not be considered US citizens because they
were not part of the ‘sovereign people’ to whom the Constitution
was intended to apply. The long and tortuous path to formally
consolidating black citizenship required a civil war and the 13th
Amendment to the Constitution freeing black people from
slavery, along with the 14th Amendment, which formally
established that (Legal Information Institute n.d.:n.p.) ‘[a]ll
persons born or naturalized in the United States, and subject to
the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of
the state wherein they reside’.
This constitutional stipulation, commonly referred to as

‘birthright citizenship’, has met with numerous challenges over the
years and continues to be fiercely debated. On one side (and with
undocumented immigrants as primary target), there has been
strong opposition to benefits accruing to undocumented
immigrants in the form of employment, publicly supported
healthcare and educational provisions, and citizenship status
conferred upon children born within the US to parents who are not
legal citizens. Persons on this side of the debate have advocated
stricter border enforcement as well as the denial of public benefits,
employment opportunities and citizenship possibilities (including
birthright ‘loopholes’) to persons residing in the country without
proper documentation. Some on this side of the debate have called
also for mass deportation of persons who lack legal citizenship
status. On the other side of the debate have been persons who
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have resisted these strict approaches and have promoted policy

measures instead that would safeguard human rights and humane
treatment for undocumented immigrants, including possibilities
for amnesty and pathways to citizenship.
While these debates receive national attention, in recent
decades they have tended to be fought out at local and state
levels. Some states have become representative of a pro-
immigrant rights position (such as California and Illinois) and
some an anti-immigrant rights position (Arizona and Alabama).
California and Illinois, for example, are among a half dozen or so
states formally designating themselves as ‘sanctuary’ states for
immigrants (meaning they refuse to cooperate with federal
attempts to apprehend and deport undocumented immigrants).
At the opposite end, Arizona (2008–2010) and Alabama (in 2011)
passed the most restrictive statewide laws in the country on
immigrants, with stipulations that included verification by
businesses of employee immigration status; police permission to
inquire into immigration status of persons during police stops
about whom there may be ‘reasonable suspicions’ as to their
status; forbidding of landlords from renting to undocumented
immigrants and employers from hiring undocumented immigrants;
requirements that public elementary, middle and high schools
annually tally and report students with undocumented status;
and the blocking of state services and benefits such as welfare
support and in-state tertiary school tuition.
Georgia and Indiana are also among the handful of states that
bar undocumented immigrants from receiving in-state college
tuition rates and that authorise police to question persons about
their immigration status. Along with Ohio and North Carolina, they
are among 26 states as well that opposed executive actions during
Barack Obama’s presidency that would have provided work
permits and protections from deportation for roughly 4 million
undocumented immigrants (Park 2015). Similarly, in a state-by-
state assessment by the University of California Global Health
Institute of social policies bearing upon undocumented immigrants,
Ohio, Indiana, Georgia and North Carolina were classified at or
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near the bottom among states with respect to nine indices of

social support for these persons:
1. child health insurance and prenatal care
2. supplemental nutrition programmes
3. in-state tuition
4. scholarships and financial aid
5. workers’ compensation laws
6. employee work authorisation
7. driver licensing
8. opposition to federal restrictions on states that grant driver’s
licences to undocumented immigrants
9. collaborations between immigration officials and local law
enforcement agencies.
The study assessed whether state approaches along each of

these indices had an inclusive or exclusive impact on
undocumented immigrants, assigning a +1 for inclusive
approaches and a –1 for exclusive approaches. Georgia and North
Carolina scored –5, Indiana scored –6 and Ohio scored –7
(designating it as the most exclusive state on these matters)
(Rodriguez, Young, and Wallace 2015).
Nevertheless, in the same manner that certain states have defied
federal crackdowns on undocumented immigrants, some cities
within immigrant restrictive states have resisted state-level anti-
immigrant policies. For example, in contrast to North Carolina’s
anti-immigrant climate at the state level (including its ban on
‘sanctuary’ policies), the city of Charlotte in 2013 was one of a few
(and one of the first) North Carolina cities to declare itself a
‘welcoming city’ for immigrants. By designating itself a ‘welcoming
city’, this promoted (among other things) immigrant
entrepreneurship, citizenship and increased cooperation between
law enforcement and immigrant communities (Fyler 2016). In 2015,
the city council’s immigrant integration task force proposed the
issuing of municipal identity cards to undocumented immigrants
that would provide them with proof of identity and allow them to
utilise public library services and pay for public transportation. The
proposal was widely opposed at the state level (Glum 2015).
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The state of Indiana has also taken a hard-line approach on

immigration matters. In 2015, Mike Pence, who was then the Indiana
governor, refused to resettle Syrian refugees fleeing violence in
their home country. After the 2016 election of Donald Trump as US
president and Pence as vice president, immigrant influxes into
Indiana (and other states) was further slowed by the Trump–Pence
administration’s refusal to process new refugee applications,
resulting in a precipitous drop in the number of refugees being
resettled across Indiana, including in Indianapolis (McCoy 2017).
Resistance to these anti-immigrant trends within Indiana sprang up
from (among other places) Indiana business leaders, heavily
concentrated within the state capital, Indianapolis (Wang 2016).
It is important to point out that local resistance to state and
federal anti-immigrant policies was driven in many of these Bible-
Belt south-eastern and Midwestern contexts by local faith
communities. In fact, battles over immigrant policies have been
just as contentious (if not more so) within faith communities as
they have been within the public sector. Religious contestations
over immigration issues at both the local and national levels are
outlined in the following.
Religious Contestation Over

Immigration
America’s vacillations between an open, inclusive context and
insular, exclusive context have been long-standing and oftentimes
have fed off religious concerns. From its early years as a pilgrim
refuge from religious persecution and its subsequent decades as
a place of ‘white’ Christian freedom to its mid-20th century
immigration reforms that reduced exclusionary barriers towards
persons from diverse ethnicities and non-Christian faith traditions,
conceptions of ‘who America is intended for’ and ‘who America
is obligated to’ have been rooted strongly in religious sensibilities.
America’s religion-derived intolerances towards new
immigrant populations (which stand in flagrant contradiction to
the nation’s historical rooting in external population influxes and
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pursuits of religious freedom) have been both long-standing and

readily invoked. In the early American colonies, Puritans erected
religious and political barriers to coexistence with their fellow
immigrants aligned with other traditions, such as Presbyterians,
Anglicans, Methodists, Baptists, Quakers or Mennonites. The
presence of these traditions within Puritan New England was
largely dissuaded, and these traditions became concentrated to
the south of New England in the mid-Atlantic territories (New
York, Pennsylvania and New Jersey) or further south in Maryland
and Virginia.
Intolerances between Protestant traditions, however, paled in
comparison to intolerances to influxes of Catholics by the late
1700s (especially from southern Europe). Even prominent
‘progressive’ clergymen – such as Lyman Beecher and
distinguished 19th-century Presbyterian minister, seminary
president and father of renowned anti-slavery author Harriet
Beecher Stowe – inveighed against Catholics, declaring their
traditions ‘averse to liberty’ and their religious leaders ‘dependent
on foreigners opposed to the principles of our government’.
Underscoring the perceived urgency of the matter, Beecher
(1835) stated:
[I]t should appear that three-fourths of the foreign emigrants whose
accumulating tide is rolling in upon us, are, through the medium
of their religion and priesthood, as entirely accessible to [foreign]
potentates […] as if they were an army of soldiers, enlisted and
officered, and spreading over the land. (p. 56)
On 22 September 2015, almost two centuries removed from

Beecher’s Catholic forebodings, Pope Francis’s arrival in the US
for an official papal visit was greeted with an outpouring of
enthusiasm, including from President Obama, the Congress and
hundreds of thousands of American spectators within the cities
he visited. Ironically, 2 days prior to Pope Francis’ arrival in the
US, Republican presidential candidate and influential evangelical
lay leader Ben Carson made a statement on network television
reminiscent of Beecher’s trepidations about presumed
encroachments of immigrant religious influence. Carson remarked
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on National Broadcasting Company’s (NBC) Meet the Press:

‘I would not advocate that we put a Muslim in charge of this
nation. I absolutely would not agree with that’ (Carson 2015a).
The following day, Carson posted a follow-up statement on his
Facebook page that attempted to clarify and disaggregate what
even several of his allies regarded as a sweeping condemnation
of Muslims: ‘I could never support a candidate for President of the
United States that was Muslim and had not renounced the central
tenant of Islam: sharia law’ (Carson 2015b). In that one short
September 2015 week, there was high-profile evidence of two
centuries of progress in American appreciation for Catholicism
but, at the same time, clear indicators of American retrogression
into a long history of nativism that has now identified Muslims as
the group intruding upon the US’s ‘Western’ Christian space.
Carson’s anti-Muslim statements pandered to pronounced
anti-Muslim sentiment that has become strongly correlated with
evangelicals and with US conservatives more widely. A 2014
Zogby poll showed 63% of conservatives viewed Muslims
unfavourably, as compared with 33% of Democrats and 39% of
Independents (Zogby 2014). Similarly, a 2014 Pew Forum survey
that asked Americans about their feelings towards Muslims (with
0 representing the negative end of the scale and 100 representing
the positive end), the average rating from the general population
was 40, with an average rating of 30 among white evangelicals
(Pew Forum 2014a).
As the data suggest, there is a receptive American audience
for nativist and xenophobic messages – and Carson is not the
only prominent US evangelical leader recently preaching to that
congregation. A series of diatribes by North Carolina–based Rev.
Franklin Graham (son of renowned and recently deceased
evangelist Billy Graham) have been incendiary in their assessments
of Muslims. Graham has referred to Islam as a ‘very wicked and
evil religion’ and as ‘a religion of war’ and has branded Muslims as
persons who ‘hate Israel and […] hate Christians’. Graham says
‘this isn’t just radical Islam – this is Islam, and a “storm is coming”
to America in the form of acts of Islamic terror’ (Chapman 2015).
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Moreover, Graham posted a statement on his Facebook page

in July 2015 that addressed the issue of Muslim immigration to
the US. ‘We should stop all immigration of Muslims to the U.S.
until this threat with Islam has been settled’, said Graham (2015):
Every Muslim who comes into this country has the potential to be
radicalised – and they do their killing to honor their religion and
Muhammad […] During World War 2, we didn’t allow Japanese
to immigrate to America, nor did we allow Germans. Why are we
allowing Muslims now? (n.p.)
Although his July comments were condemned by a number of

evangelical leaders (LeClaire 2015), the post received more than
167 000 likes, and it was reposted by at least 57 000 Facebook
users.
There have also been African-American clergy vocally
opposed to the influx of undocumented immigrants into the US,
while expressing varying degrees of sympathy with the plight of
these immigrants. Clergy affiliated with groups such as the Black
American Leadership Alliance (BALA) or its predecessor groups
the African American Leadership Council (AALC) and Choose
Black America have been resistant to the presence of
undocumented immigrants and to policies or perspectives that
might encourage them to remain in the US – including US Senate
Bill 744, which contained amnesty provisions for undocumented
immigrants. At a 2013 press conference at the National Press
Club, several clergymen with the AALC suggested correlations
between the growing presence of undocumented workers in the
US and declining employment among African-American
labourers. For example, remarks by William Owens, who also
heads a group called the ‘Coalition of African American Pastors’,
cited concerns raised at one time or another by A. Phillip
Randolph, Congresswoman Barbara Jordan and Coretta Scott
King about potential economic downsides to large-scale
immigration to the US. Jesse Lee Peterson, a Los Angeles minister
and activist also speaking at the press conference, moved from
the more general implications by the past leaders cited by Owens
to a more specific narrative about conflict between black people
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and undocumented Latinos in Los Angeles, which led him to

conclude the following (African American Leadership Council
2013):
We are calling on the Congressional Black Caucus, President Obama,
and others to not support amnesty [for undocumented immigrants].
The last thing we need in our country right now is another amnesty.
We need to shut the borders down, keep these illegals out, so we can
bring black Americans up to standards so they can earn their way,
they can take care of their families, and not rely on the government
or someone else to do it for them. […] We need to think of black
Americans, the citizens of this great nation […] and the lack of
opportunities they have. (n.p.)
Despite efforts by the AALC to tie its perspectives to broader

black leadership traditions or constituencies, these efforts
received seemingly scant and fleeting attention from what was
mainly a handful of media sources.
By July 2013, AALC activists followed up their April press
conference with a March for Jobs, organised under the auspices
of their successor organisation, BALA. The march brought
together roughly 1000 activists (most of whom were white) who
were opposed to Senate Bill 744 and to what were perceived as
concessions within the bill to undocumented immigrants – with
speakers at the march including Senator Ted Cruz (Texas),
Senator Jeff Session (Alabama), Rep. Steve King (Iowa), former
Florida congressman Allen West and 2012 Republican presidential
candidate Herman Cain. In the run-up to the march, BALA
founder and former Department of Justice immigration lawyer
Leah Durant played up the significance of the upcoming march
in these terms (Lee 2013):
Our opponents are fearful that the fight against illegal immigration,
which has traditionally been considered part of a conservative
agenda, is now attracting the broad support of everyday Americans –
blacks and whites, religious and non-religious, Democrats and
Republicans, men and women who run the gamut from progressive
to conservative. (p. 1)
Durant’s characterisation of expansive support for the march’s

anti-immigrant, anti-amnesty agenda was clearly not borne out
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by the march’s attendance, nor could it begin to compare with

the broad-based gathering of hundreds of thousands of persons
on the Washington Mall a few months later commemorating the
50th anniversary of the social justice-oriented 1963 March on
Washington for Jobs and Freedom.
Actually, US public opinion along racial lines about immigration
matters is more complex than may be suggested by the outsized
voice and visibility of either conservative or liberal immigration
pundits. Multi-year polling data from Gallup show black people
and white people to have similar opinion profiles on several
measures of support for immigrants. For example, 72% of white
people and 70% of black people in 2015 viewed the flow of
immigrants to the US as a ‘good thing’, and 87% of white people
and 89% of black people favoured allowing undocumented
immigrants residing in the country to acquire citizenship if they
met certain conditions. The Gallup data also showed, however,
that 85% of white people and 84% of black people favoured
increasing security at the US border, and 88% of white people
and 82% of black people favoured requiring employers to check
the immigration status of their workers. Meanwhile, Latino
responses on these questions placed a somewhat stronger
emphasis on approaches that facilitated social opportunities for
immigrants coming to the US in search of a better life. Eighty-
one per cent viewed current immigration to the US as a good
thing, 92% favoured citizenship for undocumented immigrants
who are in the US and a noticeably lower percentage than black
people and white people supported increased border security
(74%) and immigration status verification of workers (65%)
(Gallup 2015).
At the level of religious leadership, although at least a segment
of black religious leaders has favoured a harsher approach to
undocumented immigrants within the US, they have faced an
uphill battle in gaining substantial African-American support for
an anti-immigrant platform. Actually, black clergy have been
more discernibly vocal in support of immigration reform. Clergy
within the Progressive National Baptist Convention (PNBC),
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which is one of the more liberal historic black denominations,

have spoken out in favour of a generous approach to
undocumented immigrants. Speaking in 2013 about the
denomination’s perspectives on immigration reform, PNBC
president Carroll A. Baltimore, Sr. stated (Faith in Public Life
2013):
What I hear from people in the pews is that no one should be
trapped in second-class status, regardless of race or where you
were born. Now is the time to build a road to citizenship for
aspiring Americans. (p. 1)
In 2014, a New York City coalition of mostly nondenominational

black clergy partnered with the Black Institute and the Black
Alliance for Just Immigration to mobilise support for legislation
to provide undocumented immigrants in New York City with
state driver’s licences and municipal identification cards that
would make them less susceptible to harassment by police and
more likely to gain employment (Blackstar News 2014). Black
clergy have also been key participants in immigration reform
rallies in major US cities, including 2015 mobilisations in
Washington, D.C., and San Francisco. One of the leaders involved
in the San Francisco rally, Rev. Brian Woodson of the Bay Area
Christian Connection, articulated his own and others’ objectives
(KNTV-NBC News 2010):
We who work for a living simply want to be able to live off of our work,
and we don’t want to have to die in the fields. That’s an old American
story that should not be repeated among any ethnicity. (p. 1)
Clergy have mobilised locally in support of immigrants in other

cities as well, including Midwestern cities such as Indianapolis
and south-eastern cities such as Charlotte and Atlanta.
Indianapolis clergy, for example, have organised protests in
response to President Trump’s efforts to terminate the Deferred
Action for Childhood Arrivals programme, a programme
established in 2012 through executive order by Barack Obama
that prevents certain persons who entered the US illegally as
minors from being immediately deported. In March 2018, a crowd
of protesters led by an interfaith group called Faith in Indiana
179
gathered outside the Indianapolis offices of Indiana’s two US

Senators, calling for congressional action to prevent deportations
of undocumented minors and the deportations of undocumented
parents of immigrant children born in the US as legal citizens.
Protesters marched through downtown streets, blocking traffic
and singing songs such as ‘We Shall Overcome’, with dozens of
the protesters arrested by local police (McGill 2018).
Clergy advocacy in Charlotte on behalf of immigrants has
been even more widespread. Clergy leaders connected with a
local interfaith organisation called Mecklenburg Ministries have
facilitated ecumenical workshops to encourage Charlotte-area
congregations to be hospitable to newly arriving immigrants,
mainly through social service outreach programmes and culturally
sensitive religious programming internal to congregations
(Deaton 2008). Denominations such as the Presbyterian Church
in the US, the United Methodist Church and the Roman Catholic
Church have also pushed beyond social services to policy
advocacy in support of immigrants, whether acting unilaterally
through their denominational channels or in partnership with one
or more denominations (Bishop 2009). These local Charlotte-
area church actions are sometimes connected to state-level
church advocacy, especially through the North Carolina Religious
Coalition for Justice for Immigrants. This coalition facilitates an
annual statewide clergy breakfast where immigration matters
receive attention, and they have also produced an official
statement ‘in response to rising anti-immigrant rhetoric and
sentiment’, which has been formally endorsed by nearly 400
clergypersons and 1000 laypersons across the state. The
statement reads, in part (Belle 2014; NC Religious Coalition for
Justice for Immigrants 2014):
We deplore any governmental action which unduly emphasizes
enforcement as the primary response to immigrants entering this
country or which criminalizes persons providing humanitarian
assistance to migrants. We encourage the state and local
governments of North Carolina to provide for fair treatment and
protection of our state’s immigrant population, including access to
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education and mobility. In addition, we are troubled and grieved by

the separation of families and other forms of suffering that continue
to take place as a result of immigration raids. (n.p.)
In Atlanta, there has been strong faith-based advocacy in support

of new immigrants, including from the Catholic Archdiocese, the
Concerned Black Clergy association and several interfaith groups
such as Faith Alliance of Metro Atlanta, Interfaith Community
Initiatives and Neshama Interfaith Center. The Catholic
Archdiocese formed an immigration task force in 2013 tasked
with helping Catholic congregations prepare for what was
expected to be large influxes locally of new immigrants as a
result of anticipated immigration reform (Nelson 2013). While
the Catholic Archdiocese has brought a strong focus on Latinx
immigrants, the Concerned Black Clergy has lifted up the plight
of new immigrants from the Caribbean and Africa. In 2010, for
example, a group of black clergymen protested outside Atlanta’s
Immigration and Custom Enforcement office, denouncing the
nation’s treatment of undocumented immigrants, especially
Haitians at the time, and calling on Barack Obama to move
towards enacting immigration reforms promised during his
election campaign (Schram 2010). After the election of Donald
Trump and his anti-immigrant policy moves, Atlanta’s interfaith
leaders have emerged as especially active in challenging these
policies, issuing a statement in response to his executive order
on immigration. Among other demands, the statement by the
interfaith leaders stated the following (Jean-Louis 2017):
We call on President Trump to rescind this abhorrent and
unconstitutional executive order. Every member of Congress must
denounce its provisions, including the imposition of a religious test
for entry, and urge its immediate withdrawal. Every American citizen
must take every possible action to oppose this violation of the USA’s
values. (p. 1)
These local-level acts of religious resistance to the US’s landscape

of anti-immigrant policies and sentiments are foundational to
achieving broader, macro level immigration reforms within the
country. These broader reforms will require not only systematic
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and strategic political activism but also a systematic articulation

of a normative vision of community rooted in political and
religious instincts at the heart of more universal conceptions of
humanity.
Towards a Public Theology of Global

Community Inclusivity
American conceptions of national community have reflected
quite strong exclusivist tendencies, but an equally strong (if not
stronger) inclusive trajectory has existed as well. In fact, the
‘mainstream’ of American thought since the mid-20th century
(at least within American leadership sectors) has leaned
noticeably towards conceptions of human community, permitting
a more permeable sense of cultural boundaries. Community
inclusiveness with respect to culture achieved explicit expression
in the form of the promotion of multiculturalism beginning at
least in the mid-20th century. Emanating from the academic
sector, this movement to embrace cultural diversity and
difference within the US spread into many other sectors as
well, including the employment, entertainment, political
and (eventually) religious sectors.
With changes to the cultural and demographic landscape
pressing in from all directions by the mid-1960s, and with religious
hegemony within the US of Judeo-Christian traditions becoming
a less taken-for-granted feature of that American landscape,
American faith leaders increasingly noted and weighed in on
these changes. African-American religious leaders perhaps more
than any other group of US religious leaders pointed to the
potential importance for the US of diverse global faith traditions.
African-American clergy such as Howard Thurman, Benjamin
E. Mays and Martin Luther King, Jr. travelled to India during the
early to mid-20th century to engage with Hindu leaders, including
Mahatma Gandhi, with their subsequent leadership within mid-
20th century pursuits of civil rights and human rights in the US
reflecting the influence of Gandhian and Hindu thinking, especially
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related to non-violent resistance. Mid-20th century black religious

leaders also played a key role in bringing greater public attention
to the emerging influence of Islam within the US, especially via
the high-profile activism of Nation of Islam leader Malcolm X and
the very public conversions to Islam of prominent athletes such
as world heavyweight boxing champion Muhammad Ali (formerly
Cassius Clay) and Hall of Fame basketball star Kareem Abdul-
Jabbar (formerly Lew Alcindor).
King stands out also for public commentary that outlined a
religiously diverse, globally connected vision for America.
King (1967b) stated in a 1967 publication that:
We have inherited a large house, a great ‘world house’ in which we
have to live together – black and white, Easterner and Westerner,
Gentile and Jew, Catholic and Protestant, Muslim and Hindu – a
family unduly separated in ideas, culture, and interests, who, because
we can never again live apart, must learn somehow to live with each
other in peace. (p. 177)
In a speech given that same year that provided the most extensive
assessment of the US’s role in the world, King again challenged
Americans (and specifically the US government) to renounce the
cultural, political and religious arrogance animating its approach
to international affairs. King (1967a) remarked:
I cannot forget that the Nobel Prize for Peace was also a commission
[…] that takes me beyond national allegiances [and beyond] the
calling of race or nation or creed. (p. 8)
King in this speech called America instead to ‘a world-wide

fellowship’ based upon ‘unconditional love’ for all people, which
he viewed as ‘that force which all of the great religions have seen
as the supreme unifying principle of life’ (King 1967a:8).
In the half-century since King and other mid-20th century
champions of religious and cultural inclusiveness provided
their strategic inputs towards a multicultural, cross-
cultural repositioning of American life, a hospitality towards
religious and sociocultural outsiders has become more
apparent on the part of American faith leaders across the
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spectrum of faith traditions (including across the spectrum

of American Christianity). Indicators of this can be derived
through general population data from sources such as the
2014 US Religious Landscape Survey. These data show several
trends suggestive of greater American openness to non-
Christian faiths, including an increase in Christians married to
spouses from other faiths (3% before 1960 vs. 6% in 2014), and
70% of Americans affiliated with a religion or denomination
said they agreed that ‘many religions can lead to eternal life’
(Pew Forum 2014b). Moreover, general population data from
the 2014 Zogby survey cited earlier on American attitudes
towards non-Christian faith groups indicated 51% of Americans
had a favourable view of Buddhists and 44% had a favourable
view of Hindus. This was not dramatically different from the
percentage of Americans with a favourable view of Catholics
(58%) or of Presbyterians (60%) (Zogby 2014).
While faith leaders’ perspectives are captured no doubt in
these recent data, a more direct indication of their contemporary
perspectives has come in the form of seemingly well-received
public statements by high-profile leaders on religious and cultural
pluralism. For example, during Pope Francis’ September 2015
visit to the US, he challenged Catholic Bishops in one of his
speeches to lead the way in receptivity to immigrants. ‘From the
beginning’, Pope Francis said (in Williams 2015):
[Y ]ou have learned their languages, promoted their cause, made
their contributions your own, defended their rights, helped them to
prosper, and kept alive the flame of their faith. Perhaps you will be
challenged by their diversity. (p. 1)
Similarly, in his speech before the US Congress, he stated (in

Francis 2015):
We must resolve now to live as nobly and as justly as possible, as we
educate new generations not to turn their back on our ‘neighbors’
and everything around us. Building a nation calls us to recognise that
we must constantly relate to others, rejecting a mindset of hostility
in order to adopt one of reciprocal subsidiarity, in a constant effort
to do our best. (p. 1)
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The Pope’s US visit, including these speeches, was celebrated

and hailed by a wide plurality of Americans.
If the Pope’s remarks serve as a measure of American Catholic
attitudes on religious pluralism, Barack Obama’s public
statements on transcultural and transreligious diversification are
illuminating his identifications with mainstream US Protestant
cultures. On 01 July 2010, Obama delivered a much-anticipated
speech on immigration reform, outlining the administration’s and
much of the country’s desire to address the growing number of
undocumented immigrants through an approach that insured
humane treatment, civil rights and reasonable prospects for
social advancement while at the same time more effectively
securing the nation’s borders.
‘Being an American is not a matter of blood or birth’, said
Obama (2010:1). ‘It’s a matter of faith. It’s a matter of fidelity to
the shared values that we all hold so dear.’ Referencing the
contested nature of US citizenship, he went on to say (Obama
2010):
Each new wave of immigrants has generated fear and resentments
towards newcomers […] Our founding was rooted in the notion that
America was unique as a place of refuge and freedom […] But the ink
on our Constitution was barely dry when, amidst conflict, Congress
passed the Alien and Sedition Acts, which placed harsh restrictions
of those suspected of having foreign allegiances. (p. 1)
In further connecting the need for immigration reform to

imperatives of faith and morality, Obama stated (Obama 2010):
I’ve met with leaders from America’s religious communities […] people
of different faiths and beliefs, some liberal, some conservative, who
nonetheless share a sense of urgency; who understand that fixing
our broken immigration system is not only a political issue, not just
an economic issue, but a moral imperative as well. (p. 1)
The introduction of Obama at this speech was made by Bill

Hybels, an evangelical pastor of Willow Creek Community Church
near Chicago, Illinois – a congregation considered to be the third
largest in the US, based upon an average weekly attendance of
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more than 24 000 persons. In introducing Obama, Pastor Hybels

(2010) remarked:
A recurring triad in the Christian scriptures is the mandate from
God to show appropriate concern for widows, orphans and aliens.
In recent years the challenge of caring for the ‘stranger within our
gates’ has escalated to new levels of confusion and frustration
because our current immigration laws leave millions of people with
no practical way to come out of the darkness. (p. 1)
In concluding his remarks, Hybels signalled his support for the

content of the immigration reform being proposed (Hybels
2010):
[T ]oday is a day of hope. Today an earnest bi-partisan conversation
begins that those of us in the Faith Community have been praying
about for many years. We urge the members of Congress to consider
all parties who are affected by this escalating issue. We ask you to
act with a spirit of urgency and unity to chart a tough but fair path
for the millions of people who entered our great nation with the same
kind of dream my grandparents did a century ago. (p. 1)
As someone considered to be one of the most influential ministers

in the US (especially among evangelicals), Hybels’ support of a
more inclusive approach towards ‘outsiders’ could be viewed as
strategic to shoring up a majority coalition in support of a politics
and a theology of inclusiveness. Another strategic component of
that coalition is African-American clergy, and their support for
immigration reform as outlined in Obama’s speech was equally
strong, if not stronger and even more expansive. An important
network of activist clergy, the African American Ministers
Leadership Council (2013), who are affiliated with the lobby
organisation People for the American Way, responded to
Obama’s speech in this way:
We are a people and a nation of hope, a beacon of light. This
light has been visible, viable, and valued. We must move beyond
what divides, inflames and demonizes. Families must be reunited,
employment must be safe and fair for all, fear and intimidation must
be eliminated, and the testimony and culture of this generation must
be fundamentally changed to embrace diversity, respect, hope and
courage. (n.p.)
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They also conveyed agreement with the proposed legislative

reforms while suggesting broader cultural reforms will be
required as well (People for the American Way 2010):
We appreciate the reflective tone of the President’s remarks, and
agree with his thoughtful conclusion – while responsible legislation
is needed, there is an even greater need to inform and educate the
American public about who the immigrant is, what the immigrant
has contributed to the advancement of this nation, and how the
immigrant will be a part of the building and defense of the next
chapter in our history. (p. 1)
It is safe to say there is a clear American following as well for the

more inclusive public vision articulated in these instances by
Barack Obama and Pope Francis, a vision that enjoys support
from prominent religious leaders and (if the polls cited here are
correct) by what seems to be close to a majority of rank-and-file
citizens. Ideally, it will be this more broadly construed conception
of the public rather than the narrowly construed conceptions
conveyed through various American nativist traditions that will
win the day within this currently contested ideological context.
Conclusion
Notes
1. Median age: urban 45, rural 51; poverty rate: urban 14%, rural
11%; married: urban 50%, rural 61%; bachelor’s degree or higher:
urban 29%, rural 19%; racial and ethnic diversity: rural white
population 77%; US (total) white population 63%. Source: US
Census Bureau (2012).
2. The Immigration and Naturalization Act of 1965 moved away
from some of the numerical quotas restricting Global South
immigration into the US, resulting in significant increases over
subsequent decades in Global South immigrants to the
country. Evidence of the bill’s impact was that the number of
documented immigrants arriving in the US between 1965 and
2000 were three times the number during the 30 years prior
to the 1965 bill, and European immigrants as a proportion of
total immigrants to the US declined from more than half of
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total US immigrants during the 1950s to only 16% of total US

immigrants by 2000 (see, e.g., History Channel 1965).
3. See, for example, Immigration Forum (2015), which estimates
roughly one-third of Indiana’s foreign-born Latino population
and roughly one-fifth of its African foreign-born population
resides in Indianapolis; see also Brookings Institution (2000).
On Charlotte, see Fyler (2016) and Data USA (n.d.).
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Dwelling as Just Faith:

Migrant Housing,
Precarity and the
Activities of Faith-
Based Organisations
in Tshwane and Atlanta
Adrian J. Bailey16
Department of Geography, Faculty of Social Sciences,
Hong Kong Baptist University, Hong Kong
Stephan de Beer
Centre for Contextual Ministry & Department of Practical Theology,
Faculty of Theology, University of Pretoria, South Africa
Katherine Hankins17
Associate Professor and Chair, Department of Geosciences,
Georgia State University, United States of America
16
How to cite: Bailey, A.J., De Beer, S. & Hankins, K., 2018, ‘Dwelling as Just Faith: Migrant Housing,
Precarity and the Activities of Faith-Based Organisations in Tshwane and Atlanta’, in S. de Beer
(ed.), Just Faith: Glocal Responses to Planetary Urbanisation (HTS Religion & Society Series17
189
Dwelling as Just Faith
Introduction
The planetary urbanisation thesis critiques universalising and
stage-dependent accounts of the growth of many cities across
Africa, Asia and North America (Brenner & Schmid 2014a, 2014b,
2015). It sees cities as platforms or assemblages where diverse
urban processes intersect and get remade, always in motion and
emergent, rather than categories that may be assumed to pre-
exist. In one reading the city and its institutions are involved in
the simultaneous implosion and explosion (remaking) of
capitalism. For Merrifield (2011), planetary urbanisation is about a
simultaneous exteriority and interiority:
The urbanization of the world is a kind of exteriorization of the

inside as well as interiorization of the outside: the urban unfolds into
the countryside just as the countryside folds back into the city […]
Yet the fault-lines between these two worlds aren’t defined by any
simple urban–rural divide, nor by anything North–South; instead,
centers and peripheries are immanent within the accumulation of
capital itself. (pp. 468–469)
Scholars posit a crisis of epistemology, begged by the constitutive

nature of urban processes that are always becoming and never
finished, begging ethical questions about who is responsible to
whom and to what ends cities are working.
Migrants, and processes of mobility, are largely and

paradoxically strangers to this debate. While demographically
constitutive of many cities, the agentic and creative ways in
which migrants contribute to the material and symbolic
dimensions of urban processes receive little attention. This, we
argue, is a significant conceptual oversight. Migrants, especially
those maintaining transnational connections with home regions,
live and embody the simultaneous exteriorisation and
interiorisation hypothesised under planetary urbanisation.
Migrant housing plays a crucial role in building and sustaining
connections with the city and society. Housing impacts
experiences of assimilation, legality and citizenship, social
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cohesion, economic advancement, political integration and,

increasingly, precarity. While many government and non-
governmental agencies, and individuals, are somehow involved
in directly and indirectly intervening in housing markets and
housing provision explicitly for migrants, it is often the faith-
based sector (faith-based organisations [FBOs]) that assumes
the broadest portfolios, covering material assistance, language
training, legal advice, social networking, spiritual guidance,
cultural coaching and, in some cases, actual housing.
Understanding how migrant housing is provisioned and
experienced, with particular reference to FBOs, is a helpful step
in building a constitutive account of planetary urbanisation.
Against this background, our chapter has two more modest

goals. Firstly, we describe and compare how migrant housing
is provisioned by FBOs and experienced more widely in the
selected neighbourhoods of two similarly sized cities – one in
the US and one in South Africa. We develop and test an
argument that FBO activities in relation to migrant housing
are not simply restricted to the operation of urban land markets
but circulate power as part of planetary urbanisation (Merrifield
2013). This is conceptually significant because it counters
overly top–down and macro-focused accounts of planetary
urbanisation.
Secondly, we introduce the ethical implications of reading

migrant housing as a constitutive process, part and parcel of the
mutual becoming of migrants, communities and the urban.
If migrants co-create homes and communities, what roles and
responsibilities do FBOs and other stakeholders have in
supporting, regulating or influencing such a process? Can housing
be simply understood as an economic commodity if it is
constitutive of migrant identity, social cohesion and so forth?
This is a significant goal because major international dialogues
are informing policy recalibrations as cities and regions face up
to the challenges and opportunities of planetary urbanisation
(UNHR 2015).
191
Our chapter is organised as follows. The next section describes

and critiques current accounts of migrant housing. We then
introduce our comparative research design and study sites of
Tshwane and Atlanta. We define the term migrants as those who
cross international (e.g. Zimbabwe to South Africa and Mexico to
the US) and domestic or autonomous region borders (e.g. West
Coast US to South-east US and mainland China to Hong Kong)
with an intention to remain at least temporarily in the destination.
These ‘cross-border’ migrants will include economic migrants,
transnational migrants, seasonal workers, asylum seekers,
students, family reunifiers, domestic workers and refugees, but
exclude commuters and tourists. Transnational refers to those
who intend or do move between and maintain two or more
homes in different political jurisdictions. The section after that
describes and compares how migrant housing is provisioned by
FBOs and experienced more widely in Tshwane and Atlanta. The
final section outlines an ethics of dwelling as a layered process of
becoming and belonging and calls for greater attention to such
a praxis of just faith.
Towards a Constitutive Reading of

Migration, Housing and Planetary
Urbanisation
Traditional approaches to reading the quality or fragility of
housing use the concept of housing security to consider economic
costs, safety, accessibility and overall liveability (Urban Institute
2015). Critical theorists also use the broader idea of precarity to
describe how structurally derived power is experienced as
different forms of vulnerability in cities. Precarity can be defined
as ‘instability, lack of protection, insecurity, and social or
economic vulnerability’ (Rodgers & Rodgers 1989:5). As such,
security, insecurity and precarity are seen as quantifiable and
instrumental outcomes of the operation of housing and urban
land markets that provide levers and points of articulation for
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liberal and neo-liberal interventions that reduce state involvement

and marketise or financialise markets. In a sense, urban and social
policy ‘models’ and ‘responds’ to this landscape of security and
insecurity by, for example, upgrading physical infrastructure;
providing access to social support, such as childcare to enable
residents to seek employment; revising regulations and
ordinances; and subsidising access to capital, land and title,
among others.
Migrants are a group that faces specific circumstances in
housing markets. While migrant and non-migrant housing
outcomes are impacted by recession, reductions in state social
provisions and the financialisation of housing markets (Hankins
et al. 2014; Immergluck, Carpenter & Leuders 2016; Raymond
et al. 2016), migrants have distinctive and often uneven legal
status with respect to access to supported housing,
employment rights, children’s education and other civil rights
(Anderson 2010). The legal status of new arrivals has long-
term impacts upon their employment, with knock-on effects
for housing choices (Goldring & Landolt 2011, 2013). Thus,
migrants are more likely to rent and experience high turnover
rates (Lewis et al. 2014). Some face discrimination and
prejudice and experience forced evictions and removals. And,
as we note in the following, those seeking asylum with official
refugee status may encounter local resistance to their arrival
in certain communities. The pervasiveness of the discourse
that frames and understands migrants in terms of their legality
and semi-legality perhaps makes it unsurprising that
governments, international organisations and the faith-based
sector also stress the role of legality in addressing migrant
housing issues, through formal regulations such as retitling
programmes that aim to enhance housing security among
migrants (De Soto 2000).
Beyond legal status, a growing body of research holds that
transnational migration lends distinctiveness to the housing
situation of migrants. Transnational migrants are recently
193
arrived persons who intend to maintain a home in their origin

or departing place while building a new home in their
destination – persons who use social networks to live lives
simultaneously across borders (Bailey 2001). They often find
housing unaffordable partly because they carry debt to family
members or organised traffickers for the costs of their journey.
Most are obliged to remit scarce earnings to family and home
communities and lack information on accessing employment
or housing. Strong social network support leads many to settle
in affordable areas with other migrants. However, such housing
may be of low quality with poor services and low accessibility
to urban opportunity. Most generally, such transnational
processes expose migrants to a wide range of structural
vulnerabilities in everyday life (Bailey et al. 2002). The
dimensions may be material (e.g. access to economic resources,
healthcare, shelter, food, warmth and fresh water), sociocultural
(e.g. exposure to xenophobia and prejudice and opportunities
for building community and solidarity) and experiential
(e.g. well-being, anxiety and dislocation) (Bailey et al. 2002;
Roy 2011; Rygiel 2011).
Urban researchers have turned to the idea of precarity to
describe the structural nature of the vulnerabilities experienced
by migrants in cities. Precarity can be defined as ‘instability, lack
of protection, insecurity, and social or economic vulnerability’
(Rodgers & Rodgers 1989:5). Indeed, the housing experiences of
migrants in cities have been read as part of a wider condition of
precarity with dimensions that are material (e.g. economic),
sociocultural (e.g. xenophobia and prejudice) and experiential
(e.g. existential uncertainty) (Roy 2011). Material dimensions
include access to economic resources, healthcare, shelter, food,
warmth, fresh water and so on.
Research increasingly suggests that the conduct of everyday
life is key to understanding the structural ways in which
vulnerabilities are experienced by migrants (Waite 2009).
Bailey et al. (2018:100) argue that everyday life is ‘subject to
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multiple governmentalities which, in the case of migration, may

arise from social, cultural, religious and political discourse,
formal and informal policy, and modes of regulation’. That is,
we propose to use the lens of migrant housing to study the
intersections, negotiation and circulation of governmentalities
that underpin precarity and expand the account of how
everyday experiences of migrant housing may be implicated in
the circulation of power as part of planetary urbanisation.
We follow Vasudevan (2015) and argue that the intersection,
negotiation and circulation of diverse governmentalities arises
from everyday experiences of migrant housing, including its
provision and discursive framing by FBOs. We focus on how the
practices of FBOs in provisioning and framing housing, and
migrants in using housing, come together to co-create ways of
being and becoming in the city.
This constitutive account is buttressed by two strands of
existing research. Firstly, among many undocumented and semi-
legal migrants, asylum seekers and overstayers, the fear of
deportation combined with social obligations to remit leads to
pressure to reduce housing costs and locate flexible and
sometimes invisible housing (De Genova 2004). Here a premium
is put on the flexibility of tenure and access to trustworthy social
networks. Ongoing experiences of such housing build new and
often dependent social relations (e.g. reliance on unscrupulous
or absent landlords or exploitative family relations), economic
relations (e.g. use of pay day lenders and parasitic economy) and
spatial-temporal relations (e.g. including a rise in experience of
and expectation of permanent temporariness; Bailey et al. 2002).
In these cases, housing experiences reconstitute the social,
spatial and temporal bases of everyday life in material
and symbolic ways and circulate precarity beyond the housing
situation to all aspects of daily urban life.
Secondly, related to the way in which experiences of housing
involve intersection and negotiation of governmentalities is
the production of the newcomer status of recent migrants.
195
Like deportability, this status makes migrants vulnerable in

disciplinary and biopolitical ways. Such status is buttressed by
legal codes (eligibility for citizenship is typically restricted or
denied for those with limited time in a community). Research
suggests it is also produced through the encounters newly
arrived residents have with government, social services and
civil organisations set up to provide them with support and
assistance. Social policy targeted at housing for migrants, as
we illustrate in the following section, often assumes housing is
an a priori urban subsystem amenable to instrumental and
market-indexed manipulations. This is problematic in two
ways. It ignores the possibility that, through acting as
information and cultural gatekeepers, often using inaccessible
written and spoken language, support institutionalises ‘other’
migrants by accenting their ‘newness’ and ‘newcomer status’.
It also ignores the myriad and creative ways in which migrant
individuals and families exert their own housing agency. This
happens in material and symbolic ways. We recognise that
migrants are resourceful in negotiating diverse sources of
precarity (Sigona 2012):
[U]ndocumented migrants […] are resilient and resourceful [and] […]
shape and adapt daily routines and mundane social interactions to
changing circumstances, precarious livelihoods, and the protracted
and concrete possibility of being deported. (p. 51)
To this we would add the everyday reality of being a newcomer.

Migrants are not simply passive subjects being shunted from
pillar to post at the behest of capital or the state.
In summary, we argue migrant housing (its use, experiences,
provisions, discourses, etc.) refracts and circulates power as part of
planetary urbanisation (Merrifield 2013). Studying the precarity
surrounding housing and everyday life and how it is negotiated
supports a constitutive reading of urban processes (Robinson
2005). This constitutive reading challenges a theory of knowledge
that separates migrants as agents from institutions and cities as
structures. Our view, in concert with post-structural approaches
more widely, rejects the assumption that the city is a binary category
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of analysis in favour of tracing how urban processes are always

emerging and becoming. We go beyond structure–agency dualisms
to consider how power flows through changing social, spatial and
temporal relations, with ethical implications. The next section
describes how we illustrate our argument with empirical data.
Case Study Research Design

In approaching migrant housing, we selected FBOs as important
but under-studied institutions with a long pedigree of serving
migrants and migrant communities. FBOs utilise a range of
material and symbolic resources to mediate vulnerability and
suffering in cities. This includes practices of faith and spirituality.
Thus, choosing to study FBOs also allows us to explore how
spirituality is a potential resource at the disposal of migrants,
which, as Findlay (2005) implies, may be associated with the
intersection of multiple governmentalities (including sovereign,
biopolitical and pastoral) on account of its ‘susceptibility to
manipulation’:
[E]motional spaces may transcend both the physical and other
dimensions of the social. Spirituality, as an example of one emotion,
like all dimensions of being, is susceptible to manipulation by those
who seek to valorize their social and political positions. But it also
has the potential to be hugely empowering […]. (pp. 436–437)
We seek to understand how FBOs work by comparing the

activities of FBOs across two cities of approximately the same
size where the sector has been historically influential. Pretoria is
the administrative capital of South Africa and part of the
metropolitan municipality of the City of Tshwane (hereafter:
Tshwane), which is inhabited by 3.28 million people. Together
with Johannesburg, Ekurhuleni and other smaller urban regions,
it comprises the Gauteng City-Region with more than 14 million
inhabitants and still fast growing (GCRO 2018). A quarter of
South Africa’s population lives in this region, and more than a
third of South Africa’s Gross Domestic Product (GDP) is
generated here, although the region only makes up 2% of South
Africa’s land area. Tshwane hosts more than 80 diplomatic
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missions from across the world and three prominent universities,

attracting young people from across the country and even the
continent, seeking to enrol at these institutions. The centrality of
Tshwane, and of the Gauteng City-Region, of which it forms a
part, makes it very attractive to both transnational and
rural–urban (South African) migrants. Forty-four per cent of the
population of the Gauteng City-Region is comprised of migrants
(StatsSA 2012:39), of which 10% could be regarded as
transnational (StatsSA 2012). The majority of transnational
migrants by far come from Southern African Development
Community countries (Peberdy 2013:8), with sizeable populations
from Zimbabwe, Mozambique and Malawi (Peberdy 2013:9).
In the US, Atlanta is the ninth largest metropolitan statistical
area with a population of approximately 5.8 million people. Host
to the busiest international airport in the world, metropolitan
Atlanta has one of the top 10 largest economies in the country
and has numerous Fortune 500 companies headquartered in the
region. As a ‘Sunbelt City’, Atlanta has remained an attractive
destination for intranational migrants, particularly residents from
‘Rustbelt’ cities in the north-east and the Midwest of the US, as
deindustrialisation continues to remake urban economies. And,
increasingly, Atlanta is an important destination for international
migrants. Indeed, the metro area is being transformed by
international in-migration. Between 2000 and 2010, metropolitan
Atlanta experienced a 69% increase in its foreign-born
population (Atlanta Regional Commission 2013). Within the
metropolitan region, the percentage of foreign-born residents is
approaching 15% of the total population. This transformation is
taking place in a metro region that has historically been dominated
by a white–black paradigm (e.g. Stone 1989), where, according to
the US Census, as of 2010, 55.4% of the population was classified
as white people and 32.4% as black people. For much of the 20th
century, the suburban reaches of the city were dominated by
white residents, while the majority of black Atlantans lived in and
around the central city (Hankins & Holloway 2018; Keating 2001).
Since the 1990s, this dynamic has changed rather dramatically,
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with the suburbs becoming increasingly populated by black

people (with an increase of nearly 1 million black residents
between 1990 and 2010; Hankins & Holloway 2018) and host to
diverse immigrant groups (Adelman & Jaret 2010). Drawn from
different world regions with contrasting experiences of
globalisation and colonialism, Tshwane and Atlanta have
distinctive newcomer migrant dynamics and housing landscapes
and offer a lens onto the various responses that FBOs have made
to facilitate – whether directly or indirectly – migrant housing.
In each city we focused our field research on specific

neighbourhoods to illustrate the diversity of migration and
housing situations. In Tshwane, we studied Pretoria Central,
which comprises a number of neighbourhoods with a high
concentration of transnational migrants, and Mamelodi East,
which is marked by rural–urban migration and enormous growth
of informal settlements. Pretoria Central is a key place of arrival
for transnational newcomers to the city. Not only is the
Department of Home Affairs in this area, where transnational
migrants from different provinces need to register and obtain
legal documentation, but over the past two decades these
neighbourhoods have become known as welcoming to
transnational migrants. Pretoria Central is divided into six political
wards. In these areas, only 73.2% of the population comprises
South African–born citizens. Almost 27% of the population are
transnational migrants. In the Salvokop–Pretoria West
neighbourhoods of Pretoria Central, 34.1% of the population is
made up of transnational migrants, while 30.5% of Marabastad
and the Central Business District and 30% – 34% of Sunnyside
East is inhabited by transnational migrants.
In Atlanta, we studied Clarkston as a neighbourhood where

FBOs have been particularly active. Since the 1990s, metro
Atlanta has been host to a refugee resettlement site in Clarkston,
which is an incorporated municipality approximately 10 miles
north-east of downtown Atlanta. Clarkston has emerged as a
significant gateway city to refugees, colloquially referred to as
199
‘the Ellis Island of the South’ (Long 2017). In fact, a recent article
in the British newspaper The Guardian offers a description of
Clarkston, a city of approximately 13 000, which has been the
recipient, if only temporarily, of over 40 000 refugees in the past
25 years (Long 2017):
Look beyond the 1970s strip malls, apartment complexes and parking
lots, and there are sights rarely seen elsewhere in America. Beige
storefronts are topped by signs in Amharic and Nepali scripts, with
evocative English translations: Balageru Food Mart, African Cultural
and Injera Grocers, Numsok Oriental Grocers. Women gather nearby
wearing bright African headscarves, and others cross the street in
traditional Asian silk dresses, long black hair braided down their
backs. (n.p.)
For much of the 1990s and early 2000s, Clarkston received

approximately 2000 refugees per year. This dramatic change in
what had been a bedroom community to downtown Atlanta
(located along a railroad and near active bus lines) was met with
resistance by some of the long-time residents, documented in a
series of New York Times articles and a book authored by Warren
St. John (St. John 2009).
In each area we conducted a series of long interviews with
migrants, many of whom are recently arrived (i.e. have been in
the city less than 1 year) and with FBO representatives. We also
draw on a focus group with what we term resettlement advocates
in Clarkston.
Precarity and the Activities of Faith-

Based Organisations in Tshwane and
Atlanta
This section describes conditions of precarity surrounding
migrant housing and connects these to FBO activities.
Precarity
Pretoria Central, from the outside, may seem a promising place
of opportunity, boasting the headquarters of different national
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government departments, the South African Reserve Bank and

even the Union Buildings, from which the national government is
administered. However, people often face high degrees of
precarity as they carve out a living in this area. Legal and
administrative obstacles, the struggle to find a secure and
sustainable source of income, and limited access to decent and
affordable housing for non-South Africans all contribute to this
precarity. These challenges, together with a tendency to
criminalise ‘foreign nationals’ or refugees or to cast aspersions
that are rooted in deep cultural stereotypes, further enhance the
material and symbolic character of the precarity migrants face.
Peberdy (2013:22) describes the response of residents of this
city-region to the presence of transnational migrants, describing
how ‘[d]isturbingly, almost a third of respondents (32%) said
that Gauteng is for South Africans only and foreigners should be
sent back to their own countries’ (cf. GCRO 2011).
Unemployment in these areas is between 52% and 53%. Of the
transnational migrants responding to a Quality of Life Survey
conducted by the Gauteng City-Region Observatory, 29%
indicated unemployment, which is lower than the median
percentage of unemployed people in the area, while 13% indicated
informal employment. When people are employed, their income
levels tend to be low; however, 73% of the respondents who are
employed earn below R 6400 per month and 56% earn below
R 3200 per month (Gauteng City-Region Observatory 2011),
which is below the minimum wage as specified by the Department
of Labour (cf. 2018). What is informative about these figures is
that the vast majority of transnational migrants – at least the 73%
earning below R 6400 per month – would qualify to live in social
housing projects, if only they were South African citizens. Yet,
crucially, the National Social Housing Policy (Department of
Human Settlements 2009) makes no provision for people who
are not naturalised South African citizens.
In terms of housing, 84% of transnational migrants in
Pretoria Central indicate that they live in formal residential
accommodation, ranging from 37% owning residential property
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to 32% renting in public or private accommodation, 14% living

informally and 18% indicating other forms of accommodation,
which might include temporary shelter or being homeless.
These figures give an indication of the varied housing types
inhabited by transnational migrants.
Apart from the 37% indicating private ownership, the nature

of housing or security of tenure of the other 63% varies
considerably. In Salvokop, besides a high number of backyard
dwellings occupied by both South African and transnational
migrants, there is also a small informal settlement with around
300 dwellings, almost exclusively inhabited by migrants from
places like Lesotho or Zimbabwe. The precarity they face, without
access to water or sanitation, is acute. We are aware of certain
buildings, not complying with any of the municipal by-laws and
hardly suitable for human inhabitation, fully occupied by
transnational migrants. We are also aware that in neighbourhoods
like Sunnyside many buildings experience a high degree of
overcrowding because of the number of transnational migrants
occupying a single unit, in order to share the rental costs.
The large percentage of transnational migrants residing in

Pretoria Central neighbourhoods suggests an indication of some
hospitality in these areas, perhaps running counter to a
widespread and negative discourse from longer-established
residents in the Gauteng City-Region. However, as a result of
these generic negative stereotypes about transnational migrants,
the concentration of migrants in these areas reinforces
stereotypes about inner-city neighbourhoods.
Social and cultural precarity is also a theme in everyday migrant

life in Clarkston. In the Clarkston area of Atlanta, and despite
vetting and support from the US State Department, the introduction
without much local consultation of households from Somalia,
Bhutan, the Congo, Ethiopia and Burma, among others, has led to
an unprecedented transformation in the social relations of the
area. This is further inflected by tensions between black and
white longer-term residents. The social fabric into which refugees
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are being woven – or from which they are being rejected – in

Clarkston exposes them to a kind of ‘precarity of belonging’, which
over time has been ameliorated to some degree by the duration of
the influx of refugees and the social, cultural and economic
institutions that the waves of refugees have built (Long 2017).
A second key source of precarity is the increasingly hostile

housing environment in the metro Atlanta region. In many cities
across the United States, renting is on the rise, as home ownership
has fallen to 62.9%, a half-century low (Raymond et al. 2016). By 2015,
Atlanta’s homeownership rate had dropped to 43.6%, down from
51.3% in 2010 (McCarthy 2017). At the same time, in recent years
Atlanta has suffered a growing housing affordability crisis with little
to no public assistance available to the vast majority who are
classified as low-income. According to Immergluck et al. (2016:1),
between 2012 and 2015 alone, median rents rose 23.4% in the south,
and a growing number of households spent over 50% of their
household income on rent, making them ‘severely cost-burdened’.
Monthly rents, which range from $800 to $1200 among the refugees
we interviewed in Clarkston, represented well over 50% of their
gross monthly income, and in some cases closer to 70% of their
monthly earnings. Raymond et al. (2016) point out an emerging
eviction crisis in Atlanta, where landlords use the fees associated
with evictions to improve their bottom line. Eviction threats are
particularly daunting for immigrants and others with little knowledge
of Georgia tenant laws (which are relatively lax) and little willingness
to engage legal representation, as our conversations with immigrant
and refugee advocate representatives attested.
The resettlement advocates we interviewed experience the

tumult in the landscape of property ownership, which changes
with market conditions. This is particularly acute in suburban areas
that are not incorporated, where public support is limited to non-
existent and market-rate housing is the only option for newcomers
to the city. Taken together, migrants who are newcomers are
particularly subject to unstable housing opportunities, which
churn with the restlessness of the urban landscape.
203
For example, in the Buford Highway area, a region that has

become ripe for redevelopment, whole apartment complexes,
which were traditionally affordable and home to Mexican and
Central American transnational migrants, are being bulldozed as
prices rise around the redevelopment of a recently closed General
Motors factory that is being redeveloped into a ‘mixed use’ retail
and residential area (Mitchell 2018). The instability in the region
is emblematic of a particularly neo-liberalising metro area, where
subsidies and protections for the marginalised are often non-
existent – and particularly absent for transnational migrants.
Indeed, as we describe in the following, the role of non-
governmental organisations, including FBOs, is critical in
providing much-needed services and guidance to the region’s
in-migrants, acting as agents of urban change as they facilitate
the well-being of Atlanta’s migrants.
Migrants also face economic precarity in Atlanta. Because
refugees receive time-limited federal support, it is crucial that as
many working-age adults find employment as soon as possible.
If, for example, there are two working-age adults in the refugee
family, the chance of the family being able to obtain employment
and support the family increases. If, on the other hand, there is
only one able-bodied working adult, who is also a single parent
or supports elderly dependents, the potential for precarity
increases (as the initial federal $925 per person support is not
replenished). Of course, the availability of work is a key dimension
of vulnerability. In the case of many refugees who arrive in
Clarkston, finding work in chicken-processing plants, located an
hour north of Clarkston and commutable by private transportation,
is a common first employment opportunity (as well as one that is
gruelling and, in some cases, dangerous). The refugees we
interviewed identified a lack of English skills as one of the biggest
barriers to securing employment in the US.
In both cities, migrants face material (housing access and
costs, overcrowding, economic) and symbolic (stability of
housing tenure, stereotyping, fragility) dimensions of precarity.
These are compounded, as reported elsewhere, by migrants’
‘less than full’ legal status, which has a spatial dimension
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(non-South Africans cannot access public housing; likewise

non-US citizens cannot access public subsidies for housing) and
a temporal dimension (newcomer migrants are susceptible to
unstable housing markets and evictions).
Faith-Based Organisation Activities

In South Africa, FBOs include churches, mosques and temples.
They respond to migrants’ needs in varied but often holistic
ways, and here we briefly introduce housing provision, social
services and spiritual care, advocacy and policy work.
Ntakirutimana’s (2017) research on the Salvokop neighbourhood
reported that churches tend to provide social and practical
services but did not offer support in terms of actual housing
conditions, whether it is to help provide access to decent
housing or to advocate with them for secure tenure. One FBO in
Salvokop specifically supports local residents with childcare
and employment preparation, while another FBO provides
access to healthcare through a medical, dental and eye clinic. In
one sense, faith-based communities in Salvokop have stepped
up in terms of relief and even community development
interventions but perhaps do not adequately engage or address
systemic issues people or neighbourhoods face in a decisive or
systematic way.
In a reflection on churches in Pretoria Central, De Beer, Smith
and Manyaka (2017) note the narrow focus of ministry failing to
address issues of precarity systemically, with the exception of
four churches that indicated ‘some form of advocacy work’
without elaborating on the content thereof:
In terms of church activities most churches indicated standard
forms of ministry such as preaching, worship, prayer and Christian
education. Very few churches indicated any diaconal work with the
exception of 4 churches who gave food to the poor, donated to
orphanages and did hospital ministry. Four churches indicated some
form of advocacy work. (n.p.)
Over and above the provision of social services, faith communities

seem to provide many transnational migrants with spiritual care,
205
a sense of belonging, access to counselling services and

sometimes administrative support. In researching churches in
Pretoria Central, De Beer et al. (2017) indicate that a large
percentage of churches in Pretoria Central are either led by
transnational migrants or the membership is predominantly
comprised of transnational migrants. Sixty per cent of the
membership of the Apostolic Faith Mission Word of Life Church
is Shona-speaking from Zimbabwe.
Ninety per cent of members from the Grace of God Ministries
speak either French or English and 10% speak Lingala. Half of
Grace Exploration Church and Christ Populate Ministries were
transnational migrants from other African countries. Churches
like Deeper Christian Life Ministries and the Redeemed Christian
Church of God were 90% – 98% Nigerian. Grace of God Ministries
was 98% Congolese. In addition, churches indicated membership
also coming from Uganda, Malawi, Kenya and other African
countries (cf. De Beer et al. 2017). In Sunnyside, an Ethiopian
Orthodox Church replaced an old white Afrikaans-speaking
Seventh Day Adventist Church and is full to capacity on Sundays.
And the three mosques in Pretoria Central are all welcoming of
migrants from Somalia, Pakistan and elsewhere. Thus, our initial
research into the extent to which people’s participation in local
church helps mediate access to secure housing, either formally
or informally, suggests that faith communities do help to mediate
the social and relational networks required to provide a safe
landing for migrants to the city.
It is unclear to what extent FBOs contribute to housing that
is liveable, tenure that is secure and policy or housing provision
that is integrative of transnational migrants. For example, we
could not find any specific shelter or housing project created
specifically for transnational migrants, by any of the faith
communities. We did find initiatives that served migrants,
among others, using creative methods. For example, Yeast City
Housing (YCH) is a faith-based social housing company that
was started by a consortium of churches in Pretoria Central.
Currently, the housing units they have developed are all
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concentrated in Pretoria Central. Governed by the National

Social Housing Policy, they are unable to accommodate
transnational migrants who are not yet naturalised citizens,
because of the policy disallowing that. This creates a serious
challenge and on occasions YCH was able to keep some units
out of the pool of subsidised housing units, deliberately with
transnational migrants in mind. However, that means having to
source other funds to enable that, which is not always possible.
YCH also has a number of special-needs housing projects, aimed
at people with more specialised immediate needs, including frail
elderly people, palliative care, community care for people living
with chronic mental illness and sheltered housing for homeless
women or girl children. In these cases, the social housing subsidy
was given to the institution, and YCH uses its own discretion in
terms of whom it can accommodate. In their special-needs
facilities YCH accommodates any person who is in need of
housing provided they have space, regardless of nationality.
Ntakirutimana (2017) cites the example of an 82-unit social
housing development in Salvokop that was able to accommodate
people formally, in brand-new self-contained units, at a cost
similar or even below the monthly rent people had to pay for the
right to erect a backyard shack. Based on this example,
Ntakirutimana (2017) demonstrates the viability and replicability
of social housing for shack dwellers, but the policy constraints
pertaining transnational migrants remain, excluding the large
number of shack dwellers in Salvokop from accessing formal
social housing.
Based on his reading of faith-based responses to housing
precarity in the Salvokop neighbourhood, Ntakirutimana (2017)
emphasises the need for more advocacy and policy work in
partnership with the local community. Such work would include
that consideration be given to expanding the parameters of
the social housing policy, engaging local government to make
land or buildings available for the purpose of housing transnational
migrants generally or refugees and asylum seekers specifically or
other forms of housing advocacy, as many migrants experience
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daily transgressions committed against them in terms of their

inherent dignity or their ability to access justice.
Advocacy can address eviction. Because of the insecure tenure
of backyard dwellers or shack dwellers, evictions are always
pending or upmost in people’s minds. The Tshwane Leadership
Foundation, an ecumenical FBO, on more than one occasion
collaborated with the inhabitants of informal structures in Salvokop
and the Lawyers for Human Rights, to resist evictions. One can
argue, from one perspective, that this has contributed to the decay
of a neighbourhood that 20 years ago was fairly stable. Housing
precarity today is much more acute and the pressure on existing
infrastructure has increased. The advocacy work was done as an
affirmation of people’s right to the city and an attempt to affirm
people’s right to belong and to access the city. That, perhaps,
should only be regarded as a first step, and that advocacy that is
only reactive, without also proposing and even developing
infrastructure to address housing precarity, might be incomplete.
Ntakirutimana (2017:n.p.) emphasises the role of the
community itself, including transnational migrants, saying, ‘the
residents of Salvokop have a pivotal role to play in the rebuilding
of their neighbourhoods’. Faith communities can play a significant
role either in accompanying processes in which transnational
migrants organise themselves or in facilitating such processes of
community organising or capacity-building, which includes
educating communities in issues around legislation governing
housing policy or the integration of transnational migrants into
South African communities or the building of viable and inclusive
communities for all who live in them.
As in Tshwane, a large variety of FBOs are involved in various
ways in migrant support in Atlanta. Some of the major
organisations that serve immigrants and refugees in the metro
Atlanta region include the International Rescue Committee,
Catholic Charities, Friends of Refugees, Center for Pan Asian
Community Services (CPACS), New American Pathways, the
Latin American Association, World Relief Atlanta and Lutheran
Services of Georgia (see Table 7.1).
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TABLE 7.1: Atlanta non-governmental and faith-based organisation support for migrants.
Organisation About Service area Faith-based?
International ‘The IRC responds to the world’s International and No
Rescue worst humanitarian crises and helps metro Atlanta; local
Committee people whose lives and livelihoods headquarters in
(IRC) are shattered by conflict and Northlake
disaster to survive, recover, and gain
control of their future’. (website)
Catholic ‘Since 1953, Catholic Charities Atlanta Throughout the Yes
Charities has served over 1 million people with metro-Atlanta
Atlanta a holistic combination of accredited area: offices in
social services that remove barriers Smyrna, Chamblee,
to self-sufficiency and wholeness. Northlake,
We are faith-based and serve
our neighbors professionally,
compassionately, and regardless of
faith or background’. (website)
Friends of ‘Empowering refugees through Clarkston Yes
Refugees opportunities for well-being,
education and employment’.
Center for ‘Our mission is to promote self- Metro-Atlanta No
Pan Asian sufficiency and equity for immigrants, headquarters in
Community refugees, and the underprivileged Chamblee
Services through comprehensive health and
(CPACS) social services, capacity building,
and advocacy’.
New ‘Helping refugees and Georgia Metro Atlanta with Partially:
American thrive’. headquarters in one of the
Pathways Northlake organisations
(NAP) that merged
to form NAP
was a Christian
organisation;
currently, NAP
is secular
The Latin ‘The mission of the Latin American Metro Atlanta No
American Association (LAA) is to empower with offices in
Association Latinos to adapt, integrate and Lawrenceville and
(LAA) thrive. Our vision is “Opportunity Athens
for All.”’
World Relief ‘World Relief Atlanta has worked since Metro Atlanta with Yes
Atlanta 1979 to empower the local Church to offices in Stone
serve refugees and immigrants in the Mountain
Greater Atlanta area’.
Lutheran ‘Lutheran Services of Georgia helps Headquarters in Yes
Services of find, strengthen and create homes downtown Atlanta;
Georgia for people in need in Georgia’. offices in other
cities in Georgia;
with an Atlanta
Refugee Services
located in Clarkston
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The US State Department provides the relocation assistance

organisation $925 per refugee admitted to the US. In the case of
refugees coming through Clarkston, one of the refugee
resettlement organisations, such as the IRC, Catholic Charities
Atlanta, World Relief, Lutheran Services or NAP, would receive
$925 per person in the household in advance of their arrival. The
relocation agency must use this money to secure an apartment,
furnish the apartment and provide basic foodstuffs for the
family’s arrival. Refugees are greeted at the airport by trained
volunteers of these organisations and delivered to their newly
furnished apartments. Within 30 days, the family can apply for
food stamps, which includes a monthly food subsidy, and
otherwise any able-bodied person in the family is expected to
find work to provide a source of income for the family and to be
able to pay the monthly rent.
There is unevenness in the resources that different FBOs
provide incoming refugee families. Some organisations solicit
support from volunteer organisations and/or churches, and
often churches will ‘adopt’ a refugee family. As one FBO
resettlement advocate commented, her organisation was always
trying to find churches – in a non-proselytising manner – to
assist with providing goods and services to refugee families. As
she put it, ‘you get a church involved [in supporting a family]
and stuff just flows in’. A resettlement manager for a large,
secular refugee service organisation confirmed that oftentimes,
the parking lot in front of the agency offices is full of donated
furniture items from churches – sometimes too many items for
them to process and distribute to families in a timely manner. In
other words, churches provide important material resources, in
the form of a coffee table, rice maker or bedroom set for refugee
families as they navigate life in the southern US – but not every
family is paired with a church, which can result in uneven
opportunities and costs for refugee families trying to build their
lives.
As in the case of Tshwane, churches have played important
social roles in the refugee communities that have emerged in and
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around Clarkston. As Nye (2012) highlights, at the Clarkston

International Bible Church (CIBC), there are 11 distinct and
separate ethnic congregations. She quotes the pastor of CIBC as
famously teaching, ‘Jesus said heaven is a place for people of all
nations. So if you don’t like Clarkston, you won’t like heaven’
(Nye 2012:33). Indeed, in recent decades the churches in
Clarkston have expanded from traditional Christian denominations
(e.g. Presbyterian, Methodist and Baptist) that were dominated
by either black or white congregations to a wide variety of ethnic
denominations, including, for example, an Ethiopian Orthodox
Church and non-Christian houses of worship, such as a mosque
established by Afghan refugees.
Resettlement advocates told us they conducted very practical
negotiations with landlords, as we illustrate below, advocacy on
behalf of refugees and broader engagement in housing policy.
In fact, resettlement advocates are a key pivot in the refugee
experience of housing. The resettlement advocates work
together across agencies, and the advocates we interviewed
revealed that they hold monthly meetings to make sure they are
working in tandem to get the ‘best deals’ from landlords – to
utilise their bargaining power as the representatives of hundreds
of potential tenants – and to share resources and information
across their respective agencies to best serve their refugee
households. As one refugee resettlement advocate put it, it is all
about relationships with landlords, ‘relationships based on faith
and trust’.
The resettlement organisations reported negotiating specific
leases on behalf of refugee families – where, for example, monthly
rent may be less in the first year as the family is getting established.
As one representative stated:
[O]ne of the things we did was negotiate a 10-month price. Or like we
would work with [the management company], and I actually brought
[the leasing office] some numbers to show, you know, the average
wages [of the family] the first year, how many are employed and, you
know, basically what rent price we’re looking for. And [...] if we have
two [people working in the household], you know, they could pay
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a little bit more, if we have one employable, you know, we’re looking
for this rate. And this is just the initial lease. And that kind of worked
well. (focus group with N.T., February 09, 2018)
By working carefully with the landlord, this resettlement manager

reported being able to ‘control the prices’ that the apartment
management companies charged the refugee households. In
effect, these advocates were steering the private housing market
to facilitate refugees in securing safe, decent housing. As one
refugee advocate suggested:
Then we’ll use our current apartments and managers as […]
references. And you can talk to them, this is how we do it, this is
how the program works […] We did see a couple of management
companies buy three or four apartments in Clarkston. That actually
helped us, because we could reach out to their sister properties to
help with housing. (focus group with N.T., February 09, 2018)
And, by extension, the resettlement organisation could expand

its geographical reach by placing refugees in apartments newly
owned by a management company familiar with the situation of
refugee households. As one resettlement advocate pointed out,
given the uncertainty of the housing market, the agencies were
always looking for new potential apartment complexes, as those
in Clarkston are increasingly full or becoming too expensive for
refugee – or other low-income – households to afford.
This is particularly challenging, however, in the tumult of
Atlanta’s rapidly changing housing market. In fact, one of the
representatives of a resettlement organisation reported that:
[I]n Clarkston these past twelve months we saw a lot of apartments
being bought and sold by different management companies and
[so] that we develop a relationship with these apartments, we
explain our program. So they understand that our clients [refugee
households] are coming without work, without credit. And then
when the management changes we just start all over from scratch,
and it can be especially difficult if we have clients in that apartment
complex who need ongoing services and help with the leasing office,
and reporting maintenance issues, to kind of reestablish that. […] But
when [the apartments] get bought, they renovate and they increase
the prices. (focus group with C.D., February 09, 2018)
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As another advocate confirmed:

And during the transition you see a lot of turnover in the individual
offices. Which I assume just like the chaos of all the change, people
just leave. And that’s hard, too, because you know [you] might get
new management, you talk to the new management and they’re on
board and then the next week you call and then they’re gone. (focus
group with N.T., February 09, 2018)
Thus, the resettlement advocates spend a lot of time working

with private leasing offices to negotiate reasonable terms for
their refugee clients – only to have ownership and management
offices change.
Despite their struggles with changing management,
resettlement advocates point out that refugees are generally
seen as desirable tenants because ‘they don’t fall behind on their
payment. Second, they hardly go and complain’ to management.
Indeed, a topic of conversation among the resettlement
advocates was encouraging refugee families and immigrants to
assert their rights to decent housing (to, for example, working
plumbing fixtures or the absence of vermin).
As one resettlement advocate pointed out, the context from
which many refugees have come matters tremendously in their
experience of their new places in Clarkston. He draws from his
own experience as a refugee:
The thing is, people have come [from] different [contexts] before
they come to U.S. So I’m a refugee myself. I’ve lived thirteen years
in refugee camp before I came here, and I cannot describe how –
what kind of lifestyle I’ve lived for thirteen years before I made it
to this country. So people have gone through that, and when they
come through this place, where they have at least a house which
is safe enough; the roof is not going to fall off. So people feel that
it’s a bit secure, and they feel safe, it’s better. You don’t have to
walk miles to get drinking water, you have [water from] the tap.
You don’t have to go miles for firewood, you can cook [food] right
inside your house. So those – people do calculate all those things –
but we, as an organization, we have this orientation. We do culture
orientation with all the new clients and explain what are the OK
things that they can accept and what are the things they should not
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be accepting. And make sure of that – and we go and do housing

inspections before we move the clients. That is the first part. We get
the apartment number and everything, our staff [members] go and
do the inspection [to see] whether it is in the condition that we can
move our people or not. Because it is, after all, it’s fed[eral] money,
[and] we need to make sure each dollar is spent in the best way. […]
So we make sure we go and do the housing inspection, and if we feel
there’s some repair that has not been done, we go to [the] leasing
office again, ‘[p]lease fix this before [our families] move in’. (focus
group with T.C., February 09, 2018)
Thus, the resettlement advocates work to ensure that the

apartments are safe and functioning by typical American
standards. Another resettlement advocate reported that her
organisation always performed a 30-day home visit following
the initial move-in to make sure the apartments were being
maintained – both by the family and by the management
company. She described it like this:
Last year when we had a lot of clients coming from very rural areas
and living in refugee camps, we did have a big increase in the
apartments not being – maintenance not being reported or [issues
with] cleanliness and hygiene. So at the thirty-day home visit the
case manager would assess the apartment and the condition, and
if needed, they would let me know if an additional orientation was
needed. So I would send someone from their culture, who speaks their
language to do an extra orientation. Like go in the home, even go to
the Dollar General Store [to show them] how to buy the cleaning
supplies and how to use them, because culturally it can be a sensitive
topic when you’re cleaning a bathroom and talking about showering
and hygiene and taking the trash out and cleaning, and that helped
a lot. (interview with N.T., March 09, 2018)
This resettlement advocate took care to honour cultural norms

of the refugee family while also providing coaching on the
cultural norms expected of apartment tenants in the US.
Indeed, resettlement agencies’ work went well beyond simply
finding a clean, safe and (ideally) conveniently located apartment.
As many of the resettlement advocates shared, their services,
available to refugees for 5 years – but often going well beyond
that half decade – included a range of opportunities for refugees,
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including English-language classes, youth development,

afterschool care, health clinics and legal assistance. Of the
resettlement advocates we interviewed, many themselves had
been refugees and felt close to the experience and able to relate
to the emotional, physical and spiritual stress of resettlement.
The resettlement advocates worked with other organisations,
such as CPACS, to advocate for better housing policy with the
different municipalities in which immigrants and refugees live.
For example, in the city of Brookhaven, CPACS is working to
pass inclusive zoning, which requires developers of new
multifamily housing construction to dedicate a portion of their
units to low-income residents. In addition, these organisations
include counselling and, in some cases, legal services, to ensure
refugees and other immigrants understand their housing rights.
In summary, FBOs in Tshwane and Atlanta play influential roles
in mediating both material and symbolic precarities associated
with migrant housing. Often, their action is indirect and facilitative,
such as negotiating 10-month rents and plugging newcomers into
social support networks. In both cities FBOs are attuned to
uncertain and ambiguous external contexts, including legal access
issues in South Africa and the restless housing market in Atlanta.
FBOs demonstrate flexibility and resourcefulness in advocating,
often involving former migrants in their activities, but most
commentators feel more advocacy needs to be done to counter
evictions and other structural obstacles.
There is also the possibility that new sources of precarity arise
from the work of FBOs, including the tendency to front-load support
for newcomers and increase social dependency upon particular
networks and pathways, the transmission and coaching of particular
ideologies and social norms, and the co-option in the operation of
parasitic housing markets by assembling relatively docile
populations of renters for property developers. In the following
we critically consider how migrants and FBOs together navigate
the tumultuous urban landscape and its multiple governmentalities
to remake it together in a process of mutual becoming.
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Recovering an ethics of dwelling

This section interprets the collective and constitutive actions of
migrants and FBOs to conditions of precarity experienced
through housing using the idea of an ethics of dwelling as a
layered process of becoming and belonging. We take a small
step to sketching an ethics of dwelling, made concrete in an
accompaniment of the quest for and practice of dignity and
sociospatial justice.
In a Heideggerian sense, dwelling refers to both building and
care (cf. Heidegger 1971:147; Dungey 2007:239; Zigon 2014:757).
It is not just the product or edifice but also a constitutive process
of becoming and belonging. In that sense the collective actions of
migrants, hosting neighbourhoods and the varied responses of
FBOs all contribute to dwelling as a multilayered process
(cf. Karjalainen 1993). Moreover, ethical dwelling renders agency,
the provision of services and care, and the creation of accessible
housing and advocacy to prevent displacement or exclusion as
necessary but not sufficient conditions. As above, existing faith-
based agencies and resources fall short of retrieving, organising
or mobilising dwelling. An ethics of dwelling will require deliberate
actions or interventions on the part of actors if they are to help
mediate the culmination of dwelling as both care and building
towards home. Dungey (1993:241) describes it as ‘[b]ringing
together the activity of building, the place it creates, and the
relationships it nourishes, Heidegger calls the abode of the ethical
disclosure of dwelling’.
An ethics of dwelling implies not only mutuality (in a social
sense) but mutual accompaniment (in a sociospatial sense).
An ethics of dwelling refers to the becoming of the migrant self,
the migrant’s family and non-local community, the hosting
neighbourhood, and also the faith community and pastoral
companion. It is a process of mutual becoming, reconfiguring
who we are, alone and together. There is a sense in which it is a
coming to ourselves in the other, an ethical form of interiorising
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the other and exteriorising the self which is fit for planetary
urbanisation. But, crucially, Dungey (1993:242) also reminds us
that dwelling implies ‘a condition of ethical relations and
considerations’ – that is, being together in space. The way(s) in
which we work out being together in space is key.
Mutual accompaniment can be seen both as our way of
seeking ethical dwelling and as an expression of the quest to
become human. Hankela (2014), in her empirical study of the
Central Methodist Mission in Johannesburg, which at the
height of xenophobic attacks against transnational migrants
accommodated up to 2000 people, speaks of it as ‘being human
in a Johannesburg church’ or, perhaps, rather a journey of learning
how to become human – how to live and share dignity – together.
Dignity in this sense is an ‘ethical imperative’ with ‘political
implications’ (Zigon 2014:762).
What might mutual accompaniment look like? The lived
spatiality, or quiet politics (cf. Hankins 2017), practised by
backyard dwellers, shack dwellers and other (homeless) migrants
gives us insight into the agency they possess, the choices they
make and the reason for those choices, the spaces they choose
to inhabit, and how they mediate sociospatial relationships
creatively on a daily basis. As Buhler notes (2014), precarity
shines the light on the multiplicity of constraint and suffering;
how migrants ‘smile’ and exert agency and aspiration is a
necessary counter to understanding housing and eviction issues
in contemporary South Africa. She (Buhler 2014) argues for an:
[U]nderstanding of the capacity which people have to improve
their own lives […] Through their aspirations the people I worked
with smiled at the precarity they faced in their ordinary lives. They
built houses they were proud of; houses that they imagined would
protect them from the sickness and suffering they experienced. Their
houses were both a way of improving their lives, but also an attempt
at creating a home in Hangberg and a sense of stability. (p. i)
These migrant houses ‘smile back’ and perhaps hint at how to be

human surrounded by fields of precarity.
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We note that accompaniment is different from an

instrumentalism that needs to know out of curiosity or control
(cf. Palmer 1983:6–9) in order to find quick solutions for the
complex governmentalities surrounding migration and housing.
The accompaniment that stems from an ethics of dwelling is
grounded in loving cohabitation of the Earth, loving-dwelling
together or mutual solidarity, which will mean dwelling in the
ongoing tension between immediate solutions to dissolve the
crisis and constructing (perhaps over a longer period) new and
more dignified, viable, sustainable and just futures and homes.
The accompaniment required by an ethics of dwelling is not
pastoral in the sense of individual caring only but requires a
profoundly political pastorate of engaging the stigma of ‘the
other’ and related sociospatial exclusion or fragmentation,
animated by our interlocutors helping us to navigate how and
where dignity is to be affirmed or claimed, sociospatial justice to
be mediated, care or building to be offered.
Often, migrants, in particular those who are unable to purchase
or own property of their own (the 63% in Tshwane), are confronted
with the absence of viable or just options, essentially leaving
them to their own devices. Hankela (2014), however, in focusing
on the agency of migrants or refugees in a Johannesburg church,
notes how they are not merely vulnerable strangers but also
contributing fellow humans. Faith-based responses would do
well, in light of the indignity and precarity dealt with in the
absence of liveable options and also the sense of agency and
initiative displayed by migrants themselves, to consider the kind
of mutual accompaniment that would embody ethical dwelling
through how it intervenes in housing precarity. The involvement
of former migrants in FBOs in Clarkston is perhaps one example
of such accompaniment.
How can we use such an ethics of dwelling to interpret the
collective actions of migrants and FBOs to conditions of precarity
and to guide future interventions? We close by proposing an
ethics of dwelling expressed in mutual accompaniment that
combines key elements of radical hospitality such as care and
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embrace, protection and advocacy, construction and housing.

Radical hospitality is to become present to migrants in an open
and receptive way. Dungey (2007:257), in drawing upon
Heidegger and Derrida, speaks of democratic hospitality, saying
it is to ‘recognize the Other as being here, with us, and for whom
she is’. It is, says Dungey (2007:257), to ‘“say yes” to “whoever
shows up”’. This is a first step in accompanied dwelling, even
before accessing other rights, as this opening up for each other
in mutual responsibility constitutes a moment of ‘rightfully
belonging’ (cf. Dungey 2007:257). Radical hospitality starts with
a recognition of the Other, who until that moment often lacks
recognition (Dungey 2007):
Lacking ‘legal’ standing, the Millions of others are marginalized in a
sort of ambiguous economic and political netherworld. Indeed, it is
the very ambiguous, adumbrated life they live on the margins of the
community that not only adds to their lack of recognition, but also
frustrates the attempt at political solution. (p. 257)
Radical hospitality is a political openness too. Once recognised

and embraced, the possibility of care exists. Such care is
concretely mediated in a community of relationships (Dungey
2007):
Ethics is not an abstract, objective condition that we seek through
reason or rules, but a webbing of relationships held together by
the care and responsibility that first discloses who we are, and then
extends from us to others. (p. 258)
In such concrete acts of care, dwelling is being practised as

becoming and belonging. Now, in a community, or web, of
relationship, protection and advocacy become much more viable
options, as our care will extend to protect the basic rights of all
those who are recognised in relationships of mutual responsibility
and accountability. Not only will we protect and uphold their
rights but also work relentlessly for advancing the rights ascribed
to transnational migrants, by virtue of them being human. Such
advocacy that insists on casting the net of inclusion wider is a
further contributor to the process or experience of becoming or
belonging. It is an embodiment of ‘dwelling as an ethical
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imperative’ (Zigon 2014:758) as well as an ‘existential imperative

of humanness’ (Zigon 2014:758), simply acknowledging, affirming
and mediating our human belonging together.
At some point, if not naturally occurring through the relational
web or mediating of rightful access, there might come a point of
construction of physical dwellings to mediate physical housing.
In Heidegger, care and building form two elements of the process
and experience of dwelling. Care without building loses substance,
disabling dwelling, and building without care loses soul,
disfiguring dwelling. Says Dungey (2007), once again:
Ethics is a circulating economy of care and involvement […] this
circulating care is revealed through our capacity to dwell, which
entails the cultivation of human relationships and the building
of houses and structures intended to shelter and nourish these
relationships. (p. 258)
In this sense, even the process of construction and housing are

not merely technical essentials but acts contributing to nourishing
while dwelling together.
In summary, an ethics of dwelling is a praxis to foster a posture
and process of mutual accompaniment involving and constituting
migrants, families, communities and FBOs. Such a praxis, as an
intervention in tune with the crisis of epistemology others have
linked to planetary urbanisation, could become an expression of
a just faith, grounded in an ethics of dwelling and informed by
the interlocution of migrants, as well as by glocal conversations
of faith and research.
Conclusion
FBO activities in relation to migrant housing are broad and not
simply restricted to the operation of urban land markets. In both
Tshwane and Atlanta, migrants face material (housing access
and costs, overcrowding, economic) and symbolic (stability of
housing tenure, stereotyping, fragility) dimensions of precarity.
These are compounded by migrants’ ‘less than full’ legal statuses,
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which further circulate spatial and temporal sources of precarity.

Despite being little studied, we found that FBOs play influential
roles in mediating both material and symbolic precarities
associated with migrant housing. Often, their action is indirect
and facilitative and is attuned to uncertain and ambiguous
external contexts. FBOs demonstrate flexibility and
resourcefulness in advocating, often involving former migrants in
their activities, but may circulate new forms of precarity
concerning social dependency, the transmission and coaching of
particular ideologies and social norms. Read holistically, our field
evidence suggests migrants and FBOs together navigate the
tumultuous urban landscape and its multiple governmentalities
and, as such, jointly contribute to urban emergence and
becoming.
There are implications for how we understand, in a policy sense,
the activities of FBOs in the provision and framing of dialogues
about migrant housing and for how we think through in
epistemological ways the relationship between migration, housing,
faith and planetary urbanisation. Reading the city constitutively
led us to interpret our findings through the lens of an ethics of
dwelling. Containing an explicit normative component, this
responds to the crisis of epistemology in planetary urbanisation
theory by calling for a praxis that fosters a posture and process of
mutual accompaniment involving and constituting migrants,
families, communities and FBOs. We conclude that a key challenge
under planetary urbanisation is to reimagine migrant housing
responses through dwelling as an ethics of just faith.
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The Informal God:

Outside Schools of
Theology
Sheth O. Oguok18
Resonate Global Mission
Eastern and Southern Africa Region
Kenya
Colin Smith19
Mission Education
Church Mission Society
United Kingdom
Introduction
The reflections that form the basis of this chapter represent two
very different journeys that intersected with one another in
Kibera, Nairobi’s largest informal settlement. Colin’s journey into
18
How to cite: Oguok, S.O. & Smith, C., 2018, ‘The Informal God: Outside Schools of Theology’,
in S. de Beer (ed.), Just Faith: Glocal Responses to Planetary Urbanisation (HTS Religion19
& Society Series Volume 3), pp. 223–252, AOSIS, Cape Town. https://doi.org/10.4102/
aosis.2018.BK87.08
223
The Informal God: Outside Schools of Theology
Kibera began through working with a local theological college

and yet sensing that the model of theological education on
offer seemed too distant – physically, culturally, socially and
theologically – from the realities of churches and their leaders
who lived within the city’s informal settlements. That sense of
unanswered questions led to the creation of the Centre for
Urban Mission, where part of the theological college was
eventually relocated into one of Kibera’s many urban villages.
Sheth was, at that time, a pastor of one of Kibera’s many informal
churches and became one of the Centre’s first students. Since
that time he has become a theological educator grappling with
the challenges of what truly authentic theological education
might look like if it is to draw on the experience, gifts, perspectives,
wisdom and imagination of those who live at the economic
margins of urban life.
This simple movement of part of a theological college into

an urban slum raised, over time, a number of questions, some
of which are explored below. The shift of location created a
space that has come to challenge our perceptions about the
nature of theological education and to question how the locus
of power and presumptions about the sources of wisdom have
so often shaped and defined the education process. It is our
contention that the formal institutions and sectors of our
society, including those related to theological education, have
organised themselves in a manner that excludes whole sectors
of society. This is not a problem that is unique to Kenya or to
the city of Nairobi. In a world of almost 2 billion slum dwellers,
the distancing of communities from those institutions
offering theological education, and the apparent exclusion of
their voices from the discourse that shapes and informs our
theological understanding, is simply one further facet of a
wider global process evidenced in the marginalisation of
communities who live with the daily realities and indignities of
urban poverty. If theological education is to be relevant and
regenerative in this rapidly globalising world, then traditional
models must be challenged and new models of praxis developed
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and adopted in order to effectively engage with and challenge

the emerging social order.
Contextualisation and Theological

Education
We begin with Stephen Bevans’ (2004:3) assertion that ‘There is
no such thing as theology, there is only contextual theology’. All
theology emerges from within a context. Two critical questions
emerge from this. The first relates to whether that context is
acknowledged, whether we can recognise and be transparent
about the social, cultural and economic environments that shape
the landscape of our theological thought. The second will take us
further, not only asking what context shapes our theology but
also asking whether we are willing and able to have our
perceptions challenged through hearing and privileging those
voices that emerge from ‘the underside of history’. This is a theme
we will return to later.
Recognition that all theology is contextual leads us into the
broader question of what the process of contextualisation looks
like. Scott Moreau (in Dyrness 2016) describes it as:
The process whereby Christians adapt the forms, content and
praxis of the Christian faith so as to communicate it to the minds
and hearts of the people with other cultural backgrounds. The goal
is to make the Christian faith as a whole – not only the message
but also the means of living out our faith in the local setting –
understandable. (p. 20)
While acknowledging that Moreau points to the importance of

contextualisation relating to a living out of the Christian faith
rather than a mere communication of it, William Dyrness points
to the way in which this notion of contextualisation is still framed
within the limited paradigm of communication. The emphasis is
on an understanding of the Christian faith. Dyrness (2016:20)
observes that such an emphasis ‘often restricts the ability to see
something new emerging in these places’. He goes on to argue
that the most important question to ask is not how the gospel is
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placed in or communicated within a particular culture but how

do we respond to what God is already doing in a given culture?
The moment we ask that question we move from the positions of
power, focused on the agency of the one communicating, or for
that matter teaching, towards a posture of listening that focuses
on the agency of the Spirit at work within the life of a particular
community. Contextualisation as a process, then, requires a deep
listening, an observing, a presence within a community that will
seek to understand long before it seeks to be understood.
What is fascinating is that while much ink has been spilt in

the debates about the nature of contextual theology, little of this
seems to influence or inform discussion on the implications of this
for the contexts within which theological education takes place.
What happens if, for instance, one takes Bevan’s phrase, ‘There is
no such thing as theology, there is only contextual theology’, and
replaces it with, ‘There is no such thing as theological education,
only contextual theological education’. In other words, can we
recognise the significance of acknowledging that all theological
education is contextual, that its processes, shape and content, its
fundamental assumptions are derived from context?
If we accept this proposition, then further questions emerge:
• Whose interests are served within the education process?
• Whose realities shape and inform the process?
• Whose are the lenses through which scripture is read and
interpreted?
• In whose language, thought forms and syntax does our
theological conversation take place?
• What vision of Christian community, of church, does this
process seek to serve?
Such an acknowledgement would recognise that a one-size-

fits-all model of theological education would be untenable,
not simply in terms of the content of what is taught, but in
terms of the entire educational process. These questions are
fundamental to thinking about theological education, but our
suspicion is that debates about contextual theology seldom
challenge the paradigms that shape theological education.
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While Bevan’s models are helpful in mapping the different

methodologies that are employed in the way we contextualise
theology, they do not press us towards a particular posture,
the adoption of a position that intentionally privileges the
voices most frequently silenced or ignored in the process of
theologising. Here we look not simply for a contextual model
but a model that takes as its starting point the alienation and
exclusion of entire urban communities and that privileges the
faith perspectives that emerge from that experience.
If we begin to unpack why theological institutions seem to
give little attention to what might be involved in contextualising
theological education from the perspective of the urban margins,
we see that a critical question is where colleges are located, the
history that brought them into being and the constituencies that
they were designed to serve. I, Colin, now live in the UK but the
challenges to contextualising theological education in Kenya
seem to be not too dissimilar to those here in England.
The city of Oxford, where I work, has more residential Anglican
theological colleges than the whole of the north of England put
together. The problem, if it is even perceived as such, has its
roots in a history of Anglican ministry where ordination required
a degree from Oxford or Cambridge. Much has changed since
then, but the church has still struggled to overcome a culture of
elitism that surrounds Anglican ministry and whose origins are at
best unchallenged, if not reinforced by existing models of
residential training. If that elitism is to be addressed, whether in
Kenya or the UK, we must take more seriously the importance of
place and the notion that where we learn is as important as, and
a component of, what we learn. New and relevant models of
theological education must start from a basic premise, that
location matters.
A Theology of Place
The central theme of the Hebrew Scriptures, Brueggemann (2002)
argues, is the theme of land. Taking a swipe at salvation history as
a dominant theme of biblical theology, he argues instead that
227
interpreters have been insensitive to the preoccupation of the

Bible with placement (in Inge 2003). Against much of what he
perceives to be abstract thinking in biblical theology he makes
the case that land is a central, if not the central, theme of biblical
faith. Land, Brueggemann argues, is space with meaning.
In the New Testament, we find ourselves confronted with the
Word who has become flesh. Torrance (in Inge 2003) argues
that the:
[R]elation established between God and man in Jesus Christ
constitutes Him as the place where God meets with man in the
actualities of human existence, and man meets with God and knows
him in his own divine being. (p. 51)
This meeting place of God and humanity takes place not in

abstraction, but within the specifics of time and place. The
incarnation is revealed in Bethlehem of Judea. The life of Jesus,
his birth, ministry, miracles, teaching, travelling, trial, crucifixion,
resurrection and ascension are all made known to us within the
specificity of place. Place matters, whether in his home town
where he can do no miracle, where some perceive that no good
can come, or in the city over which he weeps. Incarnation, God
revealed in the stuff of human history, happens not in some
unspecified space but in the concreteness of place where lives
have been lived and stories told. The gospel is revealed but also
relived, reinterpreted, retold against the background of place.
The reality of four gospels points to the way in which different
contexts, different communities and places, give shape to the
gospel message. Our search for genuinely contextual re-
presentations of the gospel emerges from the theological
foundations of the incarnation, the knowledge that revelation
happened and can only be authentically grasped and represented
within the concrete realities of human experience.
The gospel always comes to us in a place and the nature of
that place profoundly shapes our expression and reception.
This truth seemed most apparent to me when a group of
Bible teachers from the UK came to Nairobi to teach a course on
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preaching at the theological college of which the Centre for Urban

Mission is a part. On a wet afternoon we walked them through
the mud and across the then-open sewers that constituted the
route to the Centre. Arriving through the door, visibly shaken
by what they had seen and experienced on their brief walk, one
turned to the other and posed the question: ‘How does anyone
preach the gospel in a place such as this?’ (UK Bible Teacher,
Nairobi, undisclosed year).
Sometimes it takes the ‘otherness’ of place, the unfamiliarity,

the sheer strangeness of being ‘away from home’ to remind
us that place changes things. Without being confronted with
that otherness, we are also in danger of assuming a neutrality
or insignificance of place, unchallenged as we are by the
familiarity of the known. The known so easily becomes
perceived as normative, a seemingly a-contextual place, and
we thus lose the insight of how our own beliefs and
understanding, and the gospel we communicate, are shaped
by the places we inhabit.
While the question was posed of how the gospel might be

communicated, the very act of asking it concealed the more
profound questions that theological education needs to
grapple with. The visitors were vexed by a question of
communication. How is the content of the gospel transported
into this place? How do we adapt our message such that it
might fit within or be heard within this context? Behind that
question we must ask ourselves what the nature of the gospel
is as it emerges from the life and work of the Spirit within this
community. We might also ask how the message of the gospel
engages with a place, a city, where it was estimated at one
point that 55% of the population occupied just 5% of the
residential land (USAID 1993:1). For informal settlement
dwellers around the world, land becomes a critical question of
survival, of human rights. Land distribution becomes one of the
most concrete expressions of spatial injustice. What is the
gospel in this context? Theological education that fails to
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engage with the questions that arise from this lived experience
risks at best being irrelevant and at worst, by its silence, tacitly
supporting structures of oppression.
The question our visitors failed to ask was, how can we
discover the gospel afresh, how can we discern it with new eyes,
as we encounter the presence of God, who precedes all of us in
this community? This is, in some sense, a kenotic question. It
requires a self-emptying of preconceptions, a recognition that
our expertise, knowledge and wisdom may have less universal
currency than we had assumed. It places us in a different
posture, where educator and learner enter into a mutual
discourse where wisdom is not dispensed by the benevolent
and learned outsider but discovered more deeply and richly
through our shared experience of God, present and discerned
from within our diverse contexts. Interestingly, our visitors
asked this question of one another, but not of the Christians
they encountered there. And it is here that we see most clearly
what is at stake. The very notion of ‘informal God’, as will be
explored later, confronts the question of how God speaks to the
church out of contexts of urban poverty and marginalisation,
out of contexts where forces of global capitalism threaten
human dignity and survival.
Curriculum and Place

In James Rebanks’ (2016) autobiographical account of life as a
shepherd in the English Lake District he describes his early years
of schooling as being marked by an ‘abyss of understanding’
between students and teachers. At the nadir of this abyss was
the presumption that education is a form of social advancement
and that schooling might help children from an economically
poor farming community rise out of it and ‘do something better
with their lives’. Western education is largely rooted in a concept
of social advancement or education to progress. While traditional
forms of education reflect a desire to socialise and equip children
and young people to appreciate, remain and contribute to the
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life of their community, Western education has generally been

seen as a route up and out. It is heralded as the key to a holy grail
of social mobility.
While Western models of education may have much to
commend them in terms of creating avenues for greater access
to opportunity, they risk perceiving marginalised places as
environments of rescue, places to progress out of, rather than
communities that have an inherent worth, wisdom and perspective
that can challenge the hegemony of Western concepts of what
constitutes the good life. There is a failure both to interrogate
the aspiration that is offered or to appreciate and value the place
and people who are supposed to pursue this aspiration. In other
words, we have a model of education in which place becomes
aspirational rather than actual in the lives of students and learning
requires the insertion of knowledge into a community, rather
than the discovery of the wisdom inherent within it.
Saskia Sassen (1999) notes the particular way in which
globalisation produces an ‘over valorisation’ of certain parts of a
city and its economy over and against others. By this she means
that certain places, occupations and forms of economic activity
become far more highly valued than others, creating ever-
widening gaps between people and places. The result is that the
economically and socially marginalised context is not seen as a
place of value. Its imagination is defined as limited, its perspective
constrained. It is not viewed as place from which to learn but a
place to which learning is carried as a vehicle for departure.
Nathaniel’s brief dismissal of Nazareth (Jn 1:46) reflects our
deep-seated prejudice of communities at the margins.
The incarnation challenges that to the very core.
This notion of education as social elevation is not unique to
so-called secular institutions. It is equally a feature of
theological colleges. These institutions can similarly find
themselves caught up in a kind of pincer movement that offers
progression in ways that neither robustly interrogate
institutional values, assumptions and perspectives nor seek to
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learn from and value those whose experience of the world

has been formed from the underside of history. A ‘decent’
theological education that still leaves a pastor living and
working in an informal settlement, with little social or economic
advancement, will be viewed by many as a failure. Imbumi
Makuku, a pastor from the Reformed Presbyterian Church, who
had been living and ministering in another of Nairobi’s informal
settlements, noted (in Smith 2015):
The decision to move into Mukuru Kayaba was not understood well
by colleagues who thought I was throwing away a good education
[…] which fitted me most for a middle-class church. (p. 173)
The phrase ‘fitted me most for a middle-class church’ is telling.
In the particular context of Nairobi we have to ask whether
theological institutions that serve the church and the city
conduct their ‘God talk’ in ways that speak out of, as well as
into, the realities of life of the million or more slum dwellers
who live within the city’s informal settlements. Does theological
education largely operate in a way that takes little cognisance
of these communities other than providing a theological escape
route?
Abdul Maliq Simone (2004a) makes the critical observation
that up to three-quarters of basic human needs are provided
informally in African cities. Through the informal economy, urban
populations gain access to food, housing, transport, healthcare
and education ‘outside the institutions, frameworks, practices
and policies sanctioned by the state’ (Simone 2004a:69; Schram,
Labonté & Sanders 2013). The point is made that the informal
economy is central to the economic life of most African cities.
More than that, despite often-hostile government policies,
informal settlements are places of social and economic innovation,
workshops of creativity, that contribute to the whole life of the
city and without which cities could not survive and prosper.
Simone (2004b:70) challenges the perception of the formal
economy as real and normative. Instead he asks whether the
informal sector might provide a basis for an alternative and more
sustainable urban configuration.
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All this is not to deny the appalling inequalities or the injustices

that are manifest within these communities, but it is to recognise
that, in spite of these realities, these are communities that
contribute to the life, welfare and shalom of the city as a whole.
It is not only in the economic life of the city that we see the
contribution of the informal economy. Religious life too is
expressed through the structures and practices of the informal
economy. Churches have emerged within these communities
that have adopted the patterns of the informal economy.
However, while economists have been quick to capture the value
of the informal economy for the development of the formal
economy, churches and the wider religious establishment seem
to have been less willing or able to hear, recognise or be
challenged by the faith, life and witness of these communities of
faith (Smith 2007).
In what follows, Sheth notes the way those at the economic
margins of the city find themselves doubly disadvantaged by
existing models of theological education. Firstly, the educational
and economic systems often mean they are denied access.
Secondly, where there is access, the ‘language’ of the theological
discourse is one that seldom resonates with the experience of
those whose life is lived at the margins.
Theology from Above: Power and

Privilege
As Colin has observed, schools of theology come with language,
concepts and practices that oftentimes struggle to find relevance
among people on the streets. With terminologies developed to
communicate ideas or concepts of God that only those in
academia understand, they remain foreign to the people they are
supposed to minister to. This dissonance is created when
reflections on scripture and on God are taken from above, from
positions of power and influence, of advantage and privilege, as
opposed to from below, where the pain, struggles and experiences
of people actually exist. Cesar Lopes (2014) notes, ‘[…] [t]heology
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done from below is not doing theology for the powerless, but
with them’. However, this does not advocate for a complete
moratorium on theology from above, but it is an endorsement of
a theological process that takes context seriously. Prescriptive
singular theological thought can only lead to the kind of
perspectives articulated by the UK Bible teachers who Colin
describes visiting Kibera.
The reality is that God is at work among his people on the
streets, sometimes in ways that the academy is blind to. It
becomes institutionally deaf and blind, incapable of answering
that critical question, ‘How do we respond to what God is already
doing in a given culture?’ (Dyrness 2016:20). Every single day,
the people of God experience God in the marketplace, at home,
in schools, in the field, among others, in words that only the
individual understands. In the informal settlements, God’s people
meet God through their neighbours who help them with salt or
maize flour when the family has none. Praise and worship
spontaneously are offered to God as they experience these acts
of care and support through good neighbourliness. People on
the streets want to relate to a God who identifies with their
situations and at their level. Unfortunately, as Myers (2001)
explains:
[D]ecades after Paulo Freire introduced the perspectives of popular
education, the pedagogical practices that prevail in North American
seminaries (and similarly in schools of theology in Sub-Saharan
Africa) still tend to breed dependence rather than empowerment,
privilege content over process and nurture intellectualizing rather
than praxis. (pp. 49–52)
Power and privilege continue to dictate who accesses the

education offered by the schools of theology and how it is
perpetuated in society. The current theological system of
education, by and large, promotes intellectual ecclesiastical
elitism and favours the rich, which further disenfranchises
disadvantaged communities. The impact of this system is far-
reaching because it extracts bright students from poor
communities, educates them and incorporates them into their
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system, a process that further disempowers the very communities

they seek to evangelise. The informal urbanisation that Sub-
Saharan Africa, Asia and Latin America are now witnessing
continues to expose power differentiations and the inequities
that exist. The case for Kenyan informal settlements helps to
capture the reality of much that goes on in other informal
settlements.
Colin noted the way Western models of education are geared
towards upward social mobility. This process tends to lead to a
denuding of the human resources of communities rather than
their enhancement. Magali Larson (1977), writing on the rise of
professionalism in theology and theological education, observes
that the goal of most current seminaries is professional
credentialing for parish ministry and/or for academic teaching.
She (Larson 1977) says:
Because marketable expertise is a crucial element in the structure of
modern inequality, professionalization appears also as a collective
assertion of special social status and as a collective process of
upward mobility […] [Its] ‘backbone’ is the occupational hierarchy,
that is, a differential system of competences and rewards; the central
principle of legitimacy is founded on the achievement of socially
recognized expertise, or, more simply, on a system of education and
credentialing. (p. xvi)
Myers (2001) further argues that the production of knowledge

has become a ‘standardized commodity’ in the modern university,
steadily displacing the older ethos of apprenticeships and guilds
with that of credentialing monopolies. And ministers and
theology professors are virtual charter members of this elite
class of ‘knowledge professionals’. Larson identifies the three
main components of the ideology of professionalism as
individualism, elitism and a psychology of entitlement. Thus,
‘education is now the main legitimizer of social inequality in
industrial capitalism’ (Larson 1977:7).
While this is happening, most of the pastors and church
leaders in informal settlements have not been able to go for
any theological and/or leadership training because they are
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semi-literate and cannot be admitted to theological colleges as

they cannot meet admission requirements. In their attempt to
meet the standards set by the Commission for University
Education in Kenya, colleges exclude potential change agents
based on high school grades. Performance is increasingly being
gauged purely by academic qualifications, which fail to account
for the wide diversity of forms of gifting and of human experience.
As a result, these leaders will always miss the opportunity to be
equipped to meaningfully serve their communities.
On the other hand, those who have been trained discover the
training is not relevant for the dynamics of their urban context
and is more suited to the realities of rural or suburban contexts.
In recent years, a lot of material has been written on the new
population trends and yet theological colleges have not
sufficiently embraced the reality of urbanisation, and new
urbanisms, to develop courses that will address this reality and
equip ministers. To further complicate the situation, most of
those who have been trained in those colleges often vacate
informal settlements, having been drawn to churches in middle
class or affluent parts of the city. Moreover, of those who remain,
the levels of poverty have pushed over 60% of these leaders to
do part-time jobs in order to supplement family income from the
little stipend they receive from church.
The economics of theological education is also a key issue.
Because of high poverty levels in the informal settlements and
the unceasing daily pressure to provide for their families, many
church leaders cannot afford the time to commit to theological
education, as is presently offered. The way current models of
education are structured means that courses are offered at such
times when church leaders are working in order to provide for
their families. Besides serving as pastors, evangelists, bishops
and elders, these leaders work as night security guards, tailors,
small entrepreneurs and carpenters, among others. The time
demanded from them by these trades leaves little room for a
model of theological education that does not take these factors
into consideration.
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The Story of Hagar

In order to provide a shift in focus and explore alternatives, we
turn to the story of Hagar in the Bible. It provides a biblical
perspective, among several narratives in scripture, of God’s
conversations and encounters with non-Jewish people who
sought his help at different times and for varied reasons. In the
story we are introduced to the idea that the Lord often crosses
boundaries and disregards the popular stereotypical beliefs that
attempt to confine him. He reveals himself to be larger than what
finite minds can contain. We discover that the narrowing of our
beliefs ends up crippling or incapacitating our faith and
experiences.
Genesis 21 offers a narrative of a family situation that pits the
privileged against the poor, disadvantaged slave girl. Hagar, who
is considered a ‘nobody’ by Abraham’s chosen family and who
serves as a slave girl, is driven away from the home by her
mistress. She leaves with her son with no notion of where she will
go. When she runs out of food and water and cannot bear to
watch her child die, the Lord hears the child’s cry and remembers
them. Her first encounter with God in Genesis 16 made her the
first person, according to the biblical narrative, to give God a
name. It is clear that it was outside of the formal, conventional
manner that the Lord acted towards her and her son. He continues
to act in that way to date. God’s grace is obviously evident in the
slave woman’s life, as the ‘preferred’ and loved woman is denied
the honour of childbirth.
In that passage is a God so informal that it was easy for
Abraham and Sarah to miss him in the whole picture. In a similar
way, we can observe how our ‘ideal’ God, or the God that
organised religion teaches, is the God that the academy
religiously passes on to students. Sometimes it can become
uncomfortable to relate to or identify with such a God.
Institutionalised religion projects a predictable and familiar God –
just as the Pharisees, Sadducees and teachers of the law did.
They failed to comprehend and embrace a God who could not
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be contained or captured in their formal traditions, norms and

teachings that had, for generations, been handed down as true
and binding.
The God who sees Hagar is the God who sees the struggling,
jobless young people, single mothers and poor families that have
informal settlements as their home. He is constantly on the lips of
the poor as testimonies of his kindness are shared. On the streets
those who have encountered him never shy away from making it
known in their churches through testimonial narratives and
songs. The ululations and shouts that rend the air during such
moments speak of gratitude to God and confirmation of his
nearness.
This same activity of God can be connected to Jesus’
hometown, Nazareth – a poor town but one in which the saviour
of the world grew up. At the periphery of religious activity,
Nazareth was not perceived as a town that could be home to the
Messiah. How could God have failed to notice the best of
neighbourhoods in Israel at the time, with beautiful and formal
order that befit his status? It denotes that people and places that
are forgotten, rejected or eschewed appear to attract him more.
As paradoxical as it may appear, the Lord seems to be most
evidently present among the poor, contrary to popular reasoning
that suggests the opposite. Liberation theology’s ‘God’s
preferential option for the poor’ is herein acted out. This is further
illustrated by the image of grace being like water flowing downhill
and pulling up in the lowest places, the lowest places here
representing poor communities that have been left out by the
dominant culture of our theological institutions.
In No Center, No Periphery: A Regional Approach to Mission,
Mande Munyoro (2016) argues that there is no centre any longer.
The growth of the church in Sub-Saharan Africa cannot be said
to be a product of the formal (academy) but of a propagation
of the gospel by individuals and groups who are outside the
schools of theology. As John Wesley (Christian Classics Ethereal
Library n.d.) said:
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I look upon all the world as my parish; thus far I mean, that in whatever
part of it I am, I judge it meet, right, and my bounden duty to declare,
unto all that are willing to hear, the glad tidings of salvation. (n.p.)
This means that the city and the rural, every continent and nation,
and all cultures and subcultures must receive significant attention
by the academy.
This declaration by Wesley widens the scope of the mission

field as it mainstreams the whole world as God’s field of mission
that the academy must embrace. Hagar, Nazareth and Kibera
represent people, groups and places that fall outside of the
formal societal arrangement but that nonetheless experience
God’s grace. The academy, with its current arrangement, ignores
the informal sector and concentrates on the formal sectors of
society. While emphasis is put on the institution with its numerous
anti-informality bottlenecks, there is an active presence of God
in informality. In this respect, the academy itself becomes a
mission field as it itself requires transformation.
Myers summarises, by using the term populist, instead of

informal, the shape of informal theological education and the
informal God alternative that Hagar, Nazareth and Kibera
represent (Myers 2001):
The problem is that those of us who have chosen populist over
seminary-based theological pedagogy have had to figure out how to
operate with little or no institutional support (this has prompted my
colleague Bill Wylie-Kellermann to refer to us wryly as the ‘lumpen
professoriat’). We are too practical for the seminaries, too political
for the churches and too evangelical for most activist organisations.
So we itinerate, facilitating workshops, seminars, conferences, and
retreats that become excuses to invoke a sort of ‘floating alternative
seminary.’ We employ a pedagogy of popular education, in which
participants sing and pray; critically reflect on issues from the
perspective of their different contexts and traditions and histories;
and re-read the scriptures in order to embody them in the world.
We collaborate with musicians, performance artists, body workers,
and liturgists, and use different media in order to offer a range of
voices and approaches. In this work, worship, analysis and practice
meet again and embrace. (p. 50)
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The Unending Tension

Having served as a pastor in Kibera, one thing that stood out
clearly for me was the tension between the formal and informal.
Fellowships and churches seemed to function well in unofficial
forms until a sense of formality was introduced. The people
seemed to enjoy relaxed, friendly or unofficial ways of
engagement, above systems that threatened open, free and
relaxed environments for communal life and meaningful
relationships. They seemed to thrive whenever and wherever
freedom and spontaneity were encouraged. The oral culture
of the community encouraged ‘loose’ contracts among
residents, and individuals or institutions that chose formality
were considered to be either proud or more Western in
orientation.
Within such meetings and arrangements, the name of God is
constantly mentioned, sometimes in ways that border on
blasphemy, like buda wa juu. This is the beauty of native or street
languages that have the right words for laypersons to express
their emotions and thoughts to describe God. One will notice the
difference in the languages so that the language used in church
is not the one employed in common use at home. It almost seems
like schools of theology and churches are sacred places where
‘sacred language’ is required to talk about God. This sacredness
of religious language as championed by the academy and
ecclesiastical orders works to dichotomise life for the people and
makes worship and discipleship unauthentic.
This struggle can be exemplified by how churches in these
communities operate. Most churches in the community do not
have official registration with the government, do not have
auditable financial accounts and do not have bank accounts, yet
they continue to operate. Although some members of the
congregation would question such practices, life seems to be
going on as though those are insignificant issues. Socio-economic
and cultural realities at the grass roots have produced an urban
subculture within the informal settlements that supports life for
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the people but that stands contrary to beliefs and practices of

the dominant culture of the bourgeois and upper-class citizens
of the city.
Formality and informality find themselves in much more

serious tension when hermeneutics comes into play. The
traditional seminary education, which disconnected students
from their context of study and emphasised the biblical context
as the beginning point of theological reflection, stands in contrast
to the school of thought that holds that context (often changing)
should be the starting point.
Mesters (1995:416) describes the way base Christian

communities in Brazil read the scriptures and notes that the poor
and oppressed find within the scriptures an undeviating kinship
with their own life and experience. He observes that the poor
begin with their own experience of struggle and service, on the
streets and from their experiences of life. These are the things
they bring with them into their reading of scripture. He suggests
that the poor discover a reflection of their own lives and
experience within the text. The Bible becomes their book in
which they discover liberation from sickness, demons, pain,
suffering, lack and scarcity.
This informs the manner in which independent Pentecostal

and Charismatic churches order and conduct their services.
Everything within their oral liturgy leads to a time of
ministration to individuals. Dreams, visions, testimonies, songs,
sermonettes and prophecies are intended to help alleviate the
suffering of the worshipper and teach them to ward off any
attack. ‘Prophetic’ churches, where the causes of a worshipper’s
woes can be identified and deliverance offered, continue to
attract many poor people. Such theology speaks into a
worldview where witches, demons or curses threaten one’s
future. Individuals, through the ministry of the ‘Man of God’,
are then taken through a time of deliverance that addresses
their need. Unfortunately, this worldview of difference, cultural
realities and existential needs of the people remain unaddressed
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by schools of theology that sometimes rationalise or explain

them away. However, some forms of prosperity theology take
advantage of the vulnerability of the poor and the ‘Man of
God’ becomes another form of oppression. The task that
schools of theology have is to move towards bridging this
existing gap between the formal and informal so that balance
is struck.
The Growing Frustration

An often-voiced concern from a number of congregations is the
apparent lack of teachers’ or ministers’ ability to relate scripture
to daily life. They often complain that they do not attend training
or come to church to look for some scientific, foreign solution to
their pressing issues. They are not waiting for an abstract idea of
a God far removed from them and who delights in being prayed
to but does not act on their behalf. This is because ‘well trained’,
well-meaning pastors and theologians from the academy, with
lofty ideas and powerful oratory skills, fail to connect with the
simple ordinary people who form their congregations because
their ideas are alien to the context. There seems to be a
presentation of a God who is less concerned with the heart than
the mind, one who does not concern himself with sick bodies but
demands tithes and offerings to sustain his ministers and their
ministries. The Bible teaches observation of the latter without
neglecting the former.
In order to connect the Bible, God and people in education

and in ministry, language is primary. The starting point in all
these is being able to speak to people in a way that they can
understand. Theological and spiritual formation happens when
people are able to understand God deeply through a language
they know, a language that communicates with their innermost
being. Street language in most of our cities is not the same as the
classroom language in schools of theology. God who is the
author of all languages can be known through those languages.
God would never speak to any person using a language the
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person does not understand. For instance, in Kenya, and

especially Nairobi, the street language is Sheng, and it is common
to hear young people refer to God as buda, while the official
instructional language in schools of theology is mainly English.
Interestingly, the older generation find Sheng unpalatable to
them, arguing that it is for uncultured and ill-disciplined young
people. The point is whether one is able to fully appreciate the
gospel message if they can’t connect through language.
Theological education, which has concentrated heavily on
training the clergy while neglecting the laity, requires
transformation. It is not enough to develop terminologies and
concepts in the classroom that will never make sense to the
common people. Because everyone does theology at their own
levels, structured God talk should be made simpler and
accessible to people in the marketplace, at home and on the
streets. Even the language of clergy and laity, as helpful as it has
been, somehow succeeds in widening the gap between ministers
and their audiences, the formal and informal, between the
academy and the marketplace. The heart of theological
education should be to help form believers theologically and
spiritually in order to live out their faith authentically and
meaningfully, and this happens when it is done with the people
themselves and not just for and to them.
Relevant cultural forms of communication should be
intentionally adopted to communicate the gospel message in
life-giving ways. Although reading and writing have become part
and parcel of human culture, an oral culture of communication
must not be ignored. Through stories, songs and proverbs, just
like Christ used them in his messages, most of which are unwritten,
their richness and effectiveness cannot be understated. Certain
songs that have been considered unscriptural still resonate with
worshippers. Shetani nitakusema kwa baba [Satan, I will report
you to my father] is one such song. It is an expression of the need
to overcome the enemy’s works and live a life of rest and
prosperity. Although most of the mainline churches widely use
19th- and 20th-century hymns, a number of local worshippers do
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not understand their theology and, moreover, these songs do

not minister to them in the same way as when ‘by heart’ songs
are sung.
Outside Schools of Theology

The subtitle of this chapter is ‘outside schools of theology’. Sheth
notes the way that for many faith communities in Nairobi, their
informal context places them outside the schools of theology.
Just as they are outside the formal banking system, healthcare,
legal systems, education and employment, so they find
themselves outside the provision of theological education, either
priced out by the market or excluded through their own history
of informal education. We have noted that this exclusion is not a
unique feature of Nairobi but is just one more example of the
wider social and economic forces of the global economy that
lead to wholesale marginalisation of urban communities from
almost every aspect of urban life.
In this sense, the church mirrors social structures rather than
prophetically offering an alternative. However, for those who
manage to find their way into the system there is the sense that
they remain simultaneously inside and outside the school. Sheth
notes the way they find themselves in a context in which the
discourse about God is conducted in a language that is not theirs
or where their experience, their encounter with God, the life of
their community and the witness of God present within it seems
in some sense absent, discounted and ignored. The God of the
theology school appears to know nothing of one who comes to
them as buda.
This sense of being present but not really present, speaking
yet feeling spoken for, is brilliantly captured by Robert Young
(2003) in his discussion of postcolonialism:
Have you ever felt that the moment that you said the word, ‘I’, that
‘I’ was someone else, not you? That in some obscure way you were
not the subject of your own sentence? Do you ever feel that when
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you speak you have, in some sense, already been spoken for? Or that
when you hear others speaking you are only ever going to be the
object of their speech? Do you sense that those speaking would try
to find out how things seem to you, from where you are? That you
live in a world of others, a world that exists for others. (p. 1)
We are then left with the question of whether theological

education in informal settlements must be something that takes
place ‘outside’ the schools of theology. The concept of being
the outsider is double-edged. There is this sense of being
excluded from the rights and privileges of urban life. A sense of
exclusion that in ancient urban societies was most visibly
demonstrated through the existence of city walls. Outside the
city walls is the province of those excluded, the destitute and
dispossessed, pushed even from the very margins of life inside
the city. Such places included Gehenna, Jerusalem’s ever-
smoking rubbish dump, and that of greater horror, the place of
torture and death, Golgotha, the place of the skull. Yet Selby
(1991:58) poignantly reminds us that ‘outside the camp’, where
those excluded are to be found, is also the place of Christ. Christ
comes to us as one excluded, as the outsider. He is in this sense
perhaps most visible, most palpably present, in the places of
exclusion, at the margins, on the edge.
Sheth notes Mester’s observation of the way in which the

poor discover ‘undeviating kinship with their own life and
experience’. Croatto (1984) similarly speaks of a ‘kerygmatic
nucleus’ to describe the way those at the margins are closer to
the heart of the gospel and therefore those best placed to be its
interpreters. While not going quite this far, Orlando Costas
(1989) argues that it is those at the base and the margins of
society who are most able to understand the meaning of the
gospel.
From this perspective, we are bound to question the

perspectives of outside–inside, centre–margins that define many
urban societies. Theologically, margins become centres. If we are
to take that seriously, to embody that, then theological institutions
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need to be situated primarily at the margins as the context in

which the gospel might most clearly be discovered and faith
most readily explored.
One possible outcome of situating theology schools in the
context of an informal settlement, if there is real engagement
with context, is that urban poverty becomes an issue of
theological enquiry. Two billion slum dwellers is a theological
issue, but one the church, globally, seems to devote little
attention to. Manuel Castells (2010) speaks of multiple black
holes of social exclusion around the planet, yet such places
seem to hold as little currency in the church as they do in the
global economy.
It is of course possible to physically relocate an institution
without ever undergoing the more difficult work of understanding
how place might reshape and determine the process of learning
that goes on within it. We can place a theological college in the
heart of an informal settlement and still leave students feeling
they have in some sense ‘already been spoken for’ or leave staff
from within that community still feeling that they must forever
sow, propagate and cultivate the exotic fruit of another place,
ignoring the rich and diverse crops that otherwise flourish within
their own communities. Is the answer then that the theological
discourse that takes place within the informal settlements must
somehow exist in parallel or apart from the schools of theology
that serve the wider church?
Andrew Walls’ (2002:72) description of the ‘Ephesian Moment’
describes the process by which the ‘dividing wall of hostility’ was
broken down as the church discovered that its full identity, and
the very nature of the gospel, could never be captured or
contained within one single cultural form or expression. His
argument is that a more complete appreciation of who Christ
really is requires a pulling together of the various perceptions
that occur within the different cultural contexts where he
becomes known. In other words, we need to experience the
diversity of the church to gain a fuller grasp of the true nature of
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Christ and his gospel. This diversity is not limited to the realm of
culture. Walls (2002) goes on to state:
The Ephesian moment also announces the church of the poor.
Christianity will be mainly the religion of rather poor or very poor
peoples, with few gifts to bring except the gospel itself, and the
heartlands of the church will include some of the poorest countries
on the earth. (p. 81)
If we follow the logic of Walls’ argument, then a failure to see and

hear the gospel as it is lived, expressed and proclaimed from
within the informal sectors, from the urban margins, will result in
the impoverishment of the whole church, not just one part of it.
Sheth’s articulation of the frustration of ‘ordinary Christians’ who
find that those trained in ‘the academy’, with its dualistic separation
of thought over action, cannot connect with their lived experience
is a message for the whole church. In the sheltered environment
of the academy it is possible to think only in abstractions, to
explore faith as theory, as competing ideas. But when a theology
school intentionally takes as its context the realities of an informal
settlement, learning with and from that community, expressing
and articulating faith from the lived experience of that community,
then such luxuries, if they are such, are unavailable.
Similarly, if we choose to privilege the margins over the

economic and political centres, then we need to explore what it
means to privilege the language of these communities. Sheth
notes the way Sheng is the lingua franca of the communities
where he ministers and yet this language is somehow ruled out
as a legitimate language with which to communicate faith. Are
we to privilege our reading of Luke over Mark because the Greek
is better? If we take seriously the positioning or, better still,
emerging of theology schools in the informal settlements, must
they be required to adopt a language other than that to be found
in the words and songs ‘of the heart’?
What then might this concept of informal God inside the
theology school look like? In what follows we offer an inside and
outside perspective.
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A View from the Outside

In exploring this question, two former general secretaries of the
Church Mission Society in the UK may give us some clues or at
least an indication of the posture some of us may need to adopt
if we are to explore the question from the outside. John V. Taylor
(1963), writing about Christian engagement with other faith
communities and their scriptures, commented that ‘you have not
understood them until you have been compelled to interpret
your own gospel in entirely new terms’ (Bosch 1988). His position
is one that recognises that in the presence of the ‘other’ we have
to be open to the possibility and embrace the reality that the
gospel comes to us in new and unexpected ways. If we are to
apply that principle to theological education in the informal
settlements, then those of us outside that context, but who seek
to engage with it and learn from it, must be radically open to the
possibility that our own theological understanding may need to
be reinterpreted in entirely new terms. At issue here is posture.
Writing in the introduction to John Taylor’s Primal Vision, Max

Warren comments (in Taylor 1963):
The first task in approaching another people, another culture, another
religion, is to take off our shoes, for the place we are approaching is
holy. Else we may find ourselves treading on men’s dreams. More
seriously still, we may forget that God was here before our arrival.
(p. 10)
We therefore need to return to the question posed by William

Dyrness (2016) and begin by asking the question of what God is
doing in a given context, in this instance, informal settlements,
and being open to hearing and learning how that might cast
fresh light on the way we understand and obey scripture. Sheth
notes the reality that even on the streets God is at work among
his people, sometimes in ways that the academy is blind to.
Theology schools within the informal settlements can be the very
places where that presence and activity are discerned and new
understandings emerge.
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Is it possible for the academy to engage in that process?

Is there a space for mutual learning where local wisdom is not
drowned out in the overly confident language of academia? For
that to happen I think we would need to examine the question of
posture. Such a posture is not to deny the gifts that ‘the academy’
may bring to any given context but it will require that the
academy discovers its true self. That is, it embodies what it means
to be a place of learning, not simply a place of teaching, and
recognises that the learning emerges from the action of the Spirit
within the community, a learning that can challenge its deepest,
often unrecognised, assumptions. With Freire (1996), it will need
to be open to forms of theological education that emerge as a
response to the questions posed from within rather than framed
from without. It also means recognising where change and
transformation come from and how change is envisioned.
Ugandan theologian Emanuel Katongole (2010) describes a
‘theology of relocation’, where change is understood to come
not from the exercise of power from the centre, but from the
divesting of power and wealth to the margins. Physical relocation
is only one small part of a much deeper process. A relocation of
the heart and mind requires something more, a profound level of
listening, conversion and commitment. Bonino (1980) expressed
it this way:
There is no socially and politically neutral theology; in the struggle
for life and against death, theology must take sides. I have to ask
myself: What is my ‘social location’ as theologian? Whose interests
and concerns am I serving? Whose perspective on reality, whose
experience am I adopting? (And, because it is a conflict, against
whom – temporarily and conditionally, but no less resolutely – am
I struggling?) (pp. 1154–1158)
If the academy and the people who make it what it is are to

contribute in any way to the development and advancement of
theological schools in informal settlements, then Bonino’s words
perhaps provide a suitable starting point from which to begin
asking the questions. To engage in this theological discourse we
must begin from a posture that seeks to adopt a perspective that
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sees life and faith from within the realities of these communities.
Such a place is uncomfortable; it is a place that asks difficult
questions of some of us. Some we struggle to answer with real
integrity. It challenges perspectives, assumptions and privileges
and demands to know, not simply what you believe, or what you
think know, but where you stand and whom you stand with.
A View from the Inside

My experience is that of someone who has now lived and
ministered in Kibera for 23 years, doing ministry before receiving
any seminary diploma and now serving while a PhD candidate.
In comparison, my ministry seemed to do better when I served as
an untrained preacher than after I joined a school of theology.
A temporary paralysis occasioned by multiple arguments and an
emphasis on praxis that almost entirely contradicted my ministry
practice resulted in stunted growth, if not decline, in church
attendance and ministry functions. This is heavily attributed to
certain theological educators whose emphasis on reason rather
than balance between reason and the Spirit’s leadership produced
confusion and negative self-evaluation of my ministry. However,
I finally came out of it after years of struggle.
This serves to highlight the critical role that schools of theology
play in shaping and reshaping or influencing a church leader’s
worldview and ministry focus. It means that simply locating
theological education in an informal settlement does not mean
the teaching emerges from the wisdom and worldview of that
community. It can be physically present yet still alien in its
perspective, disabling in its inability to appreciate and affirm
what is there. My theological education practice in the informal
settlements has brought to fore the role of personal experiences
in ministry and praxis engagement, where leaders identify with
me as one of their own and appreciate the process of praxis that
affirms and challenges existing practices. It all begins with
developing a curriculum with the leaders, setting appropriate
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class schedules and collectively agreeing on teaching

methodologies that make learning possible. Students come with
their experiences and existing knowledge to a table where the
teacher is a learner and the student is a teacher.
Theological education in informal settlements must be treated

as sacred, a duty that requires calling and grace. Theological
degrees do not necessarily qualify graduates to become teachers,
especially when they are from seminaries outside the context
of training or have no experience serving in similar contexts.
I contend that what is holy must not be treated with disdain for,
as the proverb goes, ‘fools rush in where angels fear to tread’. As
Colin has highlighted, the attitude one adopts when designing a
theological curriculum for ministers and identifying educators
has significant implications on the outcome of the education
exercise.
Paul Cornelius (n.d.), in discussing the transformation of

theological education, argues that the quality and commitment of
teachers or faculty will be called into question in the transformation
model, because what is required is not so much teachers for the
classroom as mentors for ministry and lifestyle. He acknowledges
that although academic qualifications will continue to be a factor,
experience, age and most of all a commitment to mentoring
through practice and living will be the most important factors.
Faculty will be required to design coursework, learning tasks and
assessment criteria that will involve more than just imparting
knowledge and information in exams.
Henri Nouwen (in Mogabgab 1981) questions the way

academic obligations are put on students when he notes
(in Mogabgab 1981):
As teachers, we have become insensitive to the ridiculous situation
in which adult men and women feel that they ‘owe’ us a paper of at
least 20 pages. We have lost our sense of surprise when men and
women who are taking courses about the questions of life and death,
anxiously ask how much is ‘required’. (p. 20)
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He (Nouwen in Mogabgab) goes ahead to propose:

We are not asked to teach a discipline like Mathematics, Physics,
History or Languages, but we are called to make our own faith
available to others as the source of learning. To be a teacher means
indeed to lay down your life for your friends […] To be a teacher
means to offer your own faith experience, your loneliness and
intimacy, your doubts and hopes, your failures and successes to your
students as a context in which they can struggle with their own quest
for meaning. (n.p.)
Theological education must be with informal settlement leaders

as opposed to doing it for or to them. Theological education with
the community is what makes the difference when we discuss
‘outside the academy’, where theological formation does not
override spiritual and ministerial formation. Issues that affect
Kibera such as land, injustice, oppression, poverty and
unemployment, among other ills, which are often left out in
curricula of most schools of theology, can best be addressed
when theological education is done with the people.
An important dimension in theological education today must
have a shift in focus from educating only leaders theologically to
extending education to the whole church. An emphasis on
leaders alone divorces the clergy from the laity and renders the
church incapable of being relevant in and to their contexts
because lay Christians carry out most of the ecclesiastical work.
The aim is to actualise the Lausanne Congress on World
Evangelization in 1974 (The Lausanne Movement, n.d.), which is
that ‘[e]vangelization requires the whole church to take the
whole gospel to the whole world’.
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At Many Tables of
Discernment: Faith and
Shalom in the Polis
Andre van Eymeren20
Urban Shalom Society & Centre for Building Better Community
Australia
Introduction
Planetary urbanisation refers to more than the development of
cities all over the globe; rather, it is the result of the complete
urbanisation of society (Merrifield 2013:909; based on Lefebvre
2003). It is a process so encompassing that whether one lives
in a city or not, the urban way of life with its focus on production,
markets, new technologies and business cycles impacts our
very way of being. Our very development as people has
How to cite: Van Eymeren, A., 2018, ‘At Many Tables of Discernment: Faith and Shalom
in the Polis’, in S. de Beer (ed.), Just Faith: Glocal Responses to Planetary Urbanisation
(HTS Religion & Society Series Volume 3), pp. 253–285, AOSIS, Cape Town. https://doi.
org/10.4102/aosis.2018.BK87.09 20
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At Many Tables of Discernment: Faith and Shalom in the Polis
become so entwined with the urban project that life has

become inconceivable without it.
Linking this concept with Isaac Asimov’s Trantor, a giant

planet with 40 billion inhabitants, all living in one city of 75
million square miles, one could be forgiven for having somewhat
dystopian nightmares (Merrifield 2013). However, while there is
much to lament about the urban environment, there is also much
to celebrate. In the 2016 documentary Within Formal Cities the
filmmakers, two architect graduates, go on a five-city trek
around South America exploring the positive difference that
architecture and urban design can have on urban informal
settlements. The approach they documented has not only
improved what some would call slums or favelas, but the social
and economic trajectory of the families living there have also
markedly improved (Within Formal Cities 2016).
Despite the many issues associated with urbanisation, there is

room for optimism around what is possible at the tables of
discernment globally, within countries and locally. UN Habitat has
been involved in setting the global direction of the development
of cities for over 40 years. The most recent expression of its
work is the collaboratively formed New Urban Agenda (NUA)
(UN Habitat 2016), a document demonstrating the majority of the
world’s commitment for all to experience (live out) their right to
the city. However, as people of faith, we have often been lacking
in our understanding of the systems of the cities we inhabit. If we
are to make effective responses at the tables of discernment,
then we need to grow in our understanding of the city, including
the important contribution local governments and civil society
(faith groups included) can make to its development.
The reason for our engagement as people of faith is that the

hope and optimism evident in documents like the NUA is akin to
God’s hope expressed throughout the scriptures, most clearly
seen in the ancient Hebrew term shalom. When, as a body of
believers, we are able to grasp the holistic nature of this term
and its simile the kingdom of God, we find revealed before our
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eyes both a rationale and a blueprint for our active involvement

in the shaping of cities and indeed urbanisation.
Lastly, this chapter would like to show that an embrace of the

hope that is present in our urban environments and working in
partnership with others who share the same hope (from whatever
background they may come) will help us find a different quality
of faith that will help shape its expression in the world.
There is Hope! The New Urban

Agenda
What is the NUA? For the more cynical, the document articulating
the NUA can still have dystopian overtures. However, that is
not its intent. Ratified by most of the world’s governments at
Habitat III, the document outlines an aspiration for cities
(UN Habitat 2016):
We share a vision of cities for all, referring to the equal use and
enjoyment of cities and human settlements, seeking to promote
inclusivity and ensure that all inhabitants, of present and future
generations, without discrimination of any kind, are able to inhabit
and produce just, safe, healthy, accessible, affordable, resilient, and
sustainable cities and human settlements, to foster prosperity and
quality of life for all. We note the efforts of some national and local
governments to enshrine this vision, referred to as right to the city,
in their legislations, political declarations and charters. (p. 3)
Habitat III was a microcosm of this aspiration. Some 40 000

delegates from around the world took part. Lunchtime was a
highlight, lining up in the warm Ecuadorian sun with like-minded
people from every continent on the planet. People from diverse
ethnic, social and economic backgrounds all engaged in
conversation around a shared intent, to be part of shaping cities
where everyone can thrive and flourish.
Although the language is conservative and contains many
broad statements pointing to well-being for all, the intent behind
the NUA is the belief that there is enough for everyone to live
well. This includes capital, food, land, capacity and resource for a
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growing population, and an increasing urbanisation to produce

that sense of well-being for all.
Across its 175 clauses, the NUA repeats again and again the
importance of including and enabling every person to benefit
from the development of cities and human settlements (UN
Habitat 2016):
[L]eave no one behind (14a); addressing multiple forms of
discrimination (20); eradicating poverty in all its forms and
dimensions (25); the right to adequate housing for all as a component
of the right to an adequate standard of living (31); strengthen[ing]
social cohesion, intercultural dialogue and understanding,
tolerance, mutual respect, general equality (40); promot[ing]
institutional, political, legal and financial mechanisms in cities and
human settlements to broaden inclusive platforms (41); full and
productive employment and decent work for all (43); promot[ing]
an enabling, fair and responsible business environment, based on the
principles of environmental sustainability and inclusive prosperity
(58); promot[ing] the integration of food security and nutrition
needs of urban residents, particularly the urban poor in territorial
planning, to end hunger and malnutrition (123); implementation
of the NUA requires an enabling environment […] based on the
principles of equality, non-discrimination, accountability, respect
for human rights and solidarity, especially with those who are the
poorest and most vulnerable. (p. 126)
Towards this end, Rieger and Henkel-Rieger (2017:2) outline a

concept of deep solidarity, stating that the current market
system only works for a few and that if we want to see change
more of us need to stand together to create it. While they wrote
this in the context of labour, the principle holds true for the
aspirational community and societal change outlined in the NUA.
A key theory or tool to help unpack the NUA and understand

the nature of the change needed is the concept of sustainability.
The diversity of the term is reflected in the breadth of the
Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) (United Nations
Development Program 2018), encompassing everything from the
eradication of poverty, to clean water and sanitation, to climate
action and of course cities.
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Sustainable Urbanism and

the New Urban Agenda
Imagine the city as a permeable circle or open system. What
would be on the inside of the circle? What pressures would be on
the outside? The questions are hard to answer because the city
and effects of the urban environment are all around, like the air
we breathe. Inside the system are schools, businesses, all tiers of
government, buildings, public spaces, healthcare, the justice
system, social services, religious institutions, modes of transport
and the infrastructure necessary to support them, sporting clubs
and other community organisations, many different forms of
entertainment and media, the overt and not-so-overt economy.
There are people who are acted upon and who act upon the
system in an infinite number of ways. Outside the permeable
circle there are forces like the global economy, the global media,
higher tiers of government and planning, global politics,
multinational business, the Internet, international aid and
development, the United Nations – and the list goes on.
For each of the elements both inside the system and acting on it
there is a table of discernment that people of faith can actively
participate in. However, to participate appropriately, Christians
need to be well informed, understanding and engaging with the
language of the sector, and approaching it with an attitude of
humility – looking to connect and partner with people of peace who
share the desire for shalom even if they do not name it that way.
While for people of faith shalom is a helpful theological

reference point, it is not so for businesses, governments or in
conversations about the environment. One approximation that
makes sense across these spheres is the vision of sustainability.
Working Sustainably
Sustainable development has become a buzzword with a definition
that is difficult to pin down. However, with the environment in firm
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view the concept of sustainable development dates to the mid-

1960s. One take on the concept’s development started with the
idea of appropriate technology, popularised by Schumacher
(1993:139,144,147). Subsequently, it has been refined through
various conferences, commissions and summits. Perhaps the most
significant report was the Brundtland Commission in 1987 and its
subsequent report, Our Common Future. The report recognises the
complexities of sustainable development but sets the goal of
meeting the basic needs of all and extending to all the opportunity
to satisfy their aspirations for a better life (Brundtland 1987:2.1.4).
These basic tenets were reflected in the Millennium Development
Goals, the now ratified SDGs and the NUA.
The latter two documents particularly reflect important
aspects of development as understood by Petersen and DeVries
(in Khalili 2011:13). They understand that local objectives must be
set according to negotiated economic and social values as well
as taking into account the need for the welfare of citizens and
societal cost–benefit analysis (Petersen & DeVries cited in Khalili
2011:13). Essentially, for development to be sustainable the effect
on the people must be considered. How well any planning
authority achieves this is debatable. This presents a possible role
for the well-informed individual believer or local church. The
informed faith community can become an advocate for and work
towards sustainable urbanism.
A Pathway Towards Sustainable

Urbanism
New or sustainable urbanism was a reaction to the private
vehicle-centred development of cities prominent in the 1920s
through to the 1960s. Jane Jacobs in her seminal work The Death
and Life of Great American Cities is scathing about the state of
US city planning in the 1960s. She saw that all levels of housing
had fallen victim to the same planning principles and had created
slums, general social hopelessness, dullness, regimentation,
vapid vulgarity, dead cultural and civic centres, directionless
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promenades and expressways that divided cities (Jacobs 1961:14).

She advocates for a set of principles formed in the laboratory of
cities and not in the classrooms of academia. Jacobs (1961:14)
believes that these principles need to be shaped by ordinary
affairs such as safety and city streets, what makes a great park,
why some slums regenerate while others remain the same and
the role of the neighbourhood in the city (Jacobs 1961:14).
Jacobs (1961:62–63), for example, highlights four elements
that should form part of sustainable local neighbourhoods:
1. Diversity: A district and as many of its internal parts must
serve more than one primary purpose. This will allow people
on different schedules and who are there for different purposes
to use many of the same spaces. For example, a church that
becomes a drop-in centre during the week.
2. Short streets: Giving the opportunity to turn corners frequently
adding to interest and connectivity.
3. Mingle buildings of various ages: In order to create variety in
the economic yield that each building must produce. This will
promote mixed use. The mingling needs to happen closely
together.
4. Dense concentration of people: This includes people who
reside in the district and those visiting. The population must
sustain the diversity.
The concepts of new or sustainable urbanism have been refined;
however, Jacobs’ thinking remains core. Understanding a
community as an ecosystem helps to flesh out Jacobs’ principles.
Sustainable communities strive to replicate nature itself,
generating substances that provide food for the system,
minimising the production of harm, living off current income, and
respecting and preserving diversity (McDonough; cited in Beatley
& Manning 1997:87).
Helping this process, sustainable urbanists advocate for a
compact urban form, reducing the burden on the natural
environment. An urban form not only impacts on the environment,
because a compact urban form will affect the social infrastructure
in very different ways to the current urban sprawl or a
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decentralised city form. New urbanists advocate for increased

density in inner-ring suburbs rather than increasing the urban
sprawl. The implications for Asimov’s Trantor are not clear.
However, as the planet urbanises decision-makers and planners
need to have liveability as their primary reference point.
Social Sustainability
While urban sustainability is a broad term, central to the NUA is
the concept of liveability or social sustainability. Missimer, Robert
and Broman (2016), in developing their framework of strategic
sustainable development, recognise that the concept of social
sustainability has been under-theorised with no overarching
definition. While they themselves stop short of a definition, they
draw on Folke et al., who use a complex adaptive systems lens to
explore how the social system responds to abrupt change or crisis.
With this in mind, Folke et al. (in Missimer et al. 2016:38) contend
that within the social system individuals can meet their own needs;
however, there must be a functioning social ecology around them.
They conclude that the key elements in this ecology are ‘trust,
common meaning, diversity, capacity for learning, and a capacity
for self-organisation’ (Missimer et al. 2016:38).
Building Cities from Below: Taking

Ownership Locally
While exploring the theory and the macro level of social
sustainability, people’s experience of it will be in the
neighbourhood, their local community. A community can be
defined as (Van Eymeren 2017):
[A]n interconnected web of relationships, structures and institutions,
where people can gain a sense of belonging and can work on and live
out their place and purpose in the world. (p. 148).
Though idealistic, the definition is underpinned by Folke’s

understanding of a functioning social ecology or the relational web
that sustains a community – relationships at the personal level,
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between people and groups, people and institutions, between

groups, groups and institutions and inter-institutional connection.
Community development workers are concerned with the strength
of these relationships and what they produce towards the ongoing
development of the community (Ife 1995).
Wyndham City Council, an outer western municipality of
Melbourne, initiated a strength-based planning process,
Wyndham 2040 (Wyndham City Council 2018). The consultation
brought together people from all over the community with the
aim of unearthing the strengths of individuals, the groups they
were a part of and how they saw the connections between
different entities in the city. It was a forward-focused consultation
and as such linked into the future aspirations of the community
and how the groups they were aware of could possibly be
leveraged to reach goals the whole community wanted to see
achieved. The result was a well-informed regional-based
community plan. As with all plans, the proof will be in its
implementation. However, the municipality is off to a promising
start, with many residents feeling an ownership of what has been
deliberated.
Through processes like the one engaged by the City of
Wyndham, there is potential for increased levels of transparency,
trust, social inclusion, collective action and social networks all
working to increase urban sustainability.
Participation in an Open Planning

Table
Participatory processes like the one engaged by Wyndham
include grass-roots responses such as asset-based community
development (ABCD). The astute faith community can also use
this process as a method of engagement that can facilitate
community involvement at many local tables of discernment.
It involves an optimistic look at the community, recognising
within every person ability, perspective, gift and skill.
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Similarly, ‘every organisation and institution has the ability to

serve the community, with the potential of being stretched past
their original purpose to become fully involved in the development
process’ (Kretzman & McKnight 1993:138).
ABCD is a flexible process with five basic principles:
• asset mapping
• relationship building
• focus on economic development and information sharing
• developing a common vision
• partnering with outside resources.
Developing an Asset Map

An asset map is a way of documenting the strengths that are
present in a local community and is a helpful form of community
research. Many civil society groups, social service organisations
and churches seek to work in local communities according to
their own agendas rather than seeking and working with the
aspirations of the local community. When talking with individuals
it is important to uncover the skills they have, what they enjoy
doing, what they might be able to teach others and what might
generate some income for them. This method of inquiry sits well
with community-oriented research such as appreciative inquiry
(Cram 2010). An appreciative inquiry approach asks:
• What do people enjoy about living in their community?
• What do they see that is working well?
• What would they like to see over the next 3–5 years?
Included in the asset mapping process is the generation of a list
of organisations and businesses. Churches and small not-for-
profits, sporting and recreation clubs, and neighbourhood
organisations are all included at this level of inquiry (Kretzman &
McKnight 1993:110). The last stage in creating an asset map is to
connect with the various institutions in the community, such as
schools, hospitals, departments in the local municipality and
other key community groups or organisations that form the
bedrock of the community.
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Building Relationships
As mentioned earlier, the relational web or lack of it within a
community will be a key determinant of the community’s sense
of well-being and its ability to develop sustainably. Unfortunately,
particularly within the Western world, the relational web present
in communities is often, at best, quite weak and more generally
rather fragmented. This fragmentation has led to a raft of social
side effects. For a community to be transformed, the relational
web needs to be healed. One step towards that can be
relationships established around common interests, skills and
abilities. With the development of an asset map, the community
development worker can begin to link or network people
together.
The Broadway United Methodist Church in Indianapolis
decided to stop ‘helping people’ (i.e. providing welfare that
ultimately left people disempowered) in favour of creating a
process that would regenerate the community. Using ABCD
principles, the church employed community listeners. Their role
was to go out into the community and simply listen to people’s
stories and aspirations. They then began to facilitate dinners,
meetups and other ways of connecting like-minded people
together. This generated gardening clubs, small enterprises and
many other groups. The church hall was transformed from an
empty shell during the week to every nook and cranny being
used for the development of community endeavours (King 2015).
Economic Development and

Information Sharing
As individuals’ skills are unearthed, an opportunity emerges for
the development of microenterprises that can increase individual
and community sustainability. Long-time community workers
Ash and Anji Barker spent 12 years living in Klong Toey, Bangkok’s
largest slum. As a social worker, one of Anji’s foci was on the
development of local skills for the generation of income.
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Two notable successes among many were Klong Toey Jewellery

(Roy Rak Beading 2014) and Poo’s Cooking School (Cooking
with Poo 2016). Both utilised the skills of local people to generate
personal and community income. Poo’s Cooking School received
a Certificate of Excellence from TripAdvisor in 2015. Poo, who
continues to live in Klong Toey, was befriended by Anji when she
used to cook and sell food in front of her house. By unearthing
her skills further, Anji helped Poo see there was a way to create
a better income. Poo is now supporting some 27 other social
enterprises, each employing and empowering local people to
own their strengths and abilities.
The other aspect of this principle is information sharing. The
astute community development worker must get to know the
nodes of formal and informal communication within a community
as well as how to leverage those to promote projects and share
the story.
Developing a Common Vision

Recapping the process, the asset map has been developed and
is continually updated. This has given the facilitation group
(hopefully a partnership between church, community group,
neighbours and others) a good picture of the strengths of the
local community. People are beginning to use their skills and
gifts to start microenterprises as well as being encouraged to see
how they may contribute to the larger development picture.
Relationships have been forming between people of like mind,
and as such a group interested in community gardening may
have formed or a group has gotten together to clean up a local
park or put on an event aimed at drawing people together.
Networks have also been strengthened between different
organisations and institutions. Pride forms in the local community
as people are encouraged to buy local and appreciate the skills
and products from within their own community. Communication
is also happening effectively and people are beginning to get on
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board with projects that interest them. Slowly the community is

taking on a new positive vibe. Now it is time to begin drawing the
different energies together to think about the community as a
whole; to dream together about what the community could look
like in 3–5 years; and then, to begin to plan towards it (Van Eymeren
2017:157).
Jeanette Malcolm is the founder of Invercargill’s South Alive,
a New Zealand not-for-profit aimed at community regeneration.
With an aid and development background, she set her sights on
the local community and began a process of working with council
to see the community move forward. In 2012, very early on in the
process, she invited the community to a local meeting where the
idea of developing a group to regenerate the community was
floated. The concept was well received; however, people believed
the proof of concept would be in what it delivered. The first win
was the planting out of a barren roundabout at the entrance to
the community. With most roundabouts around Invercargill
already planted, the fact that this one was barren sent a very
clear message to the community. Today, the organisation
continues to focus on four key concepts:
1. upgrade
2. community
3. resourcefulness
4. governance.
The team, which consists predominantly of local volunteers,
divides itself into groups that run projects around:
• children and youth
• creating stronger neighbourhoods
• the arts
• housing
• improving the look of the neighbourhood
• community orchards
• fruit and nut trees
• marketing and events
• the creation of a dog park (cf. South Alive n.d.).
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Partnering with Outside Resources

Many of the communities that have benefitted from processes
like ABCD have been economically depressed and have been
used to receiving ‘solutions’ to issues such as health, addiction,
employment, poverty and even land use from government and
social service organisations. Community development done in
the way of ABCD empowers communities to begin to design and
implement their own solutions. However, there may come a time
when outside expertise is needed. The community will then
be able to build a partnership with those who can provide the
service needed. Note the difference in language – the community
is not sitting idly by waiting for something to happen but is
actively seeking what it needs to reach its goals (Kretzmann &
McKnight 1993:353–354).
With planetary urbanism, a developing phenomenon, a
remedy against a Trantorian future is for faith communities to
take a facilitating role in processes like ABCD. However, these
faith communities need to be aware of the complexities at play
at a local level, subnationally, nationally and globally.
Understanding the Complexities of

Local Development
If civil society, including the church, is to take a lead in the
developing of communities in line with the principles of the NUA,
then building the capacity of local and regional governments is
an essential step. This increases in importance because of the
underwhelming response of individual countries to the agenda
(Trundle 2016). At the Habitat III conference, the leaders of
innovation and commitment to the agenda were, in fact, civil
society and academia. Rather than despairing at the lack of
national level take-up of the agenda, there is an opportunity for
a ground-up approach to development, which has not been
present globally for some time.
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If civil society is to take a lead in the implementation of the

NUA and its positive implications for communities be realised,
then subnational and local governments need to be empowered
to support these initiatives. In global financial, city and regional
leadership circles there is much conversation and debate about
how the agenda will be implemented and how this implementation
will be monitored. A key to the debate is at what level the
implementation will be delivered. There is a push from the Global
Task Force of Local and Regional Governments (GTF), formed
through the Third International Conference on Financing for
Development, that at the subnational level, local governments be
given the policy freedom to raise their own funds for development
(De Paula 2016). However, if mechanisms such as public–private
partnerships (PPPs) for the delivering of development become
more commonplace it could be problematic for city authorities
that are weak institutionally, lack technical or people resources
or have incompatible legal frameworks to cope with a
decentralised financing system (De Paula 2016). There is also the
danger that these partnerships could benefit certain stakeholders
and not the whole community.
In response, the GTF has recommended that national
governments create suitable legislative environments for this
shift in approach to sustainable development and that the
dialogue between national and subnational governments become
more transparent. Secondly, they recommend that national
governments build the capacity of subnational levels of authority,
enabling them to do the financial management necessary to
account for funds allocated for development. Lastly, the GTF
believe that a global fund for basic services should be established
and that this would better facilitate the public governance of
essential services, meaning less reliance on PPPs.
Considering the nuances and outcomes of top–down versus
bottom–up development as described above, Greenspan (2016),
writing in the New Yorker, highlights some of the tensions
between the two. One top–down approach can be traced back
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to Le Corbusier and the Athens Charter, published in 1943. Moved

by the poverty he saw evident in then-developing cities like
New York, he proposed as one of his 94 tenets that ‘high rise
apartments placed at wide distances apart liberate ground for
large open spaces’ (Le Corbusier, cited in Greenspan 2016). This
linked with another of his tenets, which advocated for slums to
be torn down to make way for high rise buildings, showing his
process of bringing order to the streets and lives of the poor.
This type of public housing has continued with very little

consultation of those who would call them home. They dot the
landscape of major world cities such as London (Grenfell Tower),
New York, Chicago, Sydney and Melbourne, to name just a few.
There is much anecdotal evidence to show that these towers,
rather than promoting a less chaotic environment, add to it.
Reasons for this are complex and include the social environment
in which the tower is located, housing management, income mix
of the residents, and community-building initiatives present on
the estate.
At one end of Brunswick Street in Fitzroy, Melbourne, stand

four imposing towers. Each is 20 stories tall and houses
approximately 1000 people. Over the last 50 years they have
provided a permanent place for multiple generations of families
experiencing poverty. The towers have a large amount of green
space, including a public park where children play and locals
from the surrounding neighbourhood bring their dogs. Yet
present in the tower blocks and spilling out onto the surrounding
streets is the evidence of pain, crime, isolation, disconnection,
unemployment, poor mental health, domestic violence and drug
addiction.
A few years ago, again with very little consultation, the

Victorian State Government wanted to redevelop the site to
enable private investment into what is seen as million-dollar
views over the City of Melbourne. They created a master plan
and sought to bring it to reality. After an outcry from residents all
over the Fitzroy community, the plan was shelved.
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One could debate whether the proposed redevelopment was

a good idea or not. Pros and cons could be put on the whiteboard
and consultations conceived. Whatever the outcome, it
highlights the need for community ownership in the development
process. The Fitzroy example also reinforces conclusions
reached in Greenspan’s article for the New Yorker that cities are
open systems and plans need to be defined by flexibility rather
than right and wrong answers. This thinking recognises the
unique nature and makeup of individual communities and the
importance of ground-up strategies.
In creating this flexibility and local focus, one of the core
complexities is the tension between the neighbourhood and
taking development such as transportation solutions to scale
over a whole city. Jacobs was a strong proponent of the role
of the neighbourhood. As outlined earlier, she believed in
diversity, walkability, a mix of uses and a dense concentration
of people (Jacobs 1961). She believed this would lead to well-
being in a neighbourhood and stop the dirge of development
in US cities at the time. These principles have been adopted in
regeneration projects around the world and provide a helpful
mix of focus between social and physical infrastructure.
However, neighbourhoods are part of the broader complex
system of the city and, as such, sociologists such as Sennett
see great worth in the neighbourhood but believe for some
issues like transportation that, while development can start at
a community level, it has to go to scale and not everything can
be solved in the neighbourhood (Sennett cited in Greenspan
2016).
The importance of partnership, including between
neighbourhood and city, is encouraged in the NUA (UN Habitat
2016):
We urge all national, sub-national, and local governments, as well as
all relevant stakeholders, in line with national policies and legislation,
to revitalise, strengthen, and create partnerships, enhancing
coordination and cooperation to effectively implement the NUA and
realise our shared vision. (Clause 21) (p. 4)
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Added to this there is a clear desire to partner with those who

are on the margins and for them to be empowered and
strengthened to bring what they have to bring to the planning
table (UN Habitat 2016):
We will promote capacity development initiatives to empower and
strengthen skills and abilities of women and girls, children and youth,
older persons and persons with a disability, indigenous people and
local communities, as well as persons in vulnerable situations for
shaping governance processes, engaging in dialogue, and promoting
and protecting human rights and anti-discrimination, to ensure their
effective participation in urban and territorial development decision-
making. (Clause 155) (p. 20)
These principles of partnership and empowerment are in line

with strength-based community development, which focuses on
the good already present in a community (Kretzmann & McKnight
1993:5). The methodology seeks to grow the capacity of
the community to build on those strengths and in this way
become the answers to its own issues and continue on the path
of inclusive development.
As well as taking into account the factors acting upon it, the
local community contains a diverse set of stakeholders that must
be brought to the table if local issues are to be solved. Facilitating
a diverse set of stakeholders to sit at the planning table is not
just a ‘feel good’ endeavour; rather, it promotes a heterogeneity
of perspective, skill and opinion that would otherwise not be
discovered. Synergistic enquiry is a process of research and
dialogue that recognises there are many sources of wisdom and
that these sources need to be brought together to solve complex
community issues (Wilson, Simpson & Van Eymeren 2012:4).
An example of synergistic enquiry took place during 2011–
2012. There was a spike in the number of young people taking
their own lives in the outer south-eastern suburbs of Melbourne
(Watson 2012). Partnering for Transformation spearheaded a
number of conversations aimed at highlighting the root causes
behind this disturbing phenomenon. One conversation brought
50 stakeholders together from community sectors as varied as
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police, schools, youth workers, social services, churches, local

government and young people themselves. They entered into a
process known as ‘world café’ where the participants’ varied
perspectives to several questions were collected and synthesised
(Clear Light Communications 2018). While a complex issue such
as youth suicide cannot be adequately addressed in a day-long
conversation, there was a depth of insight gained and perspectives
learned as stakeholders heard each other. With the materials
gathered from the conversations, the facilitators were then
able to develop a roadmap towards connection, belonging,
purpose and meaning, key concepts coming out of the day
towards the prevention of youth suicide.
Local community issues are complex and often become
citywide concerns, involving many stakeholders in the solutions.
The NUA recognises this and sees local implementation as being
key to its success. The agenda’s focus on the inclusivity of all,
and especially those on the margins, resonates with many aspects
of civil society, not least of all communities of faith. Despite, or
probably because of, its broad-based nature the NUA is a beacon
of hope to the development of cities. It encourages capacity-
building; the inclusion of all stakeholders, particularly those on
the margins; flexibility in approach; the importance of local and
subnational government; and partnership at all levels. However,
why is this important to people of faith? Why is it a beacon of
hope to the world?
A Theology of Hope and

the New Urban Agenda
As stated by Wright (2007):
[T ]he surprising future hope which is held out to us in Jesus Christ
leads directly and, to many people, equally surprisingly, to a vision of
the present hope which is the basis for all Christian mission. To hope
for a better future in this world – for the poor, the sick, the lonely and
depressed, for the slaves, the refugees, the hungry and homeless,
for the abused, the paranoid, the downtrodden and despairing and
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in fact for the whole wide, wonderful and wounded world – is not
something else, something extra something tacked onto ‘the gospel’
as an afterthought. And to work for that intermediate hope, the
surprising hope that comes forward from God’s ultimate future into
God’s urgent present, is not a distraction from the task of ‘mission’
and ‘evangelism’ in the present. It is a central, essential, vital and life-
giving part of it. (p. 204)
The themes picked up by Wright are echoes of both Old and

New Testament passages that counter the dystopian vision of
planetary urbanisation and refer to God’s longings for the current
state of humanity. In many traditional passages like Isaiah
65:17–25 that talk about the well-being or shalom of the
community have been taken eschatologically, through the lens
of both the resurrection and the returning Christ. Keeping that
lens firmly intact, Wright adds another dimension to our hope.
Yes, ultimately Christ will return, and the current state of the
world will be perfected (Book of Revelation; Chapter 21). And
while we groan with all creation for that day, the truly good news
is we get to partner with God, working towards glimpses of that
reality now (Wright 2007). This is another way of understanding
what is meant by an inaugurated eschatology – a reality that is
reflected in documents like the NUA.
Showing a correlation to the hopes and desires of the 40 000
people who participated in Habitat III, Wright (2007) says:
Mostly Jesus himself got a hearing from his contemporaries because
of what he was doing. They saw him saving people from sickness and
death, and they heard him talking about a ‘salvation,’ the message
for which they had longed which would go beyond the intermediate
and into the ultimate future. But the two were not unrelated, the
present one a mere ‘visual aid,’ or a trick to gain people’s attention.
The whole point of what Jesus was up to was that he was doing, close
up, in the present, what he was promising, long term in the future.
And what he was promising in the future and doing in that present,
was not about saving souls for a disembodied eternity, but rescuing
people from the corruption and decay of the way the world presently
is so that they could enjoy, already in the present, that renewal of
creation which is God’s ultimate purpose – and so they could thus
become colleagues and partners in that larger project itself. (p. 204)
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Two Narratives Competing for our

Communities
The first narrative reveals an incredible optimism as evidenced in
passages such as Isaiah 58:1–6, Isaiah 65:17–25, Jeremiah 29:7
and Luke 4:18–21. These passages point to an inaugurated
eschatology where the kingdom of God is already present and
active in the world. This hope is echoed in the NUA. They all hold
humanity in high regard, believing in the possibility of common
ground, harmony, a sustainable world and a future where all
people are able to live well. However, one could be forgiven for
not sharing their optimism. The second narrative sees a
bombardment of negativity from television, print media, social
media and even visually, present in any given neighbourhood.
Flooded with pictures of suffering from all over the globe, crime
from the suburb next door and corruption at the highest level in
government, people are left floundering in a sea of despair.
Both narratives sit in the human heart. The former opens the
possibility for engagement, working in partnership with others
towards change and a general positivity. Focus on the latter
narrative promotes fear, distrust and an atrophy of hope.
These competing narratives demand a choice. One path is

to succumb to the negativity, become overwhelmed and
ultimately withdraw from the world. Whether this withdrawal
is a retreat inward towards a self-focused life or into a
disengaged religion, the effect is the same – the negativity
present in the world is enlarged. The alternate path is to follow
the narrative of hope, recognising that our cities are part of a
larger framework where God is present and has a plan and
purpose sourced in his love for all creation (Newbigin
1978:30–31). As explored above, tools such as appreciative
inquiry and ABCD help a theology of hope become a praxis of
hope. However, to be effective practitioners of hope, as people
of faith, we need a solid understanding of the source of our
hope for the world, the kingdom of God.
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The Kingdom of God

Biblical passages such as Isaiah 58:6–12, Isaiah 65:17–25, Luke
4:16–21, Matthew 5:9–16, Matthew 6:31–34, Luke 10:1–12, Acts
2:14–21, 43–47, and Revelations 21:1–17 reveal a beautiful
picture of love, wholeness, community; synergy between God
and humanity and indeed all creation; disease and death
minimised; people being seen and valued and living lives of
meaning; poverty eradicated; joy being close to the surface;
and a sense of well-being normal. All of which, according to
these passages, is possible in our current experience (Van
Eymeren 2017:30–31).
Throughout history this has not always been the predominant

view of the kingdom of God. Understandings have ranged from a
totally future hope to an earthly utopia. Snyder (1991: Ch2, 3)
helpfully outlines eight models that are representative of views
from various traditions and times in history. His first two models
paint a picture of a disengaged, future-focused God who is only
interested in the eternal soul of the individual person. Combined,
these understandings of the kingdom have created an unhelpful
dualism between the material and spiritual worlds and set up a
dichotomy between this world and the next or the kingdoms of
nature and grace (cf. Moltmann 1981:208). This understanding
gives the kingdom of God a place in eschatology but only limited
influence in the current experience of humanity. This view gives
a preconceived notion that the saved will go to heaven upon
death, relegating heaven to being a static place rather than the
dynamic and complete rule of God. If, which has been the case
for generations, these beliefs are seen as true, then the mission
of the church is limited to the saving of souls for the future
(Wright 2007:202–204). While a personal relationship with God
is an exciting part of God’s kingdom being present in the world,
our preoccupation with this aspect has affected the church’s
ability to contribute meaningfully to the creation of a better
world. We have been preoccupied with only one aspect of the
whole story.
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A more helpful understanding of the presence of God’s

kingdom in the world is outlined in Snyder’s (1991) seventh model
(outlined in Chapter 8). The Kingdom as Christianised Culture
shows that God’s kingdom is a stimulus and has a programme for
the transformation of society. Although not fully present, the
kingdom is the inspiration and direction for people of faith as
they work towards positive change. This model shows that there
is a broader context to the kingdom than the inner life of
the believer. It shows the importance of materiality, not only the
presence of the spiritual. The model goes on to demonstrate that
Christians are to work towards social transformation, not to
create Christian enclaves as Model 6, Kingdom as Political State,
suggests Snyder (1991: Ch7). In one of his parables, Jesus
describes the kingdom as a leavening agent, like yeast. Jesus’
message is that our values as his followers need to permeate all
of society (Van Eymeren 2017:61). In this way, the kingdom
illuminates mankind progressively over time, overcoming fear
and ignorance and ushering in a better world.
There are three key features of this model:
1. Relevance: The work of the kingdom is seen as much broader
than the church as God’s intention is to redeem every aspect
of society. This brings a strong ethical focus and a living out of
the moral values of the kingdom.
2. Transformation: The kingdom’s work is focused on social,
political and economic realities and processes. God’s kingdom
has a social programme and there is a logical and necessary
outworking of Jesus’ teachings.
3. Optimism: The belief that social transformation is possible
and that the gospel can be a force for peace and harmony.
This includes the hope of justice in our world including just
governmental structures and an equitable society.
Model 7 recognises that for these things to be achieved, God and

humankind need to work cooperatively. In this way, the kingdom
becomes progressively manifest in the present order. While the
Old Testament prophets lamented, there is still much work to
be done (Is 11:1–9; 42:1–7, 61:1–11); there are many current signs of
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the presence of God’s kingdom. The New Testament holds only

a few references to the outworking of this model; however, Jesus’
teaching on the kingdom and his social ethics provide a pathway
to be followed (Snyder 1991: Ch2).
Shalom as a Way of Engagement

The clearest manifestation of this pathway is the ancient Hebrew
term shalom. Westermann (in Yoder & Swartley 1992:24), an Old
Testament scholar, describes shalom in the context of a greeting.
He understands that shalom is asking about everything needed
for a healthful life. This includes good health, a sense of well-being,
good fortune, the cohesiveness of the community, relationship to
relatives and their state of being, and everything else deemed
necessary for everything to be in order. Further implications of the
greeting show the intent not only to find out information but also
to demonstrate the connection between the two people in the
exchange. The motivation behind the question is not so much the
well-being of the individual but the state of society, based on a
common humanity. Put another way, shalom refers to the well-
being of the individual in the context of their community.
Brueggemann (1994) believes that this concept can be the
beginning of a new social imaginary. As such, a framework can
be developed that talks very clearly with documents like the
NUA. Based on passages like Isaiah 65:17–25, for a person to be
experiencing shalom (or flourishing), they would in the context
of their community:
• have their basic needs met
• have a sense of belonging to land and to people
• have their contributions valued
• be living a life full of purpose
• be enjoying celebration
• have a growing sense of spirituality or something outside
themselves.
There is hope in documents like the NUA because they are a
reflection of a deep longing for the type of world described by
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the concept of shalom, which is a reflection of the kingdom of

God. In its desire for just, safe, healthy, accessible, affordable and
sustainable cities, the NUA echoes concepts found in shalom,
including a desire and action towards ‘justice, peace, stewardship,
the intrinsic worth of people and the responsibility for future
generations’ (Ives & Van Eymeren 2017). However, if people of
faith are to partner with God and others in the creation of shalom
and the implementation of the NUA, then a new shape of ecclesia
needs to emerge, one that can create an alternative narrative to
a dystopian Trantor.
The New ‘Shape’ of Faith: An Open

and Inclusive Ecclesiology
To embrace both a theology and methodology of engagement,
communities of faith need to embrace an openness and inclusive
understanding of what it means to be church. This understanding
is reflective not so much on what happens when the church is
gathered but more its posture towards the world. This self-
understanding needs to reflect love, our roots as revealed in
scripture and through prayer, as well as authenticity, hospitality
and a desire to go beyond the safe shores of the ‘church harbour’.
The following points are based on a chapter from my book,
Building Communities of the Kingdom (Van Eymeren 2017).
Love
‘They shall know you by the love you have for each other’ (Jn
13:35) begs two questions for the local church. Firstly, as a
congregation, do we love each other? And secondly, if we do,
how do people get to see that love in action? As part of my
community development practice with a Christian organisation,
I coordinated community-wide festivals. Most of the churches in
a local community would come together to put on a free day of
entertainment, family games and food. It was an opportunity for
the church to meet the community in a non-threatening way and
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for the church to give a gift to the community. During training

sessions, the team would be asked what time does the
festival start? The trainer would then remind the team that the
festival started when the first person arrived on the ground to set
up. From there the atmosphere of the day was set. The way the
team responded to each other was critical for the success of the
day. If there was fighting and bickering, that would be plain to
see; however, if there was love and generosity in the team, that
too would be contagious.
Being ontologically honest, the church is already in the bonds
of love because of the work of Christ on the cross and so passages
such as 1 Corinthians 13 are not another list of dos and don’ts but
a commentary on the reality we live in and a call to be true to it.
There are many similar exhortations to love in Paul’s writings
(Ro 12:5,10,16; 1 Thess 5:11; Gal 5:13; 6:2), each a reminder that
through the work of Christ, God’s future is here in the present,
not complete but here nonetheless. The response to this reality
is to not be drawn into a holy huddle but allow love to flow out
and be contagious (Guder 1989:149).
Being True to Our Roots

There is not space here to go into the full nature of the church.
However, it is important to realise that each local expression
reflects the whole universal church, taking that shape into its
gatherings and mission in the world. Together, the church lives
under a Christologically redefined shema or prayer. Put simply, it
is the truth claim in Deuteronomy 6:4 that the church is connected
to a God who is one and is commanded to love this God with all
their heart, soul and strength (Hirsch 2006:89). This requires a
sacrificial faithfulness. Because of this unique relationship, the
church by nature is sacramental with the gathering itself
exhibiting the incarnation of divine activity (Guder 1989:180).
Prayer takes this further still, encouraging the church to
recognise its dependence on God as a person outside of itself.
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Wright (2007:289–290) names two essential elements of prayer,

namely mysticism and petition. Mysticism allows the person
praying to enter a deep and intimate connection with God and the
created world. It allows the church to embrace the pain of the
world without being overcome by it. Petition, on the other hand, is
praying for oneself and others, entering the ancient tradition of
the lament. Some use lists while others use imagination or spiritual
discernment to pray in this way. In each case, it is at times necessary
to leave petitions at God’s door, seemingly unanswered.
People of faith can do this, trusting in the words of scripture
that God hears their prayers and will answer them in his way and
timing. It is not simple to trust God like this, yet it is freeing to
rely on the narrative of scripture and be pointed to the goodness
of God. If the church is to be present at the various tables of
discernment, it must reflect the totality of its nature and mission
as revealed in scripture, not limiting itself to a redacted other-
worldly soteriology.
As such the local church is connected to the universal church
and to a God who loves as seen in scripture and experienced
through prayer. However, like the rest of humanity the church is
broken, incomplete and not living out of its ontological reality,
and so as we approach the tables of discernment we need to do
so with authenticity.
Authenticity
Keith Miller (in Frost 2006) sums up the issue well:
Our modern church is filled with many people who look pure, sound
pure, and are inwardly sick of themselves, their weaknesses, their
frustration and the lack of reality around them in the Church. Our
non-Christian friends feel either ‘that bunch of nice untroubled people
would never understand my problems’; or the more perceptive
pagans who know us socially or professionally feel that we Christians
are either grossly protected and ignorant about the human situation
or are out and out hypocrites who will not confess the sins and
weaknesses (they know intuitively) to be universal. (pp. 97–98)
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The call to be authentic can appear to clash with the call to be

holy or set apart (Wright 2007:296). However, spending time in
the biblical narrative shows that God uses very ordinary and
flawed people to do quite out-of-the-ordinary things and that
perhaps holiness is more about a willingness than a state of
being, at least at this stage of the Christian journey. The
alternative, being inauthentic, leads to alienation both at a
personal and corporate level. If people of faith are to contribute
well at the many tables of discernment, then there needs to be
an honesty and a realism that flavours the engagement.
Documents like the NUA enable Christians to come to the table
but not to control it or promote a false sense of having all the
answers. Both in the gathered congregation and dispersed
throughout the many tables of discernment, people of faith need
to acknowledge their humanness and sameness with each other
and the broader community and to approach the tasks in front of
them with a sense of humility.
Hospitality
Henri Nouwen describes the second spiritual movement of the
disciple being from hostility to hospitality. The idea of hospitality
has to do not simply with the spirituality of food but the whole
way we approach the other or the stranger (Nouwen 1975: Ch4).
Servants Community Housing, based in Hawthorn, Melbourne,
is an example of true hospitality. Across three large houses they
accommodate 90 people, most with mental health issues. Many
of these people would otherwise be homeless. The environment
they establish is based on love and respect for the stranger.
While there are house rules that need to be followed and shared
meals, the resident is not expected to take part in any programmes
or look for work. There is not even any preaching. Residents are
treated with dignity and their autonomy respected. There are
live-in managers and others who connect regularly, essentially
checking in to make sure people are doing okay. For the most
part, residents begin to feel safe, with some of their basic needs
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being met. After a time, many begin to express desires to support

community life or take steps towards transformation. The
hospitality itself, the modelling of another way, the space to take
it up or not is what in the end has proved determinative in so
many moving forward.
Hospitality is the heart attitude of compassion put into
practice. Like love, it is what needs to underpin engagement in
the world – particularly when working with people who want
cities to be places where others can flourish but come from very
different perspectives, such as other faiths or even those of no
faith. Hospitality allows Christians to be present in those
environments without having to control or have their way. True
hospitality allows space for the other to be themselves without
the expectation of change.
Beyond Safe Shores

In some places the church is described as a ship, followed by the
reminder that a ship is not meant to stay in the safe waters of the
harbour but rather to set sail on the open water. Being at sea can
quite often be a liminal (temporal or other-worldly) experience.
The term, developed by anthropologist Victor Turner, has since
been used by Christian authors such as Roxburgh to describe the
experience of the Church (Roxburgh 1997):
Liminality applies to a situation where people (as individuals or
a collective) find themselves in a transitional or marginal state in
relation to the surrounding community or society. They are in that
state because of their conscious awareness that their status, role
and place within society has been radically changed, to the point
that the group has now become largely invisible to that society.
(pp. 23,24,221)
For the church, this can most clearly be seen in the transition
from Christendom to what many would see as a post-church
society. Victor Turner originally coined the term liminality to
describe what happened for many boys during indigenous
initiation rites. A group of boys would be sent off into the desert
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or jungle to fend for themselves over sometimes a period as long

as 6 months. During that time, they would not be visible to the
community. In the end, they would come back not only as men,
but as bonded men (Roxburgh 1997:23,24,221). The name of the
bond was communitas.
A deeper form of community was what kept the boys alive
and functioning as a unit. And so, it is crisis that creates liminality
and ultimately communitas. The reality is the church has always
been in a type of crisis – firstly, ontologically and experientially as
it has sought to grapple with the tension between its essential
nature and current condition (Kraemer cited in Bosch 2009:2).
Secondly and more recently, though, particularly in the West, the
church has been in a cultural crisis as it has been perceived to be
increasingly irrelevant to modern life. This presents both a danger
and an incredible opportunity – the danger of a gentle slide to
non-existence and the opportunity to reinvent ourselves as the
people of God in this time and space, and once again experience
liminality and communitas as we recognise the now and not yet
of our existence and work together with God towards stronger
expressions of his kingdom in the here and now.
Friendship for the Journey

It is not a simple journey for the Christian church to position itself
to be present and to make a positive contribution to the tables of
discernment, from the global to the local. However, this is our
mission in partnership with God. The Urban Shalom Society
(USS) (2018), a newly formed global network of leaders,
academics and practitioners, has committed itself to providing
resources, training and consultancy to churches and Christian
organisations who are committed to being at those tables.
Gathering momentum at Habitat III, USS has held nine fora in
different countries around the world, helping people of faith
think about their cities differently and helping equip them to
make a positive contribution in the development of communities
and cities. On their website is a call to action that can act as a
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tool for churches to begin their engagement. The group produces

a journal entitled New Urban World where learning and stories of
encouragement are disseminated. They are available to offer
training and develop resources to serve particular contexts. The
group is also involved in the creation of a multifaith council that
will be a conduit for faith contributions on city development
conversations from the local to the global.
The USS is one group, but there are many others who are
seeking to make a difference to urban environments and
contribute to the many tables of discernment.
Conclusion
Global or planetary urbanisation is a reality. The world has
become forever impacted by the urban experiment with the
development of markets, new technologies and business cycles.
Asimov’s Trantor paints a bleak dystopian picture of the future
outcomes of this experiment. However, progress does not need
to be in that direction. In 2016, the United Nations ratified the
NUA, a document setting the tone for the development of cities
over the next 20 years.
The document highlights a positive and inclusive agenda,
recognising the contribution that all inhabitants of cities, including
informal settlements, can make towards the flourishing of their
environment. The language in the document picks up on the
concepts of urban sustainability. For people of faith this language
and these concepts can seem foreign. They are, however, aligned
with the biblical concept of shalom or the kingdom of God in the
world.
Sustainability has a strong alignment with the concept of
flourishing or shalom as it is understood through the lens of the
kingdom of God. In an urban context, sustainability brings
together concerns over economy, place or environment, and
social relationships. New urbanists advocate for a compact city
environment with walkable neighbourhoods and mixed uses that
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create a dynamism over large parts of any given day. Add to this
the matrix of social sustainability, dependent on trust, the
presence of common meaning, diversity, capacity for learning
and self-organisation, and a picture more akin to shalom than
Trantor emerges.
Theory is helpful; however, people’s lived experiences of
sustainability, particularly social sustainability, will predominantly
be in their local community. Backing up this assertion, the NUA
affirms the importance of local authorities and community (civil
society) engagement in its implementation. Tools such as
appreciative inquiry and ABCD allow for communities, and even
the process of urbanisation, to be viewed through a positive lens.
They also allow for whole communities to work together on a
common agenda. Even the act of seeing and beginning to work
in this way is a deterrent to a dystopian, Trantoresque outcome.
One of the groups present in local communities and civil
society is the church. There is scope for the church to play a
significant role in the implementation of the values of the NUA.
However, largely as a result of a limited theology of engagement
and a lack of understanding of urban environments, the church
has largely been silent on issues related to urban development.
Passages such as Isaiah 65:17–25, Luke 4:18–21 and Revelations 21
among others paint a picture of a flourishing urban environment
where all are seen and valued, have their basic needs met, feel a
sense of belonging, get to live a life of purpose and celebration
with a growing sense of spirituality or meaning. Many in the
church have taken these verses and concepts eschatologically.
However, theologians such as N.T. Wright state that while our
ultimate hope will be realised when Jesus brings heaven (the full
reign of God) to Earth, we have an intermediate hope present
with us now. That hope is echoed not only in the noted biblical
passages but in documents like the NUA.
The common ground between documents such as the NUA
and an accurate theology of the kingdom of God allows for the
church to develop partnerships with others in civil society, local
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government and beyond for positive local development. In order

for a local expression of a faith community to engage well, its
posture to the world needs to be seasoned with love, rooted in
scripture and prayer, authentic, hospitable and a deep bond
known as communitas.
Finally, global conversations focused on the implementation of
the agenda outline the importance of local engagement. The church
has an opportunity to be part of this engagement. In order to do so
it needs to view the city through a lens focused on a generous
understanding of the kingdom of God in the world. The people of
faith in a community, then, need a practical working knowledge of
sustainability and the tools of positive community development.
With these things in place, the church has a vital part to play in the
development of an urban environment counter to a dystopian
Trantor and more in line with the biblical vision of shalom.
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Innovative Faith in an
Urban Planet: The Use
of e-Trading Platforms
Between the Urban
and Rural Poor in the
Philippines. A Case
Study
Benigno P. Beltran21
Associate Pastor
Sacred Heart Parish-Shrine
Philippines
How to cite: Beltran, B.P., 2018, ‘Innovative Faith in an Urban Planet: The Use of E-Trading
Platforms between the Urban and Rural Poor in the Philippines. A Case Study’, in S. de Beer
(ed.), Just Faith: Glocal Responses to Planetary Urbanisation (HTS Religion & Society Series
287
Innovative Faith in an Urban Planet
The old economic model has utterly failed us. It has destroyed
our communities, our democracy, our economic security,
and the planet we live on. The old industrial-age systems –
state communism, fascism, free-market capitalism –
have all let us down hard, and growing numbers of us understand
that going back there isn’t an option.
But we also know that transitioning to some kind of a new economy –
and, probably, a new governing model to match –
will be a civilization-wrenching process.
We’re having to reverse deep and ancient assumptions
about how we allocate goods, labor, money, and power
on a rapidly shrinking, endangered, complex, and ever more
populated planet.
We are boldly taking the global economy –
and all 7 billion souls who depend on it –
where no economy has ever gone before
– Robinson (2017)
Introduction
Trading Between the Urban Poor of
Smokey Mountain and Indigenous Tribal
People: Information, Innovation and
Sustainable Impact
Elsewhere, I described the peace pact that was celebrated
between the Kalanguya tribe from the mountains of Nueva
Vizcaya and the people of Smokey Mountain (cf. Beltran 2015).
Smokey Mountain was a huge garbage dump in the heart of the
City of Manila, where I was the parish priest for 30 years.22 Under
the leadership of then-Mayor Jun Padilla, tribal people came to
Smokey Mountain with agricultural products, hand-woven cloth,
forest fruits and ornamental plants to trade with people who
lived in Smokey Mountain and belonged to cooperatives (Beltran
2015:229). This became the first of the Smokey Mountain
22. See Beltran (2012), in which I discuss a faith journey struggling for justice,
peace and the integrity of creation.
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cooperative’s trading attempts with indigenous peoples from

different tribes and places. I interpret what started to happen in
this way as a process that ‘made use of technology and networking
to harness the power of the free market’ (Beltran 2015:229) while
addressing social and eco-justice issues, exploring whether the
global political economy is leading the world to death or to life.
Our experience of direct trading between subsistence farmers

and scavengers in a garbage dump led to the question of how to
sustainably create significant social, economic and environmental
impact. How can we restructure agriculture into highly intensive
household farming to increase production and advocate for
massive credit, infrastructure and extension programmes for
organic farmers? How can we industrialise our organic protocols
to increase production and provide food without toxic chemicals
and pesticides to more people? We found clues as to possible
innovative alternatives to the dominant economic systems, if we
were able to foster technologies that could increase incomes
through appropriate distribution systems, connecting urban and
rural poor communities intentionally.
In a context of planetary urbanisation, absorbed by global

financial capital and dictated by the market economy, we have
to ask new questions, such as ‘how can we work together to
create a moral and ethical economy – and economic alternatives
from below – for this besieged planet?’ Human cultural learning
gives rise to a form of cumulative cultural evolution that, over
centuries, gradually produces increasingly complex tools,
technologies, bodies of knowledge and skills, communication
systems and political and economic institutions. Urbanisation
and the digital revolution have created a global ecosystem of
interconnected cities and regions, and so we have to look for
transformational, game-changing solutions in combatting
global poverty by building sustainable social enterprises
directly linking the urban and rural poor in ways that will break
the cycles of poverty and marginalisation from below.
Deciding to confront these issues, we created a trading network
between the urban and rural poor using Internet platforms.
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The conceptual framework for this network where the rural

poor can trade directly with the urban poor is the connection
between globalisation and urbanisation, the intertwining of the
urban and ‘non-urban’ economies and resolving the tension
between GDP and sustainable development by using different
bottom lines. In a real sense, this has become our contribution
to an innovative alternative to dominant economic patterns.
The purpose of this network was not only to innovate the ways
in which income would be generated to address social
challenges but also to innovate the very strategies used for
social change. We cannot solve today’s problems with
yesterday’s solutions.
In the convergent universe, the new paradigm is the network –

network or die! Apart from other innovative outcomes facilitated
by our trading network, the network in itself is the purpose.
In the global digital economy, economic activities form an
interconnected network powered by technology, artificial
intelligence and robots. So we decided to harness the power of
science and technology to transform slum areas and subsistence
farming. We do so through organising a multiplicity of small-
scale, uncoordinated efforts into a strong and focused movement,
aimed at addressing local (and eventually global) poverty in a
sustainable manner.
One specific area that could contribute to break cycles of

poverty in the Philippines is a reimagined agricultural sector.
For subsistence farmers, the harvest is a question of survival or
starvation. It is ironic how those who grow the food might often
be going hungry because of systemic exclusions from the market,
lack of access to water and sanitation, and outdated agricultural
methods or technologies.
But once organised in the manner described earlier, through

the innovative use of technology, people access information and
knowledge otherwise unavailable to them. Examples are data
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collected from their mobile phones, the use of drones and sensors
to analyse soil conditions, the creation of a robust e-Trading
platform to ensure fast access to opportunities, the introduction
of new and innovative agricultural technologies and – over time –
the nurturing of a new generation of entrepreneurs, coming from
poor urban and rural communities (Beltran 2015):
The idea is to provide critical information through digital devices
and then harness the creativity of the urban and rural poor to
solve problems in their communities. They can then change their
societies in innovative ways using a mix of entrepreneurship
and innovation. The strategy is to combine the best elements of
both – creativity, sustainability, cost-effectiveness, and integrity –
to redefine the development paradigms of the past. When the
poor have a better understanding of their political and economic
situation and the demands and constraints of their environment,
they make better, more sustainable and more profitable decisions
on their own. (p. 235)
In a purist social enterprise fashion, we seek to build the trading

network into a social enterprise that is clear and rigorous about
its triple bottom line, which entails securing sustained profits
while focusing on social care and concern for those participating
in the network (customers and employees), but at the same time
being concerned with the well-being of the planet. The economy
is embedded in complex ecosystems, and without understanding
the close interaction between economic, social and environmental
problems and processes, we would continue to fail at finding
innovative and bold solutions. Ours is not only to facilitate
personal change but to engage in large-scale systems change, if
we are to safeguard our planet and fragile urban communities for
future generations.
We seek to pursue the assertion made by Pope John Paul II
(1991:n.p.), in his Centesimus Annus, that ‘[t]he best way to solve
global poverty is to allow the poor to participate in the systems
of production and exchange’. This is our theological conviction
and developmental approach.
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The Veritas e-Trading Network

Bernasek (2010) states:
If we ignore the important ways people cooperate to create wealth,
we miss the most valuable source of wealth creation imaginable.
Recognizing the true value of relationships, we can build
stronger relationships and create and share greater wealth. (n.p)
The Veritas e-Trading Network is managed by the Veritas

Innovation Network for Entrepreneurship and Sustainability.
Veritas was established as an expression of the Divine Word
Missionaries’ commitment to justice, peace and the integrity of
creation. As a social enterprise, it can be described as follows
(Beltran 2015):
It is a social mission-driven wealth creating enterprise with a triple
bottom line (People, Planet, Profit) – technology-driven and creating
economic growth coupled with environmental protection and social
inclusion. Veritas has a social purpose combined with a minimum
threshold of financial sustainability. Its principal objective is poverty
reduction in order to improve the quality of life of the urban and rural
poor. (pp. 236–237)
The goal of the Veritas e-Trading Network is to provide better

and organised agricultural markets in an effort to break farmers
out of the cycle of poverty and build sustainable communities
using their own resources to meet their needs. We have put up
incubator hubs, where the poor and millennials can discuss
how to scale up their businesses. Veritas Organics markets
organic products, including soap, herbal oils and beauty
products that do not degrade the ecosystems. Well-being
Options for Wholeness (WOW) Organic Restaurant has also
been put up to offer food that is healthy, yummy and
environment-friendly. Global franchising experts have finished
a proposal for WOW Organic Restaurant to be franchised
nationwide to provide healthy food at reasonable prices. The
WOW headquarters and commissary were designed following
green building guidelines with ‘bamboo’ as the theme. It will
cost $500 000 to build and investors have already pledged
more than half of the required capital. WOW will donate 5% of
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its profits towards feeding organic food to children with cancer

and other diseases.
The work of Veritas is not only helping to establish communities
for joint economic activity that facilitates poverty reduction and
social transformation, but it also contributes to better personal
health and the health of ecosystems. We believe that access to
healthy food will help prevent diseases, while the health of
communities and the environment will also be enhanced.
To increase agricultural productivity, smallholder farmers are
supported through the network’s innovative technologies and
information access to deliver organic rice, fruits and vegetables
to more and more people in the urban areas. In addition to
increased production and sale of organic products, local
communities are benefiting in other ways too (Beltran 2015):
Products are sourced locally, production and distribution systems
are put into place to stimulate the local economy, and microfinance
loans are given to benefit local farmers, especially women farmers.
The women in the slum areas use their distribution networks to sell
the product door to door. (p. 237)
In this way, Veritas, through its e-Trading network, turns

market economies into market communities. It collaborates
with bishops and parishes of large areas in the Dioceses of
Cubao as well as Metro Manila, with government departments
responsible for agriculture, as well as with a network of about
2000 families participating in the trading network (cf. Beltran
2015:237–238). Through expanding its footprint, the combined
population of the areas covered is almost one-third of
the population of the whole country. This enables us to do
bulk purchasing, while government has pledged their support
in the form of cheap financing, access to markets, extension
education and the organisation of farmers. In addition, Veritas
also advocates for land reform because the land reform law in
the Philippines is too verbose, extremely complex, insufficiently
radical, with many loopholes and with an absurdly extended
timetable for implementation to make a dent in the
empowerment of farmers.
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Veritas has partnered with the Calabarzon Organic Exchange,

which provides fresh, naturally grown produce from the
surrounding provinces of Cavite, Laguna, Batangas, Rizal and
Quezon (Calabarzon). Energy costs of transporting the products
are then minimised, personal exchanges between the farmers
and the consumers are increased and the local economy
is cushioned from food shocks when there are financial shocks
elsewhere in the world. The goal of the farmers’ market is to put
up a system of fair trade in which communities can exchange
surplus production for mutual benefit. Veritas has found out
that only an integrated approach that looks at both demand
and supply sides using an e-Commerce platform simultaneously
can trigger successful agro-value chain development. Post-
harvest handling, agro-processing and value addition should
also be taken into consideration. Post-harvest losses resulting
from poor storage facilities and lack of transport options are
significant at present – with pests and diseases destroying an
estimated 15% – 30% of farmers’ hard work and preventing
them from selling surplus crop or better feeding themselves
and their families.
Veritas seeks to fundamentally and permanently transform
the context, global in nature, that gives rise to the opportunities
and challenges for which its solutions are designed. It does so
through organising the urban and rural poor, using efficient and
green technologies to increase market access and empowering
participants with organisational skills that can be utilised for
economic activities.
A number of strategic considerations have contributed to the
momentum gained by the Veritas e-Trading Network:
• seeking to nurture a strategic culture
• strategic competencies
• strategic partnerships
• strategic logistics
• strategic processes – all in service of our triple bottom line
(cf. Beltran n.d.:23).
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Our strategic culture is rooted in the values of pagpapakatao,

pakikipagsandiwaan and pagkamakasaysayan (integrity,
solidarity and creativity). This kind of culture supports creativity,
embraces diversity and promotes personal growth to foster
innovation and sustainability. The emphasis of our strategic
competencies is to nurture stakeholders to become knowledge
workers, empowered and enabled to innovate. We build strategic
partnerships in order to capture the total potential value of
service in the marketplace. Through partnership we want to
create real, repeatable benefits that build supplier loyalty and
consistency and gain sustainable supply-based competitive
advantage. This is backed up by strategic logistics, ensuring that
the supply strategy is seamlessly integrated with marketing
initiatives and management techniques. Finally, we facilitate
strategic processes that could ensure proper management and
excellence of performance in implementing our actual mission.
Our values, as described above, are rooted in the Trinity and
intend to foster an economy of integrity, solidarity and creativity.
These core values are a central part of our business strategy and
critical for inspiring collective commitment. What makes our
approach different is that we bring a value-based economic
philosophy to the ‘value-neutral’ economic culture of the free
market that is immune to any moral, ethical or religious code.
Profit and financial gain become the sole measure of success and
values and peoples are paid scant attention to. Our communal
model is seeking to subvert the dominant model. We seek to
incarnate spirituality in economic activity and to situate economic
activity in a moral and ethical foundation.
The Veritas e-Commerce Platform

Oriah Mountain Dreamer (2001) states:
Show me how you take care of business
without letting business determine who you are.
When the children are fed but still the voices within and around us
shout
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that soul’s desires have too high a price,

let us remind each other that it is never about the money. (n.p.)
The motto of Veritas is: Imagine. Innovate. Impact! Veritas, as an

innovation network for entrepreneurship and sustainability,
continues to innovate in order to find solutions that could impact
positively on the lives and well-being of the poor. One such
innovation is the building of an e-Commerce platform including
the use of artificial intelligence and data analytics to enable
greater and more efficient financial access for poor communities.
The e-Commerce platform was set to be ready to be beta-tested
around the fourth quarter of 2018.
The Veritas e-Commerce platform uses a cloud-based

e-Commerce technology that has the usual store management
features, for example, product management, order fulfilment,
online payments, coupons and customer relations apps, among
others. It is designed to have customisation features that can
offer personalised shopping experiences based on past shopping
preferences. The platform is open source and has unlimited
customisation options for greater usability and manageability.
The platform will also use blockchain technology to provide
organic farmers with access to all information on transactions
that happen to their products all the way from farm to fork to put
an end to exploitative market practices that leave farmers
unaware of the real market prices of their products. Because the
organic products marketed by Veritas come from large numbers
of organic producers, consumers would become aware of the
quality and safety of the products they buy and that when Veritas
has labelled the food product ‘organic’ or ‘halal’, it has been
strictly grown according to standards set by the government.
They would also know from which farm the products came.
The Veritas e-Commerce platform offers a mobile-friendly

shopping cart, seller mobile apps and many other mobile-based
features available. Round-the-clock technical support via live
chat and phone, as well as tutorials, along with the powerful
Veritas community forum, is also being planned. It will have
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digital wallets as another form of payment option. It will have a

built-in analytics system, which is essential for every e-Commerce
website. Focus on analytics is important to run an e-Commerce
platform successfully. If you cannot collect relevant data, you
cannot learn about customer behaviour, which is at the heart of
all conversions. Data gathering is even more crucial for Veritas
because farmers need predictive analytics for plant design. The
urban marketing teams need to know long beforehand what kind
of produce they are going to sell.
Only the right combination of business model and e-Commerce
platform will survive the competition in a global political
economy. The business model that underpins the Veritas
e-Commerce platform is summarised in Figure 10.1.
SOCIAL INTEGRAL
HUMAN ECOSYSTEM
SYSTEM
DEVELOPMENT
INTEGRITY
SOLIDARITY
CREATIVITY
SOCIAL
JUSTICE SUSTAINABILITY
ECONOMIC
SYSTEM
Figure 10.1: The business model that underpins the Veritas e-Commerce platform.
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Figure 10.1 depicts the convergence of the ecosystem with the

social system and the economic system. We connect basic
human needs to ethical, moral and spiritual matters in order to
arrive at sustainable levels of consumption. In a political economic
system where the everyday lives of more than one-third of the
nation continue to be subject to overwhelming misery, chaos
and disruption, Veritas advocates for a reorganisation of the
economic and social system to allow a broader sharing of the
gains of economic growth in a sustained and systematic way to
preserve the health of ecosystems. Its strategies are based on
actions promoting integral human development, social justice
and sustainability, flowing from its core values of integrity,
solidarity and creativity.
All this is understood in light of a new understanding of the
universe ruled by physical laws built upon quantum mechanics.
The paradigm shift now is from things to ideas, from hierarchy to
networks, from information technology to interaction technology,
and from seeing organisations as machines to viewing them as
communities. From the mechanistic and rationalistic clockwork
universe of Newtonian physics, we have moved to quantum
mechanics and relativity.
In quantum physics, we know that space is curved, that gravity
is the warping of space and time by physical mass, that time and
space are not two dimensions but one linked frame of reference,
and that time is part of the physical universe – a world where
Newtonian cause-and-effect logic seems to have no place. Systems
analysis and the development of chaos and complexity theories
have spawned even more difficult ideas – non-linear systems do
not behave like mechanical objects. These ideas are slowly
permeating into economic theories at present. Seeking meaning is
to answer the questions of purpose in a convergent universe,
creating coherence out of chaos and providing a compelling vision
of what tomorrow can bring. This is the context of the Veritas
vision for a convergent economic system. Because what is now
being born is a convergent economy, Veritas aims to be
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value-based, network-connected and innovation-fuelled in order

to provide spaces for sustained human and communal flourishing.
The Veritas approach has, as its central point of departure,
affirmation of the poor as agents of their own integral human
development. Veritas exploits market opportunities that exist
among the desperately poor and provides them with knowledge,
skills and technologies to give them the opportunity to help
themselves. It starts with helping them understand why they are
poor and involves them in the effort to create their own wealth.
Through the Veritas e-Commerce platform, the urban poor are
networked with small farmers who produce vegetables, grains
and other crops to feed themselves and sell at the local market,
at much greater scale and with much greater effectiveness. Rural
farmers have avoided costly hybrid seeds, chemical fertilisers
and the false promises of industrial agriculture by joining the
Veritas marketing network. Organic farmers increase the fertility
of their farmlands through no-till organic farming methods such
as organic fertilising. Farmers’ profits grew, because there was
no middleman taking a cut. And poor people got access to fresh,
cheaper, healthy food.
Markets are often controlled by a cartel of a few large
producers who manipulate prices to their advantage and the
disadvantage of the small farmers, who often do not possess
the ability to transport perishable goods and negotiate a fair
price. This makes them easy prey for a trader, who picks up the
produce at rock-bottom prices. We learned about this the hard
way. Veritas started with around 20 evangelical pastors in
Payatas, the garbage dump in Quezon City, who wanted to
implement the vision of Veritas. They pooled their resources,
and we were able to buy 20 sacks of rice to be sold in a small
store. The merchants in the area got together, lowered their
prices and in 2 weeks our store went bankrupt. Without
economies of scale, the poor are easily swallowed up in a
predatory system of economic activity. In addition, without
access to markets, food goes to waste.
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Globally, about one-third of the food farmers produce ends

up ‘lost or wasted’ (Gustavsson et al. 2011) through a variety
of causes. This is not different in the Philippines (Mopera
2016). Eliminating waste in the path food takes from farm to
table could boost food available for consumption by another
50% (Science Daily 2011). Part of our resolve through the
Veritas e-Commerce platform was to overcome some of
these challenges through organising farmers and fishermen
into a pool of strategic partners and connecting them
strategically in Metro Manila to ensure access and the
economies of scale.
Ecological economics has become a business imperative,
manufacturing products and delivering services in ways that
are restorative of natural and human capital. Intelligent
investment in market mechanisms that subverts monopolies
from the top and builds linkages from below can deliver
enhanced profitability and a stronger economy, strengthen
social capital and reduce social and human vulnerability, help
solve the climate crisis and create a better future for the planet.
Our e-Trading network and e-Commerce platform are about
just that: desiring to nurture an ecological economics that
contributes to healthy and sustainable ecosystems. Through
putting up sustainable businesses, communities of the urban
and rural poor benefit directly, transregional infrastructure is
created, while our various initiatives are backed up by education
and research for the common good.
At their deepest, the processes described here want to give
expression to Pope John Paul II’s (1991:n.p.) encouragement to
the poor in his encyclical Centesimus Annus (#34), ‘to acquire
expertise, to enter the circle of exchange, and to develop their
skills in order to make the best use of their capacities and
resources’. Sustainable economic development presumes circles
of trust and mutual respect. Veritas enlarges these circles of trust
among the poor to sow the seeds of an economic system based
on ecological and human solidarity.
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The Global Political Economy

Kennedy (1968) states:
Our gross national product […] counts air pollution and cigarette
advertising,
and ambulances to clear the highways of carnage.
It counts special locks for our doors and the jails for people who
break them.
It counts the destruction of the redwood
and loss of the natural wonder in chaotic sprawl […]
it measures everything in short,
except that which makes life worthwhile. (n.p.)
The economies of the world have become more closely integrated

into the global political economy, where international financial
markets and transnational corporations control globalisation for
their benefit. The complex global, technologically driven
economies that form the arena for nation states to compete in
capturing markets and key links in global supply chains force the
poor to adapt to the dictates of the free market. This global
political economy is an incredibly complex network of systems,
and social entrepreneurs who find themselves acting despite the
uncertainty and complexity want guidance that nobody can give
in the face of all the contradictions, uncertainties and
complications that economists are discovering. The core values
of Veritas are designed to help its stakeholders find the way in a
volatile, uncertain, complex and ambiguous context in a highly
urbanised and globalised planet.
We live on a planet of inequality, often expressed between

cities and rural places but also in and between cities. One of the
areas in which this is expressed most is in relation to food access
and hunger. About 870 million people in the world are hungry
(World Food Programme 2013) and, as a result of acute or
chronic hunger, 146 million children in developing countries were
underweight, according to the 2009 UNICEF report titled State
of the World’s Children (United Nations Children’s Fund [UNICEF]
2009:122–125). Between 2005 and 2012 the Philippines had the
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highest prevalence of food inadequacy among Asia’s emerging

economies (UNICEF 2010:17–18), reported in the National Report
Philippines. The percentages of food insecurity, growth
deficiencies, or disease as a result thereof are frightening
(Stop Hunger Now Philippines 2018).
The uneven development of the Philippine economy, where
the economy is controlled by a landed aristocracy and where
financial resources are concentrated in the urban areas, is one of
the reasons for the poverty of its people. A colonial history has
concentrated land ownership in the Philippines in the hands
of a few. They then run for office in the political arena. These
lawmakers, almost all of them millionaires, mostly come
from landed families. They then enact laws that protect the
businesses, landholdings and political clout of their families.
Corporations controlled by the elite make hefty campaign
contributions during elections, let loose legions of lobbyists and
pay off journalists to push through laws and rules that will help them
maintain their privileged positions, often hiring goons to terrorise
the voters. They have succeeded in blocking any meaningful land
reform. More than 70% of the wealth in the Philippines is owned or
controlled by a few hundred powerful families.
Subsistence agriculture cannot absorb the rapidly expanding
labour force because there is no significant land reform, and the
economy remains feudal. And so, close to 300 000 people
migrate to Manila each year. Land prices become exorbitant.
And so also, the migrants often end up in one of the 415 squatter
colonies in Metro Manila. They make up 44% of the population,
citizens with no place to call their own, living with the sword of
demolition hanging above their heads both day and night.
Peasant families flock to the metropolis, only to join the
swelling ranks of the unemployed. When large numbers of people
are concentrated on a little piece of land, often subject to flooding
and without basic infrastructure services, congestion and
overcrowding are unavoidable. The squatter area then becomes
another slum, one of those sprawling urban settlements filled
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with rancour and despair, hate and disease, dank alleys smelling
of urine and excrement, and criminals and drug addicts terrorising
residents with threats of violence or murder.
The root cause of social problems in the Philippines is
structural, with wealth being concentrated at the top, resulting in
increasing inequality and social injustice (cf. Docena, De Guzman
& Malig 2009). The benefits of economic growth being
concentrated in the hands of a few hundred families also
influences the way the rules of the economic game are played. In
controlling political power, they shape the actions of government,
monopolising access to wealth and power (cf. Simbulan 2005).
Poverty saps the people’s reserves of self-control, and so a
host of social problems arise in its wake. Lack of money, rampant
crime and a degraded environment often exhaust the poorest of
the poor. These factors weaken their self-control and so they
think mostly in terms of short-term benefits and immediate
gratification – they beget more children and the cycle begins
again.
Poverty is about power and politics. Political systems are
manipulated in return for economic benefit. Private interests and
re-election are of paramount importance for most politicians.
Such politics have little to do with the challenges faced by poor
communities (Stiglitz 2012):
When one interest group holds too much power, it succeeds in
getting policies that benefit itself, rather than society as a whole.
When the wealthiest use their political power to benefit excessively
the corporations they control, much-needed revenues are diverted
into the pockets of a few instead of benefiting society at large.
(pp. 104–105)
The prevailing myth is of unlimited economic growth, but for

reasons of the common good and of social justice, there have to
be limits to the market because of the limits of human rationality.
The market has always assumed that human beings make
rational decisions in purchasing goods, unaware of what
neuroscience has discovered – unconscious motives often cause
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people to act against their self-interest (cf. Ubel 2009; eds.

Michel-Kerjan & Slovic 2010). People left to their own devices do
not always make choices in their own best interests, or the best
interests of others, and often fail to adequately consider the
long-term consequences of their choices. Neither does the
market think of the long-term interests of people and ecosystems.
In fact, says Friedmann (1970), Nobel Prize-winning economist,
the business of business is to make profit, not to engage in
socially beneficial activities. The views of people like Friedmann
have informed the capitalist machine to a very large extent, and
as long as business makes profit, social and environmental costs
are often little considered.
This reality prompted Pope Francis (quoted by O’Leary 2013)
to say:
A savage capitalism has taught the logic of profit at any cost, of
giving in order to get, of exploitation without thinking of people […]
and we see the results in the crisis we are experiencing. (n.p.)
The free market is not really free as it bestows economic

freedom only on those who have access to financial capital
(Stiglitz 2012). Apart from economic inequalities dealt by this
dominant system, it also has huge environmental consequences.
Although many corporations are waving the green flag of
environmentalism, they still continue to wreak havoc on the
environment. Nearly all large corporate chains are improving
the energy efficiency of their lighting, heating, cooling and
refrigeration; improving the fuel efficiency of their vehicles;
increasing recycling and composting; purchasing electricity
from renewable resources and taking other measures that save
money and reduce waste (Markower 2009). All this so far,
however, is not making a significant difference in protecting the
environment. And many corporations, if they can get away with
it, will go on utilising offshore tax havens to avoid paying taxes,
export their toxic waste to poor countries and maintain factories
there that pay starvation wages and that do not respect human
rights (Rushkoff 2009). Rushkoff (2009) shows how the ethos
of a speculative, abstract economic model leads to people
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becoming disconnected from what matters to them the most

and then engaging in behaviour that is destructive to their own
and everyone else’s welfare.
The free market demonstrates an indifference towards the

poor, global injustice and ecosystemic crisis, single-mindedly
chasing financial profit. Today free market capitalism has turned
global – digital, web-based and able to find and make almost
anything just about anywhere, propelled forward by new
communications and transportation technologies like computers,
fibre-optic cables and container vans. This has resulted in
widening inequalities of income and wealth, heightened job
insecurity and the growing devastation caused by global
warming. Reich (2009) speaks of how contemporary global
capitalism has resulted in the weakening of democracy and
outcomes expressed in the common good, balancing both profit
and social justice. Instead of corporations becoming more
socially responsible, they will do whatever is necessary to lure
customers and satisfy investors.
In addition to domestic inequalities and environmental

disaster, debt service payments take up 40% of the national
budget, and only a pittance is left for social services. More
than 40% of the annual budget of the Philippines goes to
paying the interest on these loans to creditor countries and
institutions. The government has little to spend for education
and healthcare. The borrowed capital is not even touched.
And there is very little to show for it. Most have been squirrelled
away in secret bank accounts abroad. The standing foreign
debt was $49.1 billion by the end of 2006, although the
government paid more than $63 billion in principal and
interests from 1970 to 1996.
Easterly (2006:194) speaks about the failure of foreign

investment to facilitate long-term developmental impact in the
Philippines. Malaria deaths and infant mortality rates are not
reduced despite huge investments. Massive infrastructure
investments – dams, highways, mining operation and power
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generation projects – often have devastating consequences on

the country’s natural resources, with little benefit to the poor.
Most nations have become part of an integrated global supply

chain, and politics and economics have become intertwined into
a global political economy. It also has a fatal flaw: it is inherently
unstable, as shown by financial crises gripping the global
economy at present. Unrestricted free enterprise has produced
horrible results in the past. Korten (2009:5) says that it is a failed
economic system that does not take into account the social and
environmental costs of monetary profits. Korten (2009:45)
decries the spiritual and psychological costs of a Wall Street
culture that ‘celebrates greed, favors the emotionally and morally
challenged with outsized compensation packages, and denies
the human capacity for cooperation and sharing’. In the words of
Korten (2008), this elitist economic ideology has:
[C]rippled our economy, burdened our governments with debilitating
debts, divided us between the profligate and the desperate, corrupted
our political institutions, and threatened destruction of the natural
environment on which our very lives depend. (p. 40)
It is very difficult to reconcile conscience with commerce,

business ethics with the ecosystem. Vatican Radio (2013)
reported Pope Francis as saying:
It is therefore not enough to help the poor [...] but we must reform
the system at the global level in a way that is consistent with the
fundamental human dignity. The root causes of the current crisis are
not only economic and financial, but ethical and anthropological,
where the ‘idols of power, of profit, of money’, are valued more than
‘the human person’. (n.p.)
Pope Francis (Vatican Radio 2013) said:

We must return to the centrality of man, to a more ethical view of
business and human relations, without the fear of losing something.
(n.p.)
This means moving away from corporate dominance of

governments, economies, the media and the military, towards
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finding new ways of assessing progress, not driven by

consumerism, greed or unbridled growth. Progress is not a cell
phone in every hand. It is when no Filipina is sold as a sex slave
and there are no more street children roaming the streets of our
cities.
Economics today has to connect the cry of the Earth with
the cry of the poor (Boff 1995). Human beings are not above
the things of the Earth, but alongside them. The market has
been divinised because of greed (Cox 1999). The principle
seems to be to strive for maximum profit with the least
investment in the shortest possible time. In order to achieve
that, the Earth is seen as an enemy to be subjugated and
tamed. The Western commercial system would not work if the
multinational corporations bore the full costs of production,
including whatever pollution, sickness or damage to the
ecosystem they caused in the countries they have colonised.
Because they did not integrate the cost of these into
production, they destroyed the land, ruined the health of the
people, poisoned streams and rivers, polluted aquifers and
wells, crippled communities and went home with huge profits.
They became rich through the misfortune of others, misfortune
that they often caused.
Similarly, countries like the Philippines could not find ways to
redistribute wealth beyond being concentrated in a few urban
areas (World Bank 2013:15). When economic and political
systems fail to serve the interests of the majority of citizens,
these systems need to be questioned and unmasked for what
they are. On the surface, the political system in the Philippines
might be democratic, but the fruits of democracy seldom reach
its poorest citizens. It is a matter of degree of government, not
its form. In such contexts, with huge disparities of income
between sectors of Philippine society, and between nations, the
poor have to become the agents of their own liberation, working
for effective political institutions that will make democracy work
for them.
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Veritas’ Alternative Imagination

The signing of the SDGs was a historical commitment by the
international community to overcome poverty and injustice. If
the SDGs will not again fall short of people’s expectations, they
have to address the complexity of global politics and economics,
while affirming human dignity. An economics of creativity must
come up with a new framework for development that reflects the
interconnectedness of global processes and divergences of
worldviews.
Through its convergence economics, Veritas wants to build
on the reality of a highly connected marketplace by enabling
poor communities to participate in a networked economy, but
from below and on their own terms. Veritas emphasises ways in
which economic processes can and should be transformed in
order to promote integral human development, social justice
and sustainability. Through retrieving new technologies and
combining them with ideas and innovation, Veritas aims at
creating a convergence economics that could transform
economic processes, in ways that can subvert monopolising of
resources by a few on top who shape political and economic
processes according to their vested interests.
The purpose of Veritas as a social enterprise is to stand
alongside urban and rural poor communities in order for them to
take collective responsibility for their own destiny. Veritas was
inspired by the bayanihan system of farming in the Philippines,
where neighbours would converge on one farm to plough it, and
then move on to the next the day after. This system is also used
for planting, harvesting and even moving houses from one place
to another. Other sources of inspiration included the Mondragon
Corporación Cooperativa in the Basque region in Spain, the
Economy of Communion of the Focolare and, of course, Catholic
social teaching, all offering a critical hermeneutic of economic
activity.23 I have also been invited to attend conferences on
23. Examples include the work edited by Cortright and Naughton (2002) or
Alford and Naughton (2006).
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business as mission where I absorbed many ideas that are

incorporated in the Veritas business philosophy. Businesses
should be rooted in the community, if not actually owned by the
members of the community themselves, an idea expanded on by
Korten (2001) and (2000). The network between the urban and
the rural poor aims to restore the relationships of communities,
which are essential to their well-being and happiness.
Veritas seeks to help build relationships for justice and the

common good through its triple bottom line of people, planet
and profit. We put purpose and passion above profit and define
business success in terms of a more personally fulfilling and
socially responsible life for the members of our network. Financial
profit is easy to measure. Veritas is also looking to measure the
impact on people and planet in order to calculate its triple bottom
line performance. We use the Oxford Multidimensional Index of
Poverty to measure the progress being made.
Veritas strengthens the building blocks of local communities

and promotes sustainable agriculture so that economic activity
can contribute to the well-being of people, communities and the
ecosystem. Veritas envisions an economic system whose priority
is to create better lives for everyone. Pope Francis (2013:n.p.)
expressed it like this in a letter he wrote to British Prime Minister
David Cameron ahead of a meeting of G8 Global Leaders, stating
that, ‘the goal of economics and politics is to serve all of humanity,
beginning with the poorest and most vulnerable wherever they
may be, even in their mothers’ womb’. All political and economic
efforts and policies must be seen as the means, not the end, with
the true goal being the protection of the human person and well-
being of all humanity (Pope Francis 2013):
Every economic and political theory or action must set about providing
each inhabitant of the planet with the minimum wherewithal to live
in dignity and freedom, with the possibility of supporting a family,
educating children, praising God and developing one’s own human
potential. (n.p.)
Veritas aims to become a social disruptor, transforming the

whole market equilibrium in its areas of operations nationwide.
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Strategic decisions coming from the right vision must support

business planning and innovation with constant attention to the
fundamentals to achieve this. In encouraging creativity, Veritas
has learned not to try to do too much too soon, with too few
resources. It has also learned not to overestimate the ease with
which the e-Trading network’s objectives can be achieved or to
underestimate the resources (time, people and money) required
to achieve the goal of social, economic and environmental
transformation.
The Veritas vision requires systemic change in the institutions
that shape markets. Helping farmers produce more food without
providing serious support (such as tools for measuring maturity
before harvest, tools and containers for post-harvest activities,
sorting and grading, cost-effective methods for storage or
processing of surplus, access to distant markets, market
information regarding prices and consumer demand, and other
critical factors) will most likely lead to even more post-harvest
losses. Veritas aims to figure out how to assist farmers, traders
and marketers with these kinds of value chain supports so that
producing more organic food will lead to increased incomes and
there will be more incentive for farmers to produce more organic
food, which will lower prices, which in turn will enable more
people to eat healthy food.
Veritas imagines systemic change that can shape markets in
ways that favour the poor. This requires ongoing innovations.
Veritas’ Climate Change and Food Security programme is
promoting a number of such innovations for sustainability.
These include agroforestry, ‘soil management, increasing crop
diversity, improving food production from existing livestock,
diversifying livestock breeds’, ‘meatless Fridays’, rain catchments
and smarter irrigation systems, ‘integrated [farming] systems,
agro-ecological and organic farming, [and supporting] small-
scale farmers’ (Segrè:46).
Agroforestry involves massive planting of bamboo seedlings
in line with government’s plan to plant 2 million hectares of
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bamboo, as well as trees, which contributes to reducing soil

erosion. In partnership with Mga Anak ni Inang Daigdig, plans are
being drawn to put up a bamboo tissue culture laboratory and an
incubator hub where innovators can experiment and discuss
bamboo-based businesses. Soil management is taking its cue
from the Department of Agriculture, teaching organic farmers
that alternating different crops allows soil periods of recovery.
The use of drones and sensors will help greatly in helping the
stakeholders of Veritas engaged in food production to manage
the soil they are tilling. ‘Meatless Fridays’ implies not eating meet
for at least one day a week, reducing environmental impact while
increasing food availability in the market. Each of these
innovations contributes uniquely to shaping the market in a
manner that benefits the poor.
Our humanity thrives when we choose higher goals and long-

term objectives, thinking beyond our lifetimes, even thinking of
coming generations. Veritas takes a long-range view and risks
short-term revenue to ensure long-term success, and it will
continue to experiment and learn from mistakes. This kind of
vision requires self-discipline and creativity to bring into being
new things that did not exist before. It also does not punish
failure because transformational initiatives are almost always the
result of trial and error. Filipino culture should be transformed to
become less averse and more creative and entrepreneurial so
that Filipinos can achieve their full potential. Their dreams should
lead them to believe that a better nation is possible, a better
world is possible.
Once a product has been chosen to be marketed or produced,

Veritas through its e-Commerce platform gets it to market fast,
allocates more resources, rallies everyone behind the marketing
strategy, eliminates all potential speed bumps and gets everyone
on the required timeline. This vision helps create processes that
deepen meaning, a spirit that makes people really care about
making the vision of Veritas a reality. The vision is reinforced
constantly and creatively – the stakeholders must continually
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look for compelling metaphors and images to describe the vision

in an active way. Every leader must know the importance of
speaking in such a way that people can see and feel the future
and see and feel themselves thriving in it.
Financial technology is needed to help market-based

entrepreneurial solutions achieve their social and market
potential and meet the needs of millions of Filipinos effectively,
equitably and sustainably. Vast new markets will need to be
created, financed and regulated nationwide. This requires intense
creativity and innovation; therefore, Veritas values and promotes
innovation, trust and happiness among the members more than
traditional economic measures like efficiency, technology or
return of investment. We value social capital over financial capital
but find convergence in innovative ways.
Veritas provides economic incentives that favour recovery

and recycling rather than extraction and exploitation of
resources through creative economic enterprises that will spring
from the people’s imagination, innovation, discipline and hard
work, collaboration and intelligence. Veritas also incorporates
ecological costs on things produced and reminds stakeholders
constantly to be mindful of the needs of future generations.
Veritas asks the poor directly about what they consider ‘impact’
and ‘progress’ instead of coming up with top–down indicators
and measurements.
Poverty is caused by trampling of human rights and lack of

access to social, political and economic power and resources,
together with the inability to make choices in relation to food,
health and education. Sustainable product innovations must
safeguard sustainable development as a right and a guarantee
for fairness. An economics of creativity understands and
implements strategies of development that are low on carbon
emissions in light of an eco-justice that favours the poor. We
have to leave behind paradigms of unsustainable development
based on fossil fuels and the belief that the human being is the
centre of the universe.
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An economics of creativity fosters production and marketing

of goods resilient to climate change, favours the poor with
reduced carbon emissions, in an integral, ecological economics
that is not fragmented and isolated from natural processes.
Veritas is helping do this by introducing climate-smart,
technology-driven agri-ecological methods and streamlining the
marketing system to cut carbon emissions among the urban and
rural poor and indigenous peoples, moving towards a vision of
development that is inclusive, just and sustainable. In accordance
with the UN’s SDGs, Veritas sees sustainability according to the
social, economic and ecological dimensions. The economy of
convergence must become an economy of living systems.
Veritas joins the call for rich nations to reduce their carbon
emissions drastically to maintain global warming below 2°C and
reduce emissions significantly by 2020. This calls for greater
innovation and creativity. The adoption of low-carbon emission
strategies by developed countries should also provide the
necessary transfer of technology and financial aid to developing
countries moving towards ecological economics. These global
efforts should include the full participation of the poor in a clear,
participatory and transparent manner. The poor are, after all, left
most vulnerable to the effects of climate change. International
development goals will be successful only if every human being
has rights and the power to live in dignity.
The Spirituality of Economics and

Ecology
Sachs (2011) states:
We have created a nation of remarkable wealth and productivity,
yet one that leaves its impoverished citizens in degrading life
conditions
and almost completely ignores the suffering of the world’s poorest
people.
We have created a kind of mass addiction to consumerism,
relentless advertising, insidious lobbying,
and national politics gutted of serious public deliberation. (p. 183)
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What, or who, is the economy for? The global economy has

been shaped by economic forces, not social or ecological ones.
The economy, however, should be at the service of human beings
and the natural world, at the service of life. Creating a future in
which all people can prosper will require a fundamental rethinking
of how the economy should be structured. In light of these
principles, Veritas seeks to implement an economic system
based on solidarity and respect for natural processes while
serving the community of life. It supports an economic system
where self-organising communities have control over essential
natural resources. Veritas forges economic and social
development from the bottom of the social pyramid, among the
urban and the rural poor.
Easterly (2006), in The White Man’s Burden, wrote that

poverty continues not only because of indifference but also
because those who care often adopt ineffective methods. The
Veritas e-Trading Network aims to put agency back into the
hands of urban and rural poor people themselves, to empower
the poor to create their own future, shape their own destiny
and take control of their own lives. That is the only way in which
they would stand a chance to thrive in the current dominant
global political economy. Our economic aspiration is to
implement a digital marketing and ‘green’ distribution strategy
based on a network of organised communities in the context of
a spirituality of liberation and ecology, a spirit of democratic
governance and efficient economic management. This is in
direct contrast to the way in which McKibben (2007:100–111)
describes the dominant economic discourses. He suggests that
economics thinks of human beings in individualised ways and
not as part of a human community. Furthermore, they base
their economic thinking on the idea of ‘a human being as a self-
contained want-machine bent on maximizing utility’ (McKibben
2007:111). Through our convergence economics we are
countering that, building an economics of community in which
people are highly connected, breaking cycles of poverty
through organising from below.
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Korten (2009:43) critiques the ways in which dominant

economic systems value economic growth above anything else;
cultural values are shaped by consumerism and governance fails
to curb the excesses of corporate wealth. We have to face the
reality of ‘an out-of-control and out-of-touch financial system
devoted to speculation, inflating financial bubbles, stripping
corporate assets, and predatory lending’ (Korten 2009:43).
It is within such a global context that Veritas advocates for
the redistribution of financial and natural capital, cutting back
on the consumption of material things and living with green
technologies to build a sustainable future. The planet cannot
sustain the global political economy as it is being run today
where environment and economy are always on a collision
course. We have to discover new economic models based on the
idea of limited natural resources. We have to promote eco-
efficiency and produce more with less. Filipino inventors have to
design new products that generate social and natural value for
the poor. In other words, Veritas calls for the reorganisation and
transformation of the global political economy.
According to Korten (2006), development and prosperity
should be measured by:
[T ]he quality and the realization by each person of the creative
potential of their humanity. A high-performing economic system
supports the development of this potential, provides every person
with an adequate and dignified means of livelihood, maintains the
healthy vitality of the planetary ecosystem that is the source of real
wealth, and contributes to building community through strengthening
the bonds of affection, trust and mutual accountability. (p. 418)
Thus, Veritas has to keep on innovating – reducing its prices,

seeking to please its customers and monitoring its impact in
terms of transformed lives. It must work to build up enduring
coalitions among the urban and rural poor, propose concrete
policies for effective modes of governance and imbue its
stakeholders with a sense of solidarity, common purpose and a
renewed sense of confidence in the future to create a path
towards a world glowing with harmony and prosperity.
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Our forefathers believed that the Earth did not belong to

them; they belonged to the Earth. They did not have the concept
of absolute ownership of the things of the Earth. They realised
that human beings are social beings, also economic, political and
spiritual beings. Economic concerns are only one among other
values and needs that make us human. Is there any way at all that
this joy, this deep religiosity, this indomitable energy and gritty
determination of the Filipinos can be harnessed so that they can
organise themselves, mobilise on a massive scale, engage the
economic and political system, take risks and decide communally
which risks they have to take so that they can attain what they
consider of value in the light of their history and culture?
Oikonomia means ‘stewardship’. We have failed to be
compassionate stewards of the planet. The global political
economy that causes garbage dumps all over the world, the
slums, the spirals of violence, the terrorist bombings and the
pollution of the environment are glaring proofs that we have not
been very good stewards of the planet. We did not comply with
our duty to steward the capacity of the Earth to sustain all life
and nourish everyone in it. Modern civilisation is inspired by a
vision that equates human progress with unbridled economic
growth. Humans and creation have been made subordinates of
the market as God. The market ideology assumes that Mother
Earth’s resources are inexhaustible and that the environment has
a virtually infinite ability to absorb the waste generated by the
consumer society. Today, we urgently have to move away from
the ideology of infinite material progress towards genuinely
sustainable economies. Different scholars provide possible
alternative imaginaries for sustainable economies that would
nurture humanity and the planet alike (cf. Greer 2011; Heinberg
2011; Jackson 2011).
Western economics made incorrect assumptions about
human nature, thinking of the human being as Homo economicus,
a being who makes decisions based on rational self-interest.
Western economics considers extreme mathematicisation, as
316
Chapter 10
well as distance from normative concerns, to be signs of

objectivity and rigour, much like the hard sciences. It is assumed
that the pursuit of self-interest will automatically produce the
best outcomes for everyone. However, to the contrary, in the
process of maximising value for shareholders, who care only
about their own wealth and return on their investments, the poor
are often marginalised and exploited. The only goal of business
firms is to maximise profit, and the measure of success in national
policy is the growth of GDP per capita. In other words, the
ideology behind the global political economy maintains that the
self-interest of a rational, autonomous individual utility-maximiser
automatically leads to collective well-being.
The purely rational, greed-motivated person is a functional
psychopath – ethically unmoored with no moral compass to
guide decisions, caring nothing for the welfare of others. The
economic doctrine based on self-interest has often led to the
overexploitation of natural resources and social problems that
make life worse for everyone, not better. The global financial
crises that have happened and are bound to happen again and
again have caused many companies to go bankrupt and some
nations to declare bankruptcy. The personal costs in terms of
unemployment, poverty and health have been immense.
The understanding of human beings by free market economists
has not looked closely at how human beings evolved – the best
survival strategy for Homo sapiens was to cooperate with each
other and to suppress the greed and selfishness that was good
for the individual but harmful to the tribe – driving animals
towards teammates yielded more meat than hunting alone. The
human species survived because our ancestors held the belief
that everyone must make personal sacrifices to follow ethical
rules and avoid harming others. Veritas believes it is high time for
a paradigm shift in economics based on the survival strategies of
our ancestors and not relegate our interdependent futures to
mindless, values-neutral ‘market forces’. The purpose of the
economy is to provide for the sustaining and flourishing of life.
317
It cannot do this if economists continue to imagine it as an ethics-

free and compassion-free sphere.
Catholic social doctrine is based on solidarity between human
beings. It strongly promotes and defends democracy and
freedom and fosters universal human rights, based on an
affirmation of the inherent dignity of every human being.
Economics therefore should foster pro-social behaviour. It should
result in a world where ‘producers’ and ‘consumers’ see each
other as people and together work towards creating a sustainable
global economy and a global society. Veritas would like to
measure the standard of living by the well-being of the citizens,
the flourishing of the community and of the ecosystem, and not
by the gross national product. Growth will need to rely to a much
greater extent on sustained improvements in human capital,
institutions and governance. The global economy has to be built
on a just and sustainable foundation. Without social justice, there
will be no world peace.
Pope John Paul II (1991 in Melé & Schlag 2015) wrote in his
encyclical Centesimus Annus:
[T ]he purpose of a business firm is not simply to make a profit,
but is to be found in its very existence as a community of persons
who in various ways are endeavoring to satisfy their basic needs,
and who form a particular group at the service of the whole of
society. Profit is a regulator of the life of a business, but it is not the
only one; other human and moral factors must also be considered
which, in the long term, are at least equally important for the life of
a business. (n.p.)
Slow Money founder Woody Tasch (quoted by Chaudhar 2013)

says it in language even more resembling of a spirituality:
In the 21st century, investing is not only about markets and
sectors and asset allocation. In a world that is speeding up
and heating up, losing its soil and losing its sense of common
purpose, investing is also about reconnecting and healing broken
relationships. What could make more sense than taking a small
amount of our money, turning in a new direction, and putting it
to work near where we live, in things that we understand, starting
with food? (n.p.)
318
Chapter 10
Conclusion
Veritas is looking to network with local entrepreneurs who can
demonstrate that their projects, in addition to financial viability,
promote larger social and environmental goals. Veritas believes
that sustainable development and true progress will be
characterised by socio-economic justice, paving the way for
harmony and freedom among all people. Veritas does not call
for an end to economic growth nor for economic stagnation but
for a convergent economy and a sustainable society where
everyone can become all that they can be.
The e-Trading networks, technologies and innovations created
between urban and rural poor communities, described here, seek
to demonstrate the viability of such an alternative imaginary,
against the backdrop of a global political economy that has
largely sidelined the poor. Not only is it viable, but it is also
internally sustainable, because in economic processes based on
solidarity the despair of the poor and the avarice of the rich both
get replaced with an economics of sharing.
True prosperity, in our minds, is when the way people make a
living is true to who they are and convergent with an evolving
cosmos.
319
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344
Index
A Afrikaans, 139, 206

abilities, 263–264, 270 Age, xxix, 20, 35, 99, 106, 125, 135,
ability, 6, 208, 225, 242, 261–263, 274, 140, 152–153, 187, 204, 251,
299, 316 259, 288
abuse, 13, 67, 128, 137, 140–141, agencies, 49, 172, 191, 211–212, 214, 216
143–144, 152, 155 agency, 21–22, 26, 73, 154, 196–197,
academia, 233, 249, 259, 266 210, 216–218, 226, 314
accept, 7, 100, 117–118, 131, 213, 226 agreement, 50, 187
acceptance, 6, 155, 166, 168 alienation, 35, 88, 99, 227, 280
access, xxxi, 5–7, 72, 117, 180, 193–195, amnesty, 171, 176–177
201–202, 204–206, 208, analyse, 54, 291
215, 220, 231–234, 290–291, anthropological, 105, 113, 306
293–294, 296, 299–301, anthropology, xxvii, 111, 116, 129
303–304, 310, 312 anxiety, 47, 194
accessibility, 192, 194 apartheid, 13, 136, 139, 141, 145–149,
accountability, 43–44, 46, 48, 50, 52, 157, 161–162
54, 56, 58, 60, 62, 64, 66, 68, apocalypse, xxvii, 16, 45, 47, 69, 71
70, 72, 74, 140, 153, 219, 256, 315 apocalyptic, xxx, 28, 46, 75, 80
accurate, 284 application, 146, 162
achieve, 258, 307, 310–312 applications, 173
achieved, 120, 148, 182, 261, 275, 310 approach, 112, 136, 138, 151, 153–155,
achievement, 235 171–173, 178–179, 183, 185–186,
acquiring, 69 192, 196, 238–239, 254, 262,
acquisition, 65 266–267, 271, 279–280, 291,
action, xxv, 9–10, 17–18, 31, 54, 67, 71, 294–295, 299
73, 114, 122–124, 129, 143–144, archbishop, 144
150, 155–157, 171, 179–181, Asia, 166, 190, 235, 302
215–216, 218, 221, 247, 249, 256, attitude, 14, 153–154, 184–185, 251,
261, 277, 282, 298, 303, 309 257, 281
administration, 11, 173, 185 attitudes, 153–154, 184–185
Africa, xxiii, xxviii–xxix, 1, 9–10, 13, 25, attributes, 19
43, 75, 103, 135–139, 145–150, auspices, 177
156–158, 161–165, 168, 181, Australia, 95, 253
189–192, 197, 205, 215, 217, 223, authenticity, 152, 277, 279
234–235, 238, 253, 287 authority, 64, 142–144, 147, 159–160,
African context, 145, 157, 162–163 162, 258, 267, 284
African, xxviii, 5–6, 9, 13, 44, 48, 52, autonomy, 6, 61, 148, 280
71, 136–139, 144–146, 148–149, availability, 204, 311
155–158, 162–163, 170, 176–178, average, 175, 185, 211
182, 186, 188, 198–202, 205–206, awareness, 46, 80, 87–89, 96, 98,
208, 232 143, 281
345
Index
B channels, 63–65, 132, 180

baptism, 29 character, 32, 201
barriers, 173–174, 204, 209 charismatic, 241
behaviour, 141, 156, 297, 305, 318 charity, 208–210
beliefs, 83, 141, 156, 185, 229, 237, child, 32, 76, 115, 141, 172, 237
241, 274 childhood, 179
benefits, 9, 161, 169–171, 295, 303, 311 children, 57, 76, 114–115, 117, 126, 132,
Bible, 60, 84, 87, 129, 142, 168, 211, 140–141, 155, 157, 159, 162, 170,
228–229, 234, 237, 241–242 180, 193, 207, 230, 265, 268, 270,
binding, 238 293, 295, 301, 303, 307, 309
birth, 60, 70, 81, 91, 125, 164, 185, 228 China, 6, 192
blind, 7, 140, 152, 234, 248 Christ, 16, 41, 87, 107, 162, 206, 228,
bodies, xxiv, xxxi, 26, 146, 242, 289 243, 245–247, 271–272, 278
boundaries, 4, 33, 130, 182, 237 Christendom, 20–21, 26, 281, 322
brain, 46, 61 Christian education, 205
budget, 305 Christian, iv–v, vii, xxvii, xxx–xxxi, 11,
business success, 309 13–15, 18, 20, 27, 36, 40, 46, 48,
business, 67–68, 122, 169, 171, 173, 199, 60, 71–73, 80, 87–89, 91, 95, 99,
253, 256–257, 262, 283, 292, 101, 114, 128, 139, 156–157, 173,
295, 297, 300, 302, 304, 306, 175, 179, 182, 184, 186, 205–206,
309–311, 317–318 209, 211, 225–226, 230, 238, 241,
247–248, 252, 257, 271, 275,
C 277, 279–282, 322, 325, 328,
cable, 305 338–340, 342
canon, 73, 93, 158 Christianity, xix, 11, 20, 40, 73, 89, 184,
capitalism, 6, 39, 74, 121, 190, 230, 247, 322–323, 330
235, 288, 304–305 church leaders, 13, 142–144, 235–236
care, 38, 102, 106, 115, 143, 161, 172, church, xxviii, xxxi, 11–21, 24, 26–27,
177, 205, 207, 214–216, 218–220, 33–35, 37, 40, 54, 66, 71, 83,
234, 291, 295, 311, 314, 317 87, 130, 137, 139–140, 142–145,
cash, 147 154–158, 160–166, 168, 170, 172,
ceremonies, 100 174, 176, 178, 180, 182, 184–186,
certificate, 264 188, 205–206, 209–211, 217–218,
challenge, xxv, xxvii, 2–3, 6, 11, 17, 35, 223–224, 226–227, 230,
48, 50, 79, 95–97, 147, 154, 160, 232–233, 235–236, 238–244,
186, 207, 221, 224–226, 231, 249 246–248, 250, 252, 258–259,
challenges, xxv, xxx, 9–10, 23, 74, 102, 262–264, 266, 271, 274–275,
136, 162, 166, 170, 191, 196, 201, 277–279, 281–285
224, 227, 231–232, 250, 290, cities, xxiii, xxviii–xxxi, 2, 4–9, 11, 16,
294, 300, 303 47, 53–54, 68, 74, 79, 120,
change, xxvi, xxxi, 4, 7, 10–11, 19, 23, 135–136, 139, 145–146, 150–156,
28–30, 38, 44, 46, 50, 52, 54, 158–159, 161, 163–164, 166–168,
59, 62, 65, 74, 98, 117–119, 128, 172, 174, 179, 190–194, 196–198,
148, 153, 182, 200, 203–204, 203–204, 209, 215, 232, 242,
212–213, 229, 236, 249, 256, 253–256, 258–260, 268–269,
260, 273, 275, 281, 290–291, 271, 273, 277, 281–283, 289,
310, 313 301, 307
346
Index
citizen, 17, 19, 22, 25–26, 71, 146, 168, 79, 81, 83, 89, 91–98, 101–102,
170, 177, 180–181, 187, 199, 201, 104–107, 110–112, 116–118,
205, 207, 241, 258, 302, 307, 123–124, 126, 128–130, 138–145,
313, 318 153, 156–158, 160–161, 164, 168,
citizenship, xxviii, 25–26, 152, 167, 172–173, 181–182, 185–186, 191,
169–172, 178–179, 185, 190, 196 193–194, 196–198, 200, 205–210,
city, xxiv, xxvi–xxvii, xxx, 3–4, 8, 11–12, 216, 219–221, 224, 226–236,
14–19, 22, 24–27, 35–36, 43–48, 238, 240–241, 244, 246–250,
50, 52, 54, 56, 58, 60, 62, 252–253, 256–274, 276–278,
64–72, 74, 76–78, 80, 86–87, 280–282, 284–285, 288–289,
89, 101–102, 104, 112, 117–123, 291–294, 296, 298, 300, 303,
125, 127–128, 138–139, 145–146, 307–309, 314–315, 318–319
151–152, 158–159, 163, 172, 179, comparative, 192
190, 195–203, 206, 208, 215, compensation, 172, 306
221, 224, 227–229, 231–233, competency, 294–295
236, 239, 241, 245, 253–255, competition, 297
257–261, 267–269, 283, 285, complete, xxiii, 2, 6, 9, 16, 138, 234,
288, 299 246, 253, 274, 278
civilization, 86, 288 complex, 14, 23, 63, 90, 104, 137, 141,
claim, xxxi, 12, 15, 28, 33, 40, 50, 146, 151, 153–154, 178, 212, 218,
61, 98, 105, 116, 131, 144–145, 260, 268–271, 288–289, 291,
166, 278 293, 301
clarity, 11, 93 complexities, 15, 258, 266, 269
classified, 170–171, 198, 203 complexity, 3, 10, 18, 20, 147, 298,
cloud, 46, 73, 86, 296 301, 308
cognisance, 51, 232 comprehensive, 4, 91, 209
cognitive, 96 compromise, 7, 17
cohesion, xxvii, xxix, 111, 113, 117, concept, xxv, xxviii, xxx, 23–24, 38,
191, 256 103–105, 107, 111, 118–120, 192,
collaborate, 70, 72, 239, 293 230–231, 233, 243, 245, 247,
collaboration, 19, 21, 36, 72–73, 172, 312 254, 256, 258–260, 265, 271,
collected, 68, 85, 141, 169, 271, 291 276–277, 283–284, 316
colonial, xxvii, 8, 20, 46, 52, 80–81, conceptions, 173, 182, 187
86, 88, 90–94, 98, 120, 145–147, concern, xxvi, 8, 14, 16, 44, 47, 94, 123,
151, 159, 302 138, 145, 148, 151, 163, 167, 169,
colonialism, xxvi, 44, 72, 199 173, 176, 186, 242, 249, 271, 283,
colonisation, 45, 60, 81, 157 291, 316–317
communal, 34, 109, 123, 126–127, 240, conditioning, 57
295, 299 confession, 66–67
communicate, 225, 229, 233, confirmation, 238
242–243, 247 conflict, 9, 11, 68, 73, 105, 109–110,
communication, 58, 75, 93, 120, 225, 112, 116, 122–123, 128, 176, 185,
229, 243, 264, 271, 289, 305 209, 249
communism, 74, 288 congregation, 143, 175, 180–181, 185,
community, xxiv, xxvi–xxxi, 4, 6, 9–11, 211, 240, 242, 277, 280
16, 19–21, 24, 27, 32–38, 40, 45, conscious, 88–89, 281
49, 51, 55, 64, 67, 71–72, 76–77, constraints, 207, 291
347
Index
construct, xxiv–xxv, 3, 16, 18, 20, 26, course, 2, 50–51, 58, 70, 73, 89, 98,
37, 40, 123, 156–157, 164 113, 120, 122, 127, 142, 158, 204,
constructing, 37, 218 228, 236, 246, 251, 256, 308, 315
construction, 34, 61, 65, 124, 215, covenant, 66–67, 160
219–220 create, xxiv, xxxi, 10, 23, 37, 39, 62,
consumerism, 307, 313, 315 95, 113–114, 116, 125, 128–129, 145,
contemporary, 7–8, 17, 19–21, 23, 49, 155, 160, 162, 191, 195, 207, 209,
51, 80, 105, 111–112, 115, 120–121, 216, 256, 259, 264, 267, 269,
123, 125, 127, 149, 162, 184, 217, 275, 277, 282, 284, 289, 292,
272, 305 295, 299–300, 309, 311, 314–315
content, xxv, 11, 186, 205, 225–226, creating, 6, 12, 16, 23–24, 37, 80,
229, 234 109–110, 118, 123, 150, 217, 231,
context, xxvii–xxx, 5, 9, 19, 27, 48, 262–263, 265, 269, 292, 298,
69–70, 72, 93, 97–98, 104, 115, 308, 314, 318
119, 138, 145, 148, 157, 162–163, creation, xxiii–xxiv, 2–3, 15, 18, 21,
166–169, 173, 187, 213, 215, 221, 25, 33, 37–38, 53, 60, 78,
225–226, 228–232, 234, 236, 89–90, 99, 105, 162, 216, 224,
239, 241–242, 244, 246–249, 265, 272–274, 277, 283, 288,
251–252, 256, 275–276, 283, 291–292, 316
289, 294, 298, 301, 307, 314–315 creative, xxvii, 25–26, 39, 77, 91,
contextual, xxiii, 1, 43, 75, 103, 136, 95, 126, 137, 190, 196, 206,
165, 189–190, 223, 225–229, 311–312, 315
253, 287 creativity, xxxi, 102, 232, 291, 295,
contextualisation, 81, 225–226 297–298, 308, 310–313
contracts, 240 crime, 104, 268, 273, 303
contradiction, 28, 173, 301 crisis, 10, 50, 59, 91, 98, 109–110, 131,
contrast, 57, 67, 100, 121, 123, 131, 172, 190, 203, 209, 218, 220–221,
241, 314 260, 282, 300, 304–306, 317
contributes, 293, 300, 311, 315 criteria, 251
control, 7, 22, 49, 55, 100, 109–110, 115, cross, 33, 64, 71, 192, 200, 237, 278
124–125, 153, 155, 209, 212, 218, cultural contexts, 246
280–281, 301, 303, 314–315 cultural pluralism, 184
conversion, 28–29, 35–36, 92, 183, cultural, 49, 71, 77, 81, 84, 86, 88,
249, 297 90–93, 95, 97–98, 109, 130,
cooperation, 114, 172, 269, 306 141–142, 147–148, 152, 168,
corruption, 11, 24, 28, 131–132, 182–184, 187, 191, 195–196,
272–273 200–203, 214, 225, 240–241,
cost, xxiii, 2, 37, 162, 169, 192, 194–195, 243, 246, 258, 282, 289, 315
202–204, 207, 210, 220, 258, culture, 10, 16, 44, 46, 52–53, 59, 69,
291–292, 294, 304, 306–307, 75, 84, 86–89, 94–95, 98–99,
310, 312, 317 101, 105, 120, 142, 159, 161, 167,
cost–benefit analysis, 258 182–183, 185–186, 213–214,
counselling, 206, 215 226–227, 234, 238–241, 243,
counterparts, 83 247–248, 275, 294–295, 306,
countries, 31, 95, 139, 150–151, 166, 198, 311, 316
201, 206, 247, 254, 266, 282, curriculum, 230, 250–251
301, 304–305, 307, 313 custom, 181
348
Index
customers, 115, 291, 305, 315 dialogue, xxvii, 36, 191, 221, 256,
customisation, 296 267, 270
customs, 76, 161 diaspora, 70, 81, 91–92, 95–96, 100
cycle, 54, 62–63, 137, 140, 163, 253, differentiate, 109
283, 289–290, 292, 303, 314 differentiation, 235
dignity, xxiv, 118, 121, 208, 216–218,
D 230, 280, 306, 308–309,
daily, 9, 49, 85, 138, 144, 150, 164, 313, 318
195–196, 208, 217, 224, 236, dilemma, 50–51, 115
242, 300 discern, 19–20, 24, 27, 31, 34, 37, 230
damage, 56, 89, 307 discernment, 253–254, 256–258,
data, xxix, 139, 141, 175, 178, 184, 188, 260–262, 264, 266, 268,
197, 290, 296–297 270, 272, 274, 276, 278–280,
deal, 11, 47, 59, 155, 211 282–284
death, xxviii, 28–29, 35, 37, 40, 60, 66, disciple, 280
100, 119, 128, 132–133, 245, 249, discipleship, 13, 35, 48, 91, 162, 240
251, 258, 272, 274, 289, 305 discipline, xxvi, 16, 48, 68, 73, 91, 93,
decision, 5, 101, 104, 132, 152–153, 232, 252, 311–312
260, 291, 303, 310, 316–317 disciplined, 243
decolonisation, 43, 72, 79, 101 discipling, 87
decolonising, 94 disclose, 140, 219
deconstruction, 50, 160 disconnect, 146
deficiencies, 302 discover, xxiv, 16, 22, 230, 236–237,
defined, 78, 108, 112, 190, 192–194, 241, 245, 249, 315
224, 231, 260, 269 discrimination, 193, 255–256, 270
degrees, 91, 176, 201, 251 displacement, 44, 47, 138, 216
democracy, 22, 145, 147, 156, 159, 162, dissonance, 233
288, 305, 307, 318 divergence, 308
democratic, 99, 139, 159, 219, 307, 314 diversity, xxix, 16–17, 64, 182, 184,
dependence, 6, 234, 278 186–187, 199, 236, 246–247, 256,
desert, 63, 281 259–260, 269, 284, 295, 310
design, 45, 52, 89–90, 121, 192, 197, division, 4, 128
251, 254, 266, 297, 315 doctrine, 72–73, 317–318
developing countries, 301, 313 domination, 11, 20, 54, 60–61, 73–74,
developing, xxviii, 22, 57, 61–62, 147, 78, 89, 146, 159–162
208, 250, 260, 262, 264–266, drink, 86, 115
268, 301, 309, 313 drive, 5, 53, 67, 108
development, xxvii, xxx, 5, 20, 38, duration, 46, 203
45, 51, 59, 80, 89, 98, 101, 105, duties, 84
114, 116–118, 120, 129, 135, 139, dynamic, xxvi, 15–16, 18, 21–22, 78, 90,
141, 146, 151, 157, 198, 205, 198, 274
207, 215, 233, 249, 253–254, dynamics, 8, 89, 108, 116, 118, 131, 151,
256–258, 260–267, 269–271, 199, 236
277, 282–285, 290–291, 294,
297–300, 302, 308, 312–315, 319 E
developmental, 19, 107, 291, 305 economic growth, 112, 122–123, 292,
devoted, 62, 315 298, 303, 315–316, 319
349
Index
economic inequality, xxv, 28, 148, 304 engagement, xxxi, 11, 13, 18, 20, 36,
economics, xxv, 120, 152, 236, 300, 48–49, 71, 96, 143, 156, 158, 161,
306–309, 312–314, 316–319 211, 240, 246, 248, 250, 254,
economy, xxiii, xxx–xxxi, 4, 6, 62, 261, 273, 276–277, 280–281,
65–66, 76, 78, 100, 102, 122, 283–285
147, 195, 198, 220, 231–233, enlightenment, 46
244, 246, 257, 283, 288–291, enterprise, 19, 51, 65, 70, 72,
293–295, 297–302, 306, 308, 263–264, 289, 291–292, 306,
313–319 308, 312
ecumenical, 39, 43, 72, 180, 208 environment, xxvii, 20, 64, 66, 118,
edification, 94 125, 136, 203, 225, 231, 240,
educate, 184, 187, 234 247, 254–257, 259, 267–268,
education, xxv, xxix–xxx, 6, 11, 280–281, 283–285, 291–293,
88–89, 92, 169, 181, 193, 205, 303–304, 306, 315–316
209, 223–227, 229–236, 239, environmental, xxv, xxxi, 20, 38, 59,
241–245, 248–252, 293, 300, 77, 256, 289, 291–292, 304–306,
305, 312 310–311, 319
effect, xxv, xxxi, 15–16, 20, 26, 37–38, epistemology, 190, 220–221
46, 60, 63, 193, 212, 257–258, equality, 256
263, 273, 298, 313 eschatology, 272–274
effective, 38, 140, 148, 254, 270, 273, ethical, 26, 36, 48, 50, 60, 164,
307, 310, 315 190–191, 197, 216–219, 275, 289,
effectively, 65, 89, 96, 185, 225, 264, 295, 298, 306, 317
269, 312 ethics, 43, 119, 192, 216, 218–221,
efficiency, 304, 312 276, 306
efficient, 294, 296, 314 ethnic, 33, 47, 49, 77, 91–92, 152, 166,
element, 110, 235 187, 211, 255
elements, 38, 97, 105, 111, 218, 220, ethnicity, 79, 167, 173, 179
257, 259–260, 279, 291 ethnocentrism, 88
embrace, xxiii–xxiv, 21, 26, 35, 71, 106, Europe, 91, 166, 174
126, 182, 186, 219, 237, 239, 248, evaluation, 60, 250
255, 277, 279, 295 evidence, 61–62, 109, 131, 175, 187,
emerge, xxvi, xxx, 9, 19, 22, 59, 63–65, 221, 268
92, 94, 225–229, 248–250, 263, evidenced, 224, 273
277, 284 exclusion, xxiv, 5, 12, 30, 37, 83, 101,
emotional, 116, 215 130, 132, 138, 216, 218, 224, 227,
emotions, 240 244–246, 290
empathy, 115 exclusive, 40, 86–87, 98, 122, 172–173
employed, 201, 211, 227, 240, 263 exclusivist, 11–12, 26–27, 37, 182
employees, 169, 291 exhibit, 51, 149
employers, 171, 178 existential, 10, 59, 194, 220, 241
empowered, 267, 270, 295 expectations, 149, 308
empowerment, 94, 149, 151, 153, 234, experience, xxvii, xxix, 49, 52, 54,
270, 293 57, 71, 74, 80, 88, 104, 107, 136,
energy, 19, 61, 72, 93, 265, 294, 138, 140–141, 143–145, 147, 151,
304, 316 153, 159–160, 164, 191, 193–196,
enforcement, 76, 170, 172, 180–181 199, 202–203, 207, 211, 213, 215,
350
Index
219–220, 224, 227–228, 230, festivals, 18, 36, 277

232–234, 236–237, 239, 241, firm, 109, 257, 317–318
244–247, 249–252, 254, 260, first, 2, 12, 20, 22, 27–28, 32, 55, 58,
274, 281–282, 284, 289, 296 60–64, 67, 72, 74, 78, 81, 86–87,
exploit, 299 89, 91–92, 95–96, 100, 104, 116,
exploration, 44, 96, 136, 206 119, 124–125, 145, 164, 172, 204,
208, 211, 214, 219, 224–225, 237,
F 248, 265, 273–274, 278, 288
facilitate learning, 70 flexible, 195, 262
facilitator, 271 flourish, 20, 103, 163, 246, 255, 281
factor, 63, 148, 157, 251 flourishing, 35–36, 138, 276, 283–284,
factors, 155, 236, 251, 270, 303, 310, 318 299, 317–318
failure, 88, 148, 153, 231–232, 247, 252, foreigner, 174, 201
305, 311 forgiveness, 19, 31, 88, 148
faith community, xxx, 10–11, 16, 19, formation, 4, 20, 45, 62, 66, 74, 84,
21, 24, 34, 36–38, 40, 173, 186, 91, 130, 242, 252
205–206, 208, 216, 244, 248, framework, 92–94, 112–113, 232, 260,
258, 261, 266, 285 267, 273, 276, 290, 308
faith, xxiii–xxvi, xxviii–xxxi, 1–4, 6, free, 6, 22, 27, 65, 99, 118–119, 145,
8, 10–22, 24, 26–28, 30–32, 154, 159, 161, 163, 170, 240, 277,
34–40, 43, 45, 53, 59, 66, 75, 288–289, 295, 301, 304–306,
77, 79–80, 103, 127, 135, 137, 317–318
139, 156–157, 161–162, 165, 173, freedom, xxviii, 6, 31, 45, 89, 135–138,
179, 181–186, 189–194, 196–198, 140, 142, 144–146, 148, 150–152,
200, 202, 204–212, 214, 216, 154, 156, 158–164, 173–174, 178,
218, 220–221, 223, 225, 227–228, 185, 240, 267, 304, 309, 318–319
233, 237, 243–244, 246–248, freedom, 145, 159, 161, 309
250, 252–258, 260–262, 264, frustration, 186, 242, 247, 279
266, 268, 270–285, 287–288, fuels, 312
290, 292, 294, 296, 298, 300, fulfilment, 74, 296
302, 304, 306, 308, 310, 312, function, 11, 40, 115, 150, 240, 250
314, 316, 318 functioning, 104, 114, 214, 260, 282
faithful, 12–13, 28, 33, 38 future, xxiv, xxvi–xxvii, xxxi, 20, 28,
family, xxix, 2, 25, 57, 66, 71, 81–82, 84, 38, 50, 69, 74, 79, 146, 159, 209,
140, 145–146, 157–159, 164, 177, 218, 241, 255, 258, 261, 266,
181, 183, 186, 192, 194–196, 204, 271–274, 277–278, 283, 291,
210–211, 213–214, 216, 220–221, 300, 312, 314–315, 317, 322
234, 236–238, 254, 268, 277,
293–294, 302–303, 309 G
father, 65–67, 76, 81, 83–84, 140, 144, game, 33, 62, 119, 277, 289, 303
159, 161, 174, 243 gender, xxv, xxviii, xxxi, 46, 49,
fear, 21, 57, 85, 106–107, 111, 149–150, 136–139, 145, 147–148, 150–158,
155, 163, 185–186, 195, 251, 273, 160–162, 164
275, 306 generation, 57, 60, 82, 101, 118, 140,
feature, 182, 231, 244, 275, 296 152, 157, 184, 186, 238, 243, 255,
feelings, 175 262–263, 268, 274, 277, 291,
feminist, xxviii, 94, 137, 145, 148, 151, 158 306, 311–312
351
Index
gift, 55, 131, 261, 278 harmony, 273, 275, 315, 319
global, xxvi–xxxi, 2, 5–6, 8–9, 14, Healing, viii, 14, 18, 31, 37, 75–76, 78,
19, 25–26, 38, 44–45, 47–51, 80, 82, 84, 86, 88, 90, 92, 94,
56, 80, 99, 103–108, 110–114, 96, 98, 100–102, 318
116–124, 126–133, 136–137, health, 80, 92, 115, 149, 171–172, 209,
150–151, 153–154, 166–168, 171, 215, 266, 268, 276, 280, 293,
182, 187, 223–224, 230, 244, 298, 307, 312, 317
246, 254, 257, 267, 282–283, hearing, 54, 101, 225, 248, 272
285, 288–292, 294, 297, 301, held, xxv, 4, 21, 24, 39, 65, 78, 83, 143,
305–306, 308–309, 313–319 153, 159, 219, 271, 282, 317
globalisation, 5, 26, 31, 51, 99, 120, 199, help, xxxi, 9, 21, 31, 57, 105, 111, 113,
231, 290, 301 116–117, 119, 128, 137, 156,
globalising, 36, 49, 224 158, 205–206, 209, 212, 216,
goal, 81, 192, 225, 235, 258, 292, 294, 230, 234–235, 237, 241, 243,
309–310, 317 255–256, 259, 273, 293,
goal, 19, 81, 191–192, 225, 235, 256, 299–302, 306, 309, 311–312
258, 261, 266, 292, 294, holistic, 128, 205, 209, 254
309–311, 313, 317, 319 honour, 83, 93, 214, 237
goals, 19, 191, 256, 258, 261, 266, 311, hope, xxiii, xxv, xxx, 20, 30, 32, 36,
313, 319 38, 50, 52, 69, 74, 102, 126, 130,
goods, xxxi, 122, 210, 288, 299, 303, 313 133, 138, 163, 186, 252, 254–255,
gospel, 29, 129, 225, 228–230, 238, 271–276, 284
243, 245–248, 252, 272, 275, hospitality, 19, 67, 183, 202, 218–219,
323, 331, 339 277, 280–281
governance, 6, 9–10, 265, 267, 270, household, xxiv, xxviii, 13, 16–18, 30–34,
314–315, 318 61, 135–148, 150–152, 154–156,
government, xxx, 5–6, 13, 19, 27, 53, 158–164, 202–203, 210–212, 289
81, 117, 131, 146, 156, 174, 177, 180, households, xxviii, 32, 135–136, 138,
183, 191, 193, 196, 201, 207, 232, 140, 142–148, 150, 152, 154–156,
240, 254–255, 257, 266–269, 158–164, 202–203, 211–212
271, 273, 285, 293, 296, 303, human dignity, 118, 121, 230, 306, 308
305–307, 310 human rights, 148, 157, 171, 182, 208,
grace, 48, 76, 78, 97, 100, 102, 206, 229, 256, 270, 304, 312, 318
237–239, 251, 274 human, xxvi–xxvii, 17–18, 25–26, 30, 45,
granted, 59, 61, 99–100, 156, 182 50–51, 55, 59–61, 65, 74, 78–80,
greed, 4, 28, 33, 74, 157, 306–307, 317 87, 96, 98–99, 101–102, 105,
growth, xxvii, 5, 14, 61, 98, 101, 112, 107–108, 110–111, 113–116, 118, 121,
122–123, 190, 199, 238, 250, 123–125, 132, 138, 148, 156–157,
292, 295, 298, 302–303, 307, 160–161, 171, 182, 201–202, 208,
315–319 217, 219–220, 228–230, 232,
235–236, 243, 255–256, 270, 273,
H 279, 289, 297–300, 303–304,
happiness, 74, 309, 312 306–309, 312–314, 316–318
harbour, 277, 281 humanity, xxiii–xxiv, 2–3, 15, 17, 21,
hard, 56, 64, 67, 73, 77–78, 85, 87, 37–38, 40, 50, 89, 91, 95, 102, 114,
104, 117, 143, 173, 213, 257, 288, 125, 128, 132, 182, 228, 272–274,
294, 299, 312, 317 276, 279, 309, 311, 315–316
352
Index
I information technology, 99, 298

ideas, vii, 19, 22–25, 39, 74, 104, 116, information, 95, 99, 122, 170, 194, 196,
121, 124, 133, 155, 159, 162, 183, 211, 251, 262–264, 276, 288,
233, 242, 247, 298, 308–309 290–291, 293, 296, 298, 310
identifiable, 3 infrastructure, 1, 44, 154, 193, 208, 257,
identification, 29, 55, 94, 179, 185 259, 269, 289, 300, 302, 305
identity, 66, 68, 94, 130, 150–151, 153, injustice, 136, 229, 233, 252, 303,
157, 167, 172, 191, 246 305, 308
ideologie, 144, 150, 156, 162, 215, 221 injustice, 136, 229, 252, 303, 305, 308
ideology, 14, 79, 88–89, 120, 144, 150, innovation, 48, 52, 232, 266, 288,
156, 162, 215, 221, 235, 306, 291–292, 295–296, 299, 308,
316–317 310–313, 319
immigrants, 166–172, 174, 176–181, inputs, 183
184–185, 187–188, 203, 208–209, inspiring, 93, 295
213, 215 institutes, 127
impact, xxiii, xxx–xxxi, 16, 37, 92, 112, institution, xxix–xxx, 6–7, 41, 88, 96,
142, 152, 156, 168, 172, 187, 191, 109, 111–115, 123–124, 131, 137, 153,
193, 234, 253, 259, 288–289, 156, 188, 190, 196–198, 203, 207,
296, 305, 309, 311–312, 315 224, 227, 231–232, 238–240,
imperative, 7, 185, 217, 220, 300 245–246, 257, 260–262, 264,
implementation, xxx, 148, 256, 261, 289, 305–307, 310, 318
267, 271, 277, 284–285, 293 institutional, 20–21, 157, 231, 239,
implications of, 104, 107, 129, 132, 146, 256, 261
191, 226, 276 integrate, 209, 307
importance, xxx, 114, 182, 225, integrating, 11, 14
227, 256, 266, 269, 271, 275, integration, xxiv–xxv, xxix, 14, 87, 93,
284–285, 303, 312 166, 172, 191, 208, 256
inclusion, 90, 219, 261, 271, 292 integrity, xxxi, 250, 288, 291–292, 295,
inclusive, xxiv, 11, 25, 36, 138, 172–173, 297–298
182, 186–187, 208, 215, 256, 270, intellectual, 48, 50, 87, 91, 93, 96, 234
277, 283, 313 intelligence, xvi, 290, 296, 312
inclusivity, xxix, 167, 182, 255, 271 interaction, 114, 160, 196, 291, 298
India, 48, 53, 74, 182 interconnected, 3, 9, 137, 260,
indigenisation, 79–81, 91, 93–95 289–290
indigenous knowledge, 4, 9, 38, 48, 95 intercultural, xvii, xix, 256
individual, xxix, 23, 67, 87, 109–110, interdisciplinary, 16
116–117, 123–124, 148, 150, 152, interest, 4–6, 16, 31, 97, 259, 265,
191, 196, 213, 218, 234, 238, 303–305, 316–317
240–241, 258, 260–263, 266, interests, 5–6, 9, 14, 92, 183, 226, 249,
269, 274, 276, 281, 317 263, 303–305, 307–308
inequalities, xxiv, 9, 31, 36, 104, 148, intergenerational, 137, 140
151, 233, 304–305 interpret, xxvii, 57, 104, 111–113, 143,
inequality, xxv, 20, 28, 31, 99, 120, 216, 218, 221, 248, 289
235, 301, 303 interpretation, 93, 116
influence, xxx, 72, 84, 142, 154, 156, interrelated, 152–153
164, 174, 182–183, 226, 233, interrogation, 49, 138
274, 303 interview, 88, 139, 144, 214
353
Index
interviews, 140–141, 200 language, xxv, xxx, 11, 30, 37–38, 86,
intolerance, 173–174 92–94, 96, 113–114, 142, 191,
intuitive, 93 196, 214–215, 226, 233, 240,
investigation, 150 242–244, 247, 249, 255, 257,
investment, 12, 14, 19, 37, 107, 152, 266, 283, 318, 336
268, 300, 305, 307, 312, 317 languages, 10, 15, 184, 240, 242, 252
Islam, 175–176, 183 large, 10–11, 13, 15, 54, 72, 136, 142, 146,
Israel, 28–29, 67–68, 175, 238 166, 176, 181, 183, 202, 206–208,
210, 234, 268, 280, 284, 291,
293, 296, 299, 302–304
J
law, 121, 124, 146–148, 156, 171–172, 175,
Japan, 95
186, 202–203, 237, 293, 298, 302
Jesus, xxvi, 12–16, 18–20, 27–35,
law, 124, 146, 156, 172, 175, 237, 293
40–41, 68, 129, 133, 143, 156,
laws, 121, 146–148, 171–172, 186,
162, 211, 228, 238, 271–272,
202–203, 298, 302
275–276, 284
lead, xvii, xxvii, 50, 68, 79, 98, 108, 116,
Jewish, 27–29, 73, 237
129, 147, 150, 154, 184, 234–235,
John Wesley, 81, 238
244, 266–267, 269, 310–311
justice, xxiv–xxvi, xxxi, 3, 10, 12–15,
leader, 2, 100, 142–143, 174–175, 183,
17, 20–21, 24–27, 29, 31, 34–36,
250, 312
39, 74, 77, 101–102, 115, 124, 131,
leader, xxix, 2, 13, 30, 32, 46, 48, 100,
140, 148–150, 152, 157–158, 161,
105, 126, 130–132, 142–144, 148,
163, 177–178, 180, 208, 216, 218,
167, 173–176, 178–185, 187, 224,
257, 275, 277, 288–289, 292,
235–236, 250, 252, 266, 282,
297–298, 303, 305, 308–309,
309, 312
312, 318–319
leaders, xxix, 13, 30, 32, 46, 48, 105,
126, 130–132, 142–144, 148,
K 167, 173–174, 176, 178–185, 187,
knowledge, xxiii, xxix, 4, 8–9, 21, 38, 224, 235–236, 250, 252, 266,
48, 50, 57, 64–65, 91, 95, 101, 282, 309
196, 203, 228, 230–231, 235, 251, leadership, 7, 33, 71, 88, 100, 140, 142,
285, 289–290, 295, 299 176–178, 182, 186, 208, 235, 250,
267, 288
L leading, 2, 53, 87, 140, 289
labour, 4, 35, 45, 48, 60, 62–63, leads, xxviii, 47, 59, 116, 141, 145,
65–68, 78, 146–147, 201, 194–195, 225, 241, 271, 280,
256, 302 304, 317
lack, 11, 105, 107, 110–111, 116–117, learner, 230, 251
137–138, 140, 148, 150, 152–155, learning to learn, 48, 50, 73
170, 177, 193–194, 204, 219, Learning, xxx, 18, 48, 50–51, 64,
241–242, 263, 266–267, 279, 69–70, 72–73, 75, 88, 95, 101,
284, 290, 294, 303, 312 217, 231, 246–249, 251–252, 260,
language, xxv, xxx, 10–11, 15, 30, 283–284, 289
37–38, 86, 92–94, 96, 113–114, legal system, 146, 244
142, 184, 191, 196, 214–215, 226, legal, 146, 168–170, 180, 190–191, 193,
233, 240, 242–244, 247, 249, 195, 196, 199, 201, 203–204, 215,
252, 255, 257, 266, 283, 318 219–220, 244, 256, 267
354
Index
legislation, 148, 179, 187, 208, 255, 269 mental, 92, 207, 268, 280
lessons, 79 mentor, 251
liberal, xxvii, 45, 47, 52, 71, 76, 152, mentoring, 87, 251
178–179, 185, 193 message, 163, 175, 225, 228–229, 243,
liberate, 29, 33, 158, 268 247, 265, 272, 275
liberation, xxvi, 11, 20, 29–30, 35, 39, metaphor, 72, 137, 161–162, 312
43, 47, 50–52, 68, 88, 90, 118, metaphysical, 109–110
136, 138–139, 148, 158, 238, 241, method, 206, 261–262, 290, 299, 310,
307, 314 313–314
liberty, 121, 174 methodologies, 227, 251
life-giving, 100, 243 methodology, 148, 270, 277
listen, 60, 142, 144, 263 methodology, 148, 227, 251, 270, 277
listening, 71, 73, 83, 86, 226, 249 migrants, xxix, 12, 66, 180, 190–209,
liturgy, 36, 241 215–221, 302
locations, 13, 24, 122 ministry, xxiii, xxv, 1, 14–15, 43, 75,
87–88, 103, 165, 180, 189–190,
M 205–206, 223, 227–228, 235,
maintenance, 212, 214 241–242, 250–251, 253, 287
man, 55, 60, 68, 70, 82, 100, 106, 126, mission, 11, 14, 18, 29, 34, 114, 127,
140–142, 146–147, 151, 153–156, 130, 144, 198, 206, 209, 217,
158–164, 177, 228, 241–242, 248, 223–224, 229, 238–239, 248,
251, 282, 306, 314 271–272, 274, 278–279, 282,
management, 48, 71, 211–214, 292, 295, 309
267–268, 295–296, 310–311, 314 mistakes, 311
mandate, 56, 186 mobilise, 77, 154–155, 179, 316
manifest, 233, 275 mobility, 146, 150, 153, 181, 190, 231, 235
manipulate, 299 mode, xxv, 44, 92, 96, 104, 195,
mapping, 118, 227, 262 257, 315
marginalisation, xxx, 224, 230, model, xxix, 8, 14, 92–93, 102, 108, 112,
244, 289 116, 140, 155, 158–161, 193, 224,
Martin Luther King, 182 226–227, 231, 233, 235–236, 251,
maturity, 19, 310 274–276, 288, 295, 297, 304, 315
meaning, 3, 11–13, 25, 30, 34, 53–54, 57, modelling, 96, 159, 281
82, 88, 108, 110, 112, 114–115, 120, modern, xxvii, 17, 46, 49, 79–80, 85,
124, 128, 171, 228, 242, 245, 252, 89, 98, 101, 120, 151, 235, 279,
260, 267, 271, 274, 284, 298, 311 282, 316
media, 18, 51, 154, 156, 177, 239, 257, modernity, 53, 79, 92, 98, 101
273, 306 money, 31, 33, 78, 117, 210, 214, 288,
mediator, 94 296, 303–304, 306, 310, 318
meeting, 24–25, 94, 211, 228, 240, moral, 114, 119, 123, 142, 185, 275, 289,
258, 265, 309 295, 298, 317–318
member, 11–12, 39, 55–57, 87, 94–95, morality, 28–29, 74, 185
100–102, 109, 121, 124, 140, 143, motivation, 276
181, 186, 194, 206, 214, 235, 240, multidimensional, 309
309, 312 Muslim, 100, 169, 175–176, 183
memory, xxvii, 57, 67–68, 70, 79, 83, mutuality, 216
91, 100–101 myths, 69, 135, 163
355
Index
N operational, 4, 8
narrative, 44–45, 61, 69, 88, 142, 149, operations, 309
176, 237, 273, 277, 279–280 opportunities, xxx, 136, 151, 155, 170,
nation, 6, 9, 27, 30, 49, 72, 91, 146, 151, 177–178, 191, 194, 203, 209–210,
168, 173, 175, 177, 181, 183–187, 214, 291, 294, 299
211, 239, 256–257, 283, 298, 301, oppressor, 118, 130
306–307, 311, 313, 317 order, 3, 25, 27, 33, 40, 56, 58, 85, 94,
need, xxviii, 3, 9, 18, 24, 35, 37, 64, 99, 105, 109, 121–122, 125, 129,
67, 69, 73–74, 78, 90, 92, 97, 131, 139, 152, 157, 159, 179, 181,
100–101, 107, 116–118, 121, 129, 184, 202, 218, 225, 236–243,
133, 136, 138, 143, 145–148, 259, 268, 275–276, 285, 292,
151–152, 154–155, 161–163, 177, 295–296, 298–300, 304,
185, 187, 199, 207, 209, 212, 307–309
214, 241, 243, 246–249, 254, organised, xxx, 22, 27, 38–39, 70, 95,
256–260, 266–267, 269–270, 104, 177, 179, 192, 194, 224, 237,
273, 275, 277, 279–280, 283, 290, 292, 314
285, 297, 307, 312, 318 orientation, 9, 21, 48, 70, 101, 129,
negative, 116, 143, 175, 202, 250 213–214, 240
network, xxxi, 57, 174, 186, 194, 263, oriented, 178, 262
282, 289–294, 296, 299–301, origin, 82, 101, 111, 167, 194, 227
309–310, 314, 319 orphans, 29, 186
networks, xxxi, 37, 39, 120, 194–195, outcome, 46, 52, 71, 116, 125, 192–193,
206, 215, 261, 264, 293, 298, 319 246, 251, 267, 269, 283–284,
nurture, xxviii, 161, 163, 234, 294–295, 290, 305, 317
300, 316 outsider, 33, 183, 186, 230, 245
overwhelming, 11, 16, 298
O ownership, 99, 155, 161, 202–203, 213,
obedience, 162 260–261, 269, 302, 316
objective, 96, 112–113, 115, 219, 292
objectivity, 317 P
obligation, 123–124, 195, 251 pad, 95
observe, 225, 235, 237, 241 paid, 94, 168–169, 295, 305
obstacles, 6, 64, 201, 215 Pakistan, 206
occupation, 18, 24–26, 36, 49, 72, paradigm, xxx, 103, 156, 159–160, 162,
84, 231 198, 225–226, 290–291, 298,
offer, xxv, xxvii, xxix, 44, 53, 69, 312, 317
80, 136–137, 145–146, 150, 158, paradox, 142
160–162, 199–200, 205, 224, parent, 204
231, 237, 239, 247, 252, 283, parents, 141, 170, 180
292, 296 park, 171, 259, 264–265, 268
office, 180–181, 209–214, 302 participation, 11, 24, 126, 160, 206, 261,
open, xxxi, 40, 46–47, 50, 59, 66–67, 270, 313
73, 79–80, 83, 101, 113, 121–122, parties, 52, 108–109, 124, 186
124, 126–127, 160, 173, 219, partners, 92, 155, 162, 272, 300
229, 240, 248–249, 257, 261, partnership, 14, 160, 180, 207, 255,
268–269, 273, 277, 281, 296 264, 266–267, 269–271, 273,
openness, 93, 184, 219, 277 282, 284, 294–295, 311
356
Index
pastoral, 12, 66–68, 70, 72, 143, 159, 147–149, 167, 174, 182–183, 185,
197, 216, 218 191–192, 195, 197, 199, 217–219,
pattern, 9, 12, 35, 62, 64, 92, 130, 239, 247, 255–256, 275,
137–138, 140, 143–144, 146–147, 289, 291, 297–298, 301–303,
155, 158–162, 164, 233, 290 306–309, 312, 314–317, 319
peace, 19, 70, 84, 102, 122–123, 131, poor, xxxi, 9, 22, 25, 29, 32–33, 48–49,
183, 257, 275, 277, 288, 292, 318 56, 77–78, 86, 102, 116–119, 121,
pedagogical, 234 123–124, 126–127, 194, 205, 230,
pejorative, 139 234, 237–238, 241–242, 245,
perceptions, 168, 224–225, 246 247, 256, 268, 271, 287–292,
permanent, 17, 35, 161, 195, 268 294, 296, 299–301, 303–315,
personalities, 127 317, 319
personality, 157 population, xxx, 1, 9, 49–50, 52,
perspective, xxiv, xxviii, xxx, 16, 44, 64–65, 74, 78, 94, 120, 123, 139,
51, 92, 112–113, 115, 120–121, 165–166, 168–169, 173, 175, 180,
123, 125, 152, 176–177, 179, 184, 184, 187–188, 197–199, 215, 229,
208, 224, 227, 231, 234, 237, 232, 236, 256, 259, 293, 302
239, 245, 247, 249–250, 261, position, 14, 72, 77, 136, 144, 155, 171,
270–271, 281 197, 226–227, 233, 248, 282, 302
phenomenon, 7, 11, 40, 55, 77, 92, 120, positive, 108, 116–118, 129, 175, 254,
266, 270 265, 267, 275, 282–285
Philosophy, 48, 295, 309 possibilities, 3, 15, 18, 40, 104, 137, 147,
physical, 11, 24, 74, 149, 155, 193, 197, 167, 170–171
215, 220, 249, 269, 298 post-apartheid, 136, 139, 145, 147, 149,
pivotal, xxix, 208 157, 161
place, xxiii, xxvi, 3, 9, 16, 19, 21–22, 24, postcolonial, xxvi, 8, 45, 47, 75–76,
27, 34–37, 44, 46, 51–55, 60, 63, 78, 80, 82, 84, 86, 88–90, 92,
73, 77–82, 90, 93–94, 97, 101, 94, 96, 98, 100, 102
105, 107, 112, 116, 118, 120–122, poverty, xxxi, 20, 22, 47, 107, 114, 116,
125, 127–128, 135, 137–138, 144, 118–119, 123, 125, 128–129, 141,
150, 153, 157, 160–163, 166–167, 146, 148, 187, 224, 230, 236,
173, 181, 185, 194, 198–200, 202, 246, 252, 256, 266, 268, 274,
211, 213, 216, 225–232, 238–240, 289–293, 302–303, 308–309,
244–246, 248–250, 260, 268, 312, 314, 317
270, 274, 281, 283, 285, 289, poverty, 20, 116, 119, 148, 256
293, 298, 301–302, 308 power, xxxi, 5, 13, 19, 30–31, 33–34,
pluralism, 184–185 36, 38, 45, 48–50, 55, 69,
plurality, 185 89–90, 92–93, 95, 99, 111, 116,
policy, xxviii, 4, 13, 47, 67, 71, 139, 119–121, 124–127, 131, 141–142,
147–148, 153, 167, 171–173, 176, 147–148, 150, 152, 155, 159–160,
180–181, 191–193, 195–196, 201, 163, 191–192, 195–197, 211, 224,
205–208, 211, 215, 221, 232, 267, 226, 233–235, 249, 288–290,
269, 303, 309, 315, 317 303, 305–306, 312–313
political, xxvi–xxvii, xxix, 6–7, 9, 11, 13, powerful, 20, 30, 242, 296, 302
16, 24–25, 29–30, 35, 43–44, 48, practical, xxiii, xxx–xxxi, 1, 45, 48, 52,
52, 64, 71, 73–74, 92, 95, 99, 112, 112, 115, 118, 126, 129, 148, 151, 157,
114, 116, 120, 123, 129, 132, 139, 169, 186, 189, 205, 211, 239, 285
357
Index
practice, xxviii, 9–11, 14, 19, 28, 30, programme, 49, 77, 117, 141, 157–158,
32, 36, 39, 59, 66–70, 79, 83, 172, 179–180, 193, 275, 280, 289,
102, 126–127, 130, 136–137, 141, 301, 310
143, 147, 152, 155–156, 162, 167, programming, 180
195, 197, 216, 232–234, 239–241, progress, xxvii, 61, 80, 98–99, 104,
250–251, 277, 281, 296 107, 112–113, 121–123, 125–128,
praxis, xxiv, xxix, 26, 192, 220–221, 132–133, 175, 230–231, 283, 307,
224–225, 234, 250, 273 309, 312, 316, 319
prayer, 55, 88, 102, 142, 205, project, 44, 47, 52, 59, 72, 91, 94, 98,
277–279, 285 102, 117, 139, 201, 206–207, 237,
prejudice, 166, 193–194, 231 254, 264–265, 269, 272, 306, 319
pressure, 6, 195, 208, 236, 257 promise, xxiii, 1, 12, 16, 25, 28, 101, 144,
prevent, 18, 115, 179–180, 216, 293 149, 299
primary, 18, 37, 92, 98, 141, 170, 180, prosperity, 8, 14, 20, 102, 152,
242, 259–260 242–243, 255–256, 315, 319
private, xxviii, 4, 88, 99, 137–140, protection, 106, 153, 171, 180, 192–194,
144–145, 148–150, 152–158, 160, 204, 219, 292, 309
163, 202, 204, 212–213, 258, protestant, 80, 84, 95, 167, 174, 183, 185
267–268, 303 public, xxviii–xxix, 4, 13, 24–25, 36, 84,
proactive, 24 86, 122, 129, 136–140, 143–145,
problem, 7, 20, 73, 102, 108, 112, 148–158, 160–161, 163–164,
116–117, 124, 140, 156, 224, 227, 169–173, 178–179, 182–185, 187,
239, 279, 290–291, 303, 317 202–203, 205, 257, 267–268, 313
problematic, 2, 70, 158, 196, 267 purchase, 218
process, xxiii, xxvii, xxxi, 2–3, 5, 9, purpose, 24, 88, 112, 120, 125, 146, 207,
11–12, 14, 23, 36, 47, 49, 59, 259–260, 262, 271–273, 276,
76, 79–81, 89, 91, 101, 109–112, 284, 290, 292, 298, 308–309,
118–120, 122, 133, 147–149, 315, 317–318
173, 190–192, 194, 196–197,
208, 210, 215–216, 219–221, R
224–227, 234–235, 246, race, xxv–xxvi, xxix, 44, 46, 48–49,
249–250, 253, 259, 261–266, 71, 74, 77, 139–140, 150–151, 157,
268–271, 275, 284, 288–289, 167, 179, 183
291, 294–295, 300, 308, 311, racialised, xxviii, 76, 92, 146, 167
313–314, 317, 319 racism, 92, 128, 157
processes, 2–3, 5, 9, 11, 14, 36, 79, 148, racist, 70, 145–147
190, 194, 196–197, 208, 226, 261, rape, 56, 98, 149–150, 163
266, 270, 275, 291, 294–295, rational, 90, 115, 303, 316–317
300, 308, 311, 313–314, 319 rationale, 255
processing, 61, 204, 294, 310 rationalism, 92
produce, 231, 255–256, 259, 261, 283, rationality, 80
289, 294, 297, 299–300, 310, reason, 47, 104, 111, 117, 126, 217, 219,
315, 317 237, 250, 254, 268, 302–303
professional, 14, 168, 235 reciprocal, 51, 184
profound, xxvii, 32, 47, 59, 72, 90, reciprocity, 5, 19, 51, 73, 80
229, 249 recognition, 69, 90, 99–100, 139, 219,
program, 88, 212, 256 225, 230
358
Index
reconcile, 306 resolve, 48, 59, 184, 300

reconciliation, 147–149 resource, xxix, xxxi, 5–6, 20, 31,
reconstruction, 15, 18, 141, 157 36–38, 47, 65, 78, 97–98,
recovery, 31, 51, 70, 80, 91, 311–312 103–104, 117, 137, 146, 161, 194,
refugees, 139, 173, 192, 199–204, 197, 210–211, 216, 235, 255,
207–215, 218, 271 262, 266–267, 282–283, 292,
reinforcement, 146, 149, 157, 159, 162 299–300, 302, 304, 306, 308,
relation, 13, 92, 131, 149–150, 153, 157, 310–312, 314–317
191, 220, 281, 301, 312 resources, xxxi, 5–6, 20, 31, 37, 47,
relational, 22, 38, 141, 153, 206, 220, 97, 104, 117, 146, 194, 197,
260, 263 210–211, 216, 235, 262, 266–267,
relations, 51, 53, 73, 99, 147–148, 152, 282–283, 292, 299–300, 302,
155, 195, 197, 202, 217, 296, 306 304, 306, 308, 310–312, 314–317
relationship, xxvi, xxviii, 13, 16, 19, respect, 38, 49, 53, 55, 59, 90, 99,
25, 29, 31, 38, 44, 51–52, 62, 142, 168, 172, 182, 186, 193, 239,
79–80, 97–98, 101–102, 116, 141, 256, 280, 300, 304, 314
153, 161–162, 211–212, 216–217, respond, xxix, 10, 33, 77, 157, 164, 193,
219–221, 240, 260–264, 274, 205, 209, 221, 226, 234, 260
276, 278, 283, 292, 309, 318 responsibilities, 191
relevance, 233, 275 responsibility, 123, 127, 131–132, 142,
religion, xxiii, xxv–xxvi, 1, 27, 29–30, 219, 277, 308
32, 43–44, 75–76, 78, 80, 82, 84, responsible, 52, 55, 110, 131, 140, 150,
86, 88, 90, 92, 94, 96, 98, 100, 153, 187, 190, 256, 293, 305, 309
102–103, 109–111, 121, 123, 129, 135, restoration, 31, 59
139, 153, 156, 165, 173–176, 184, restore, 121, 131, 309
189, 237, 247–248, 253, 273, 287 result, 4, 6, 12, 57, 85, 104–105, 110,
religion, xxiii, xxv–xxvi, 1, 26–27, 115–116, 140, 142, 146, 148, 150,
29–30, 32, 40, 43–44, 50–51, 181, 202, 210, 231, 236, 247, 253,
75–76, 78, 80, 82, 84, 86, 88, 261, 284, 301–302, 311, 318
90, 92, 94, 96, 98, 100, 102–103, results, 36, 65, 304, 306
109–111, 121, 123, 129, 135, 139, 153, resurrection, 228, 272
156, 165, 173–176, 183–184, 189, retribution, 56
237, 247–248, 253, 273, 287 reveal, 237, 273–274
religions, 26, 40, 50–51, 183–184 revelation, xxx, 28, 50, 228, 272
religious leaders, 30, 32, 144, 174, 178, revolution, 3, 23, 39, 61, 76, 78, 98,
182–183, 187 120, 289
remembering, 58, 76, 101 reward, 235
renewal, 11, 66, 77, 129, 272 rewards, 235
renewed, 315 rhetorical, 154
representation, 25, 88–89, 113, 127, rights, xxx, 23, 36, 95, 136, 148, 152,
148–149, 203, 228 157, 167, 170–171, 182, 184–185,
requirements, 171, 236 193, 208, 213, 215, 219, 229, 245,
research, 43, 75, 95, 103, 135, 137, 256, 270, 304, 312–313, 318
139–141, 144, 148–149, 153, rigid, 21, 149
156–157, 165, 189–190, 194–197, rigorous, 61, 291
199, 205–206, 220, 223, 253, risk, 7, 30, 56, 151, 153, 155, 230–231,
262, 270, 287, 300 311, 316
359
Index
risk, 7, 30, 56, 151, 155, 231 separation, 22, 100–101, 181, 247
risks, 153, 230, 311, 316 service, 6, 59, 66, 90, 94, 121, 180,
ritual, 28–29, 36, 51, 66–68, 73, 97, 209–210, 241, 262, 266,
100, 109, 131, 157 294–295, 305, 314, 318
robust, xxvi, 15–16, 19, 21, 35, 291 services, 6, 154, 169, 171–172, 180, 194,
role, xxix–xxx, 14, 21, 26, 36–37, 44, 196, 204–206, 208–210, 212,
79, 135, 137, 139–140, 142–143, 214–216, 241, 257, 267, 271, 300,
147, 151, 155–156, 158, 161, 164, 302, 305
167, 183, 191, 193, 204, 208, 210, sexism, 128, 157
215, 221, 250, 258–259, 263, sexuality, 147, 150, 153, 157
266, 269, 281, 284 shame, 29, 86, 107, 130
rules, 159–160, 162, 219, 280, significant, 9, 35, 149, 187, 190–191,
302–303, 317 199, 208, 239, 251, 258, 284,
289, 294, 302, 304
S site, 61, 68, 94, 137–138, 150, 192,
sacrifices, 128, 317 199, 268
safety, 58, 60, 122, 145, 150–151, 153, skills, 57, 68–69, 204, 242, 262–264,
156, 192, 259, 296 270, 289, 294, 299–300
SAPs, 303 SOAP, 292
scale, 54, 61, 98–99, 102, 152, 175–176, social action, 157
269, 291–292, 299–300, 316 social change, 290
schedule, 54, 251, 259 social ethics, 43, 276
school, 12, 68, 84–87, 144, 153–154, social interactions, 196
156, 171, 223–224, 226, 228, 230, social movement, 9, 19, 23, 26, 35,
232–234, 236, 238, 240–250, 39–40, 52
252, 257, 262, 264, 271 social transformation, xviii, 34, 275, 293
scope, 16, 69, 137, 154, 239, 284 social, xxv, xxvii–xxix, xxxi, 6, 9, 14,
scorecard, 150 18–20, 23–26, 28, 32, 34–35,
scored, 172 39–40, 43–44, 51–52, 73–74,
scraps, 84–85 77–78, 92, 96, 102, 105, 111–113,
self, xxiii, 2–4, 6, 9–10, 14, 22, 31, 40, 116, 118, 120–121, 123–124,
55, 57, 69, 73–74, 77, 79–81, 128–129, 137, 141, 147–148, 150,
83, 87–91, 93–94, 102, 113, 153–157, 160, 162, 166–168,
125, 130, 207, 209, 216–217, 171–172, 178, 180, 185, 189,
230, 249–250, 260, 273, 284, 191–197, 201–203, 205–207,
303–304, 311, 314, 316–317 209–210, 215–216, 221, 225,
self-interest, 31, 304, 316–317 230–232, 235, 244, 246, 249,
self-organisation, 260, 284 254–264, 266, 268–269,
sense, 3, 7, 19, 23–24, 26, 28, 66, 271, 273, 275–276, 283–284,
72–73, 79–80, 88, 90, 92, 94, 289–293, 297–298, 300–301,
104, 109–110, 112–115, 119, 140, 303–306, 308–310, 312–319
147, 182, 185, 193, 205–206, societies, xxiii, 5–6, 9, 18, 20, 74,
216–218, 220–221, 224, 230, 109, 114, 120–121, 123–125, 156,
240, 243–246, 251, 256–257, 245, 291
260, 263, 274, 276, 280, 284, society, xxiii–xxv, xxvii, xxx, 1–3, 5,
290, 315, 318 11–12, 17, 21, 26, 30, 32, 34, 41,
separate, 99, 114, 153, 161, 196, 211 43, 49, 75, 84, 103–105, 109–113,
360
Index
115, 118–121, 123–124, 127, 130–131, 159, 165–176, 178–180, 182, 184,
133, 135, 138, 147, 159–160, 186, 188, 190, 193, 196, 202–203,
165, 189, 190, 223–224, 234, 210, 232, 247, 258, 268, 272,
239, 245, 248, 253–254, 262, 275–276, 280–281, 284, 288,
266–267, 271, 275–276, 281–282, 292, 295, 301, 313
284, 287, 303, 307, 316, 318–319 statement, 40, 124, 174–176, 180–181,
socio-economic, xxix, xxxi, 29, 46, 141, 184–185, 255
148, 167, 240, 319 statistics, 136, 148–149, 156
solidarity, xxv, xxxi, 21–22, 24–25, status, 24, 27, 31–32, 34, 39, 46, 120,
29–30, 32–34, 36, 38, 41, 126, 153, 157, 169–171, 178–179,
123–124, 126, 163, 194, 218, 256, 193–196, 204, 220, 235, 238, 281
295, 297–298, 300, 314–315, stigma, 140, 218
318–319 stories, 55, 57, 71, 79, 82–83, 86, 89,
soul, 6, 18, 220, 272, 274, 278, 288, 296 99–100, 104, 154, 228, 243, 263,
South Africa, xxiii, xxviii–xxix, 1, 13, 25, 268, 283
43, 75, 103, 135–139, 145–150, story, 44–45, 53, 57, 67–68, 79–80,
156–158, 161–165, 189–192, 197, 82, 100–101, 105–106, 108, 111,
205, 215, 217, 223, 253, 287 132, 179, 237, 264, 274
space, xxiii, xxvi, xxviii, 3, 8–10, stranger, 140, 163, 186, 280
12–13, 16–17, 19, 21, 24–25, 34–41, strategy, 14–15, 19, 37, 62–64, 155,
44–45, 48, 54, 65, 74, 95–96, 269, 290–291, 295, 298,
99, 113–114, 122, 126–127, 129–130, 311–314, 317
136–140, 143–146, 148–156, 158, strength, 116, 261–262, 264, 270, 278
161, 163, 175, 197, 207, 217, 224, stress, 193, 215
228, 249, 257, 259, 268, 278, strike, 54, 56, 58
281–282, 298–299 structure, 15, 39, 60, 78, 86, 90, 118,
spatial, xxxi, 8, 14–15, 40, 138–139, 141, 121, 128, 196–197, 208, 220, 230,
158, 161, 195, 197, 204, 221, 229 233, 235, 244, 260, 275
speaking, 10, 17, 37, 45–46, 51, 56, 86, struggle, 5–6, 11, 26, 44–45, 48–49,
89, 97, 102, 139, 164, 176, 179, 67, 69–72, 87, 97, 100, 102,
206, 244–245, 312 107, 131–132, 138–139, 148, 157,
spirituality, xxvi, 19–20, 36–37, 44, 51, 163, 201, 213, 233, 240–241,
79–80, 99, 197, 276, 280, 284, 249–250, 252
295, 313–314, 318 study, xxxi, 49, 63, 73, 81, 87, 90–91,
stability, 152, 204, 217, 220 93–98, 105, 118, 140, 147, 149,
staff, 214, 246 164, 172, 192, 195, 197, 217,
stage, 39, 49, 61, 91, 98, 109, 190, 241, 287
262, 280 subculture, 239–240
stages, 109–110 subjectivity, 88, 92, 114–115
stakeholders, 24, 191, 267, 269–271, subordination, 160–162
295, 301, 311–312, 315 success, 14, 117, 125, 252, 264, 271,
standard, 32, 177, 205, 214, 236, 256, 278, 295, 309, 311, 317
296, 318 suffer, 33, 162
state, xxviii, 4–5, 9, 12–13, 18, 27, suffering, 12, 29, 31, 33, 56, 100, 113,
30, 33–35, 37, 40, 43–47, 49, 125, 181, 197, 217, 241, 273, 313
54–55, 58–59, 61–62, 64–68, 70, supremacy, 79, 99, 101
72, 75, 77, 88, 93, 96, 146, 148, survey, 149, 175, 184, 201
361
Index
sustainable, xxxi, 10, 36, 53, 74, 119, 151, theory, xxvii, 47, 50–52, 55, 96,
201, 218, 232, 255–260, 267, 273, 104–105, 107, 109–111, 124, 129,
277, 288–292, 295, 298, 300, 133, 196, 221, 247, 256, 260,
309, 312–313, 315–316, 318–319 284, 298, 309
symbiosis, 70 think, xxvi, 44, 46, 56, 73, 102, 114,
symbol, 76 116, 137, 142–143, 177, 221, 247,
system, xxvii, xxxi, 6–7, 68, 78, 98, 249–250, 265, 282, 303–304, 314
104–105, 113–114, 117–119, 121, time, xxvi, 1–2, 14, 17, 22, 25, 27–28, 31,
123–124, 126–133, 140, 146, 34, 45–47, 51, 56, 60, 62, 64–65,
148–149, 185, 233–235, 240, 244, 67, 72, 76, 78, 80, 82–85,
254, 256–257, 259–260, 267, 269, 88–89, 91–93, 95–97, 99–102,
288–289, 291, 293–294, 297–301, 104, 106, 114, 122, 125, 128, 131,
303–304, 306–310, 313–316 141, 143, 147, 150, 161, 166, 168,
175–176, 179, 181, 185, 187, 196,
T 200, 203–204, 213, 224, 228,
tailor, 236 236–238, 241, 263, 265–266,
tandem, 211 269, 274–275, 278–282, 291,
targets, 56, 154 298, 307, 310, 317
task, 17, 50, 79, 87, 94, 101, 105, 138, tool, 116, 160, 256, 283
154, 157–158, 162, 172, 181, 242, tools, xxxi, 37, 90, 158, 273, 284–285,
248, 251, 267, 272, 280 289, 310
teach, 72, 99, 228, 237, 241–242, total, 11–13, 32, 80, 169, 187–188,
252, 262 198, 295
teaching, 14, 32, 46, 68, 79, 98, 142, trading, xxxi, 287–294, 300, 310,
211, 226, 228, 235, 238, 249–251, 314, 319
275–276, 308, 311 tradition, 27, 37, 48, 65–69, 72, 74,
team, 126–127, 265, 278, 297 80, 82, 88, 94–97, 100–101, 145,
technique, 61 160–162, 173–174, 177, 182, 184,
techniques, 62, 295 187, 238–239, 274, 279
technology, xxxi, 6, 78, 99, 253, 258, traditionally, 4, 149, 159, 177, 204
283, 289–294, 296, 298–299, traditions, 37, 82, 88, 95, 97, 100–101,
305, 308, 312–313, 315, 319 145, 161, 173–174, 177, 182, 184,
temple, 27–30, 69, 162, 205 187, 238–239, 274
tenacity, 3 trained, 169, 210, 236, 242, 247
terms, 14–15, 90, 103, 108, 110, 142, training, 87, 191, 227, 235–236,
145, 152, 156, 160, 177, 193, 201, 242–243, 251, 278, 282–283
205, 207–208, 213, 226, 231, traits, 149
248, 303, 308–309, 315, 317 transactions, 296
theology, xxiii, xxvi–xxxi, 1, 12–15, transform, 40, 124, 156, 290, 294, 308
18, 20–21, 33–34, 43–44, transformation, xxiii, 29, 34–35, 40,
47–48, 50–51, 53, 60, 75, 91, 96, 116, 126, 137, 145, 147–148,
88, 92, 103–108, 110–114, 116, 198, 202, 239, 243, 249, 251,
118–133, 136–139, 142, 145–146, 270, 275, 281, 293, 310, 315
158, 161–165, 182, 186, 189–190, transition, 76, 78, 102, 145, 147–148,
223–228, 230, 232–236, 238, 213, 281
240–250, 252–253, 271, 273, translate, 47, 142
277, 284, 287 translated, 144
362
Index
translates, 63 168, 170, 172, 174, 176, 178, 180,

translating, 96 182, 184, 186–188, 190–199,
transmission, 215, 221 203–204, 215, 220–221, 224,
transparency, 131, 261 227, 229–230, 232, 236, 240,
transportation, 86, 172, 204, 244–247, 253–257, 259–261,
269, 305 270–271, 282–285, 287–294,
trauma, 149 296–300, 302, 304, 306–310,
treat, 84, 144 312–316, 318–319
treatment, 56, 99, 153, 171, 180–181, 185 urgent, 74, 145, 152, 162, 272
tremendously, 213
trend, 173, 184, 236 V
trial, 131, 228, 311 valuable, 146, 292
triple, 79, 291–292, 294, 309 value, 67, 78, 156, 231–233, 292,
trust, 93, 156, 211, 260–261, 279, 284, 294–295, 299, 310, 312,
300, 312, 315 315–317
truth, 52, 89, 105, 114, 147, 228, 278 value, xxxi, 7, 67, 78, 84, 93, 156, 181,
Tshwane, xxix, 189, 192, 197–200, 208, 185, 231–233, 258, 275, 284,
210, 215, 218, 220 292, 294–295, 298–299, 301,
turnover, 193, 213 310, 312, 315–317
values, xxxi, 7, 84, 93, 181, 185, 231,
U 258, 275, 284, 295, 298, 301,
uncertainty, 106, 194, 212, 301 312, 315–317
uncomfortable, 130, 237, 250 victim, xxiv, 74, 107, 109–111, 115, 124,
unconscious, 83, 132, 303 126–127, 131–133, 141, 144, 258
understanding, xxiii, xxvii, xxx–xxxi, 8, view, 34, 73, 88, 98, 102, 125, 184,
14, 19, 30, 36, 40, 46, 69, 74, 79, 196, 248, 250, 258, 274, 285,
101, 105, 109–113, 115–116, 119–120, 306, 311
128, 131, 147, 154, 160, 191, 194, viewed, 60, 167, 175, 178, 183, 186,
217, 224–225, 229–230, 246, 231–232, 284
248, 254, 256–257, 259–260, views, 139, 147, 268, 274, 304
266, 272–275, 277, 284–285, 291, village, 44, 61–62, 224
298, 317 vine, 73
unemployment, 76, 148, 201, 252, violations, 148
268, 317 violence, xxv, xxvii–xxviii, 8, 38,
unity, 23, 148, 186 46–47, 67, 70, 74, 76, 78, 90–91,
universal, 5, 23, 30, 33, 53, 89, 182, 99, 105–116, 118–119, 121–126,
230, 278–279, 318 128–129, 132–133, 135–145,
university, xxiii, 1, 43, 75, 77, 93, 147–149, 153–155, 158, 162–164,
96, 103, 135, 139, 150, 165, 171, 173, 268, 303, 316
189–190, 198, 223, 235–236, virtually, 58, 122, 316
253, 287 virtue, 67, 130, 219
urban, xxiii–xxxi, 1–6, 8–24, 26, 31, vision, xxvii, 32, 47, 52, 68–69,
35–37, 39, 41, 44, 49, 52, 54, 73–74, 79, 93–94, 98, 138,
56–57, 62, 64–69, 76–79, 160, 162, 182–183, 187, 209,
98–99, 102–105, 111–114, 118, 120, 226, 248, 255, 257, 262, 264,
123, 125, 128, 130, 133, 135–139, 269, 271–272, 285, 298–299,
145–148, 150–158, 161, 163–166, 310–313, 316
363
Index
vision, xxvii, xxx, 32, 47, 52, 68–69, working, xxvii, 1, 14, 33, 47–48, 79,
73–74, 79, 93–94, 98, 136, 138, 100–101, 105, 117–119, 128, 141,
160, 162, 182–183, 187, 209, 226, 190, 204, 211–213, 215, 224, 232,
241, 248, 255, 257, 262, 264, 236, 255, 257, 261–262, 265,
269, 271–272, 285, 298–299, 272–273, 281, 285, 307
310–313, 316 workplace, 144, 156
visions, xxx, 136, 241 world, xxiii, xxvi–xxvii, xxx–xxxi, 1–2,
visual, 70, 272 4–6, 9, 11, 16–18, 22, 24–25,
vital, 9, 105, 107, 130, 272, 285 30, 32–33, 38–40, 44–48,
vulnerability, 47, 56, 136, 192–194, 197, 50–52, 58, 74, 76, 78–80, 82,
204, 242, 300 84, 86–90, 96, 98, 100–101,
vulnerable, 9, 14, 21, 24, 34, 41, 65, 108–109, 117, 125, 144, 146, 149,
104, 107, 111, 116, 121, 133, 137, 151, 156, 159–161, 166, 176, 183,
150, 196, 218, 256, 270, 309, 313 190, 198–199, 208–210, 224,
229, 232, 238–239, 245, 252,
W 254–255, 260, 263, 268–269,
water, 47–48, 55–60, 63–64, 68–74, 271–279, 281–283, 285, 289,
76, 99–100, 104, 194, 202, 213, 294, 298, 301, 307, 311,
237–238, 256, 281, 290 313–316, 318
weak, 61, 121, 263, 267 worth, 58, 87, 101, 231, 269, 277
welfare, 123, 141, 146, 171, 233, 258, worthy, 87, 158
263, 305, 317 written, 44, 67, 95, 97, 112, 196, 236
well-being, xxvii, xxxi, 5, 10, 89, 194, 204,
209, 255–256, 263, 272, 274, 276, X
291–292, 296, 309, 317–318 xenophobia, 194
wisdom, xxvi, 21, 44, 52, 59, 101, 224,
230–231, 249–250, 270 Y
witness, iv, 18, 20, 50, 53–55, 66, 71, younger, 62, 71, 165
96, 99, 101, 233, 244 youth, 49, 52, 92, 100, 117, 140, 147,
women, xxviii, 32, 53, 71, 94, 100, 114, 215, 265, 270–271
126, 135–142, 144–159, 161–164,
177, 200, 207, 251, 270, 293
364
This collected work is an important contribution to developing an urban theology that takes seriously
the epistemological and ontological questions related to the ‘urban condition’ in light of planetary
urbanisation. The essays provide much fodder for discussion irrespective whether the discussants
approach the topics from a social science or from a theological perspective. It has become an
imperative for theologians to take the city seriously. Cities, from their initial establishment, always
have exerted sway over their surrounding hinterlands and beyond. This scholarly book is timely.
For example, reflection on immigration in the Central and Southeast US is hope-filled. Likewise the
grappling to understand violence particularly as manifested in Guatemala provides insight to the
current state of affairs in Central America (and in the world). Never before has the urban process
been so bound up with finance capital and with the caprices of the world’s financial markets. The book
helps the reader make the link between globalisation and urbanisation, the interconnected urban and
‘non-urban’ economies, as well as the paradoxical relationship between the gross domestic product by
means of which as the health of a country’s economy is gauged and its sustainable development with
a different bottom line. What I appreciated about the discourse is that it did not spend time making
the case vis-a-vis demographic data of becoming an ‘urban world’ — those can be easily found. The
authors wrestled with the assumptions upon which the data are based or what they reveal, providing
in-depth reflection about everyday phenomena.
Rev. Prof. Michael Mata, Assistant Professor and Director, Transformational Urban Leadership
Program, Azusa Pacific University, Azusa, California, United States of America
This book is a composite and competent work which demonstrates significant unity of theme in the
manner in which the authors interact with the leitmotif ‘glocal responses to planetary urbanisation’.
The contributions are the result of serious and sustained research and stand up to rigorous
examination.
Dr Graham Duncan, Professor Emeritus, Department of Systematic and Historical Theology,
Faculty of Theology and Religion, University of Pretoria, South Africa
The challenge of an entire planet being urbanised has not been adequately considered theologically.
When theological consideration is given to urban challenges, it has often been done almost exclusively
from the global north, from within a specific Christian faith tradition, or in relation to urban evangelism
or proclamation. The unique contribution of this scholarly collected work is twofold. The contributions
span all continents and various faith traditions. Voices from the global South, as well as critical
voices from those in the global north in critical solidarity with the global South, are coming forth
very clearly. The book explores the concept ‘decolonial faith’, expressed in various forms of justice
and embodied as emerging responses to planetary urbanisation. Narrow disciplinary boundaries are
transcended. The book’s academic discourse demonstrates an interface between scholarly reflection
and an activist faith, as well as between local rootedness and global connectedness.
Prof. Andries G. van Aarde, Chief Editor, AOSIS Scholarly Books, South Africa;
and, Emeritus Professor, University of Pretoria, South Africa
Open access at ISBN: 978-1-928396-64-2

https://doi.org/10.4102/
aosis.2018.BK87
STUDIEN ZUR STUDIES IN THE ETUDES
INTERKULTURELLEN INTERCULTURAL D’HISTOIRE
GESCHICHTE HISTORY INTERCULTURELLE
DES CHRISTENTUMS OF CHRISTIANITY DU CHRISTIANISME
Pan-chiu Lai / Jason Lam

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Sino-Christian
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A Theological Qua
Cultural Movement
in Contemporary China
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PETER LANG Europäischer Verlag der Wissenschaften

“Sino-Christian theology” usually refers to an intellectual movement emerged in
Mainland China since the late 1980s. The present volume aims to provide a self-
explaining sketch of the historical development of this theological as well as cultural
movement. In addition to the analyses on the theoretical issues involved and the ar-
ticulations of the prospect, concrete examples are also offered to illustrate the charac-
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ETUDES D’ HISTOIRE INTERCULTURELLE DU CHRISTIANISME
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Pan-chiu Lai / Jason Lam
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Sino-Christian
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Contents
Acknowledgement vii
Notes to Contributors ix
Retrospect and Prospect of Sino-Christian Theology: 1

An Introduction
LAI Pan-chiu & Jason T. S. LAM
PART I: HISTORICAL REVIEW
The Emergence of Scholars Studying Christianity 21

in Mainland China
Jason T. S. LAM
Historical Reflections on “Sino-Christian Theology” 35

LI Qiuling
The “Cultural Christians” Phenomenon in China: 53

A Hong Kong Discussion
Peter K. H. LEE
Conceptual Differences between Hong Kong and Chinese 63

Theologians: A Study of the “Cultural Christians” Controversy
CHAN Shun-hing
PART II: THEORETICAL REFLECTION
Theological Translation and Transmission between 83

China and the West
LAI Pan-chiu
v
The Value of Theology in Humanities: 101
Possible Approaches to Sino-Christian Theology
YANG Huilin
Sino-Christian Theology: The Unfolding of “Dao” 123

in the Chinese Language Context
ZHANG Qingxiong
The Paradigm Shift: From Chinese Theology to Sino-Christian 139

Theology – A Case Study on Liu Xiaofeng
CHIN Ken-Pa
PART III: REREADING TRADITION
Sino-Christian Theology, Bible, and Christian Tradition 161

LAI Pan-chiu
Messianic Predestination in Romans 8 and Classical Confucianism 179

YEO Khiok-khng
Reflection on Enlightenment: A Proposal of the 203

Focus of Sino-Christian Theology
LIN Hong-Hsin
APPENDIX
Preliminary Survey on the New Generation of Scholars 225

of Christian Studies in Mainland China
GAO Xin
vi
Acknowledgement
The editors would like to take this opportunity to thank those who contributed
significantly to the publication of the present volume. The Research Grants
Council (Hong Kong) provided the necessary financial support to the research
project directed by Lai Pan-chiu on the Cultural Christians (project no.
CUHK445207H). Mr. Daniel Yeung, Director of the Institute of Sino-Christian
Studies, and his colleagues assisted the publication of the present volume.
Alison Hardie, Faith Leong (research student of Edinburgh University) and Prof.
Fredrik Fällman (Chinese Department of Stockholm University) translated Li
Qiuling’s “Historical Reflections on Sino-Christian Theology”, Yang Huilin’s
“The Value of Theology in Humanities: Possible Approaches to Sino-Christian
Theology” and Zhang Qingxiong’s “Sino-Christian Theology: The Unfolding of
“Dao” in the Chinese Language Context” from Chinese into English respectively.
Dr. Gao Xin and Dr. Sha Mei, research staffs of the Chinese University of Hong
Kong as well as visiting scholars to the Institute of Sino-Christian Studies during
the composition of this book, assisted the survey on the younger generation of
Chinese scholars of Christian Studies. Rev. Ambrose Mong, O. P., research
student of the Chinese University of Hong Kong, polished the English style of
the papers, especially the papers translated from Chinese into English. Some
chapters of this volume are reproduced from different journals or books. We are
grateful to the different parties for their permission to include materials and
chapters which are listed below:
Chapter 1: “The Emergence of Chinese Scholars Studying Christianity in

Mainland China” by Jason Lam from Religion, State and Society 32 (2004),
pp.177-186 (Taylor & Francis Group).
Chapter 2: “Historical Reflections on ‘Sino-Christian Theology’” by Li

Qiuling from China Study Journal Spring/Summer 2007, pp.54-67 (Churches
Together in Britain and Ireland).
Chapter 3: “The ‘Cultural Christians’ Phenomenon in China: A Hong Kong

Discussion” by Peter Lee from Ching Feng 39/4 (Dec 1996), pp.307-321
(Christian Study Centre on Chinese Religion and Culture).
Chapter 4: “Conceptual Differences between Hong Kong and China's

Theologians: A Study of the ‘Cultural Christian’ Controversy” by Chan
vii
Shun-hing from Asia Journal of Theology 12 (1998), pp.246-264.
Chapter 5: “Theological Translation and Transmission between China and

the West” by Lai Pan-chiu from Asia Journal of Theology 20.2 (2006),
pp.285-304.
Chapter 6: “The Value of Theology in Humanities: Possible Approaches to

Sino-Christian Theology” was translated with modifications from Yang Huilin,
Jidujiao de Dise yu Wenhua Yanshen [Basic Features and Cultural Extensions of
Christianity] (Harbin: Heilongjian Renmin chubanshe, 2002), pp.34-60.
Chapter 7: “Sino-Christian Theology: The Unfolding of ‘Dao’ in the

Chinese Language Context” was translated with modifications from Zhang
Qingxiong, Dao, Shengming yu zeren [Dao, Life and Responsibility] (Shanghai:
Sanlian shuju, 2002), pp.3-13.
Chapter 8: “The Paradigm Shift: From Chinese Theology to Sino-Christian

Theology – A Case Study in Liu Xiaofeng” was abridged and translated from
Chin Ken Pa, “Shenme shi hanyu shenxue” [What is Sino-Theology], Hanyu
jidujiao xueshu lunping [Sino-Christian Studies: An International Journal of
Bible, Theology and Philosophy] 1 (June 2006), pp.125-158 (Chung Yuan
Christian University, Taiwan).
Chapter 9: “Sino-Theology, Bible and the Christian Tradition” by Lai

Pan-chiu from Studies in World Christianity 12/3 (2006), pp.266-281 (Edinburgh
University Press).
Chapter 10: “Messianic Predestination in Romans 8 and Classical

Confucianism” by Khiok-Khng Yeo from his edited book Navigating Romans
through Cultures: Challenging Readings by Charting a New Course (New York:
T. & T. Clark, 2004), pp.259-289.
Chapter 11: “Reflection on Enlightenment: A Proposal of the Focus of

Sino-Christian Theology” was translated with modifications from Lin
Hong-Hsin, Shui qi meng shui [Who Enlightens Whom?] (Hong Kong: Logos &
Pneuma, 2008), pp. 127-150.
viii
Notes to Contributors
CHAN Shun-hing is Associate Professor in the Department of Religion and

Philosophy of Hong Kong Baptist University.
CHIN Ken-Pa is Professor in the Graduate School of Religion of Chun Yuan

Christian University in Taiwan.
GAO Xin is Research Associate and Associate Program Officer of the Institute of
Sino-Christian Studies in Hong Kong.
Peter K. H. LEE is Professor of the Hong Kong Lutheran Theological Seminary.
LAI Pan-chiu is Professor of the Department of Cultural and Religious Studies

and Associate Dean of the Arts Faculty, the Chinese University of Hong Kong.
Jason T. S. LAM is Research Fellow and Publication Officer of the Institute of

Sino-Christian Studies in Hong Kong.
LI Qiuling is Professor in the School of Philosophy of Renmin University of

China in Beijing.
LIN Hong-Hsin is President and Professor of Taiwan Theological Seminary.
YANG Huilin is Vice-Principal as well as Dean and Professor in the School of

Humanities of Renmin (People’s) University of China, Beijing.
Khiok-Khng YEO is Harry R. Kendall Chair of New Testament Interpretation at

Garrett-Evangelical Seminary and Graduate Faculty at Northwestern University
in USA.
ZHANG Qingxiong is Professor in the School of Philosophy of Fudan University,

Shanghai.
ix
Retrospect and Prospect of Sino-Christian Theology:
An Introduction
LAI Pan-chiu & Jason T. S. LAM
Several years ago Yang Huilin and Daniel H. N. Yeung (Yang Xinan) edited the
first English source book on Sino-Christian Studies in China, collecting 22
essays authored by contemporary Chinese scholars covering many related areas,
including not only Christian theology in contemporary China, but also history of
Christianity in China, social analysis of Christianity in contemporary China,
etc.1 In contrast, the present volume consists of focused discussions of Christian
theology authored by contemporary Chinese Christian theologians themselves.
This comprising essays from scholars from Mainland China, Hong Kong,
Taiwan and overseas, aims to provide a self-explaining sketch of the historical
development of a theological movement called “Sino-Christian theology”
(hanyu jidu shenxue), analyses on the theoretical issues involved in this
movement, concrete examples to illustrate the characteristics of the movement,
and articulations of the prospect of this theological as well as cultural
movement.
Historical Background and the “Cultural Christians” Debate

“Sino-Christian theology”, which is often abbreviated as “Sino-theology”
(hanyu shenxue), usually refers to an intellectual movement emerged in the
Chinese-speaking world, particularly Mainland China, since the late 1980s,
although this term is understood sometimes literally and in a broader sense to
cover all theological discourses written in the Chinese language. Given the
cultural, social and political contexts of Communist China, the emergence of
Sino-Christian theology is a rather strange cultural phenomenon. Before the
1980s, the study of Christianity, especially Christian theology, was basically a
prohibited area for academic discussion. However, individuals’ research interests
can never be barred by political ideology or administrative restrictions. Some
Chinese intellectuals started their academic study of Christianity as part of their
studies of western culture, though publications remained scanty in amount at
that time. After studying Christianity from the perspectives of western
philosophy, history, literature, etc., a few of these scholars became interested in
the study of Christian theology. Accompanying the more open political
atmosphere developed since the 1980s when the open and reform policy has
1 Yang Huilin & Daniel H. N. Yeung eds., Sino-Christian Studies in China (Newcastle:
Cambridge Scholars, 2006).
1
been implemented gradually, more and more Chinese scholars joined this
intellectual movement. They published a lot of academic books and papers
related to Christianity, including some books translated from foreign languages.
This group of scholars researching into the study of Christianity is sometimes
collectively called “cultural Christians” (wenhua jidutu) and embodies an
important cultural trend in contemporary China.
The first two articles of this book, “The Emergence of Scholars Studying
Christianity in Mainland China” and “Historical Reflections on ‘Sino-Christian
Theology’”, written by Jason Lam (Lin Zichun) and Li Qiuling respectively
offer us concise accounts of the emergence of this theological as well as cultural
movement.2 On top of that, they also outline the proposals articulated by the
prime proponents of Sino-Christian theology (particularly Liu Xiaofeng and He
Guanghu), the significant role of the Institute of Sino-Christian Studies in the
movement and related important documents (e.g. Logos & Pneuma [Daofeng],
the organ journal of Sino-Christian theology) involved, and the relationship
among them. Furthermore, historical and sociological analyses are also provided
to facilitate some preliminary theological reflections on the emergence of the
movement. Some points made in these papers will be mentioned in the discus-
sions hereafter.
From the above background information about Sino-Christian theology, it is
quite understandable that from the very outset the proponents of the movement
do not aim at constructing a Christian theology in the (western) traditional sense.
They are primarily scholars from different academic disciplines researching into
the study of Christianity rather than “Christian theologians”. In other words,
they are scholars of Christian culture rather than believers or practitioners of
Christianity as a religion. They were interested in the academic study of
Christianity, rather than believing in Christianity, though a few of them might
take the Christian faith as their personal faith. However, the emergence of this
group of scholars is already a significant cultural as well as theological
phenomenon because before that there had been very rare serious studies of
Christian theology in the Chinese academia. Apart from the publications
produced by this group of scholars, there were also some theological activities
undertaken by the institutional churches in China, taking the theological
seminaries as its institutional bases and orientating itself towards the Christian
churches and their ministries. It is quite clear that Sino-Christian theology
2 The two articles are originally published as Jason Lam, “The Emergence of Chinese
Scholars Studying Christianity in Mainland China”, Religion, State and Society 32
(2004), pp.177-186; Li Qiuling, “Historical Reflections on ‘Sino-Christian Theology’”,
China Study Journal (Spring/Summer 2007), pp.54-67; some expressions are slightly
modified in this volume. An abridged French version of the two articles by Lam and Li
is available as “Réflexion sur l’histoire de la sino-théologie et des études chrétiennes en
langue chinoise”, Transversalités 103 (2007), pp.113-127.
2
differs from the theology adopted by the institutional churches with regard to
their respective institutional affiliations and intellectual orientations.
Sino-Christian theology tends to identify itself as an academic discipline of
human sciences or social sciences undertaken in university setting, rather than a
function of the Christian church. Furthermore, owing to their religious and
academic background, most of these scholars were not properly trained in
Christian theology and they are not very familiar with all the branches in the
traditional curriculum of theological studies, especially biblical studies.3 As a
result, from time to time, the cultural Christians’ approaches, methods or
emphases in their academic studies of Christianity are quite different from those
of the church leaders or the theological seminaries. Thus the church leaders may
have some mixed feeling of surprise, doubt, joy, fear, and so on towards the
emergence of this group of scholars.
In the eyes of the church leaders, especially those who had received the
traditional theological training formally in theological seminaries, the
approaches to the study of Christianity adopted by the cultural Christians look
rather arbitrary and fundamentally deviate from the “normal” practice of doing
Christian theology. It is thus rather natural that some church leaders were skepti-
cal and even critical towards the theologies proposed by the “cultural Chris-
tians”. Apart from the question whether the “cultural Christians” are Christians,
an equally fundamental question is whether the “theologies” proposed by the
“cultural Christians” are Christian at all. For some church leaders, the theologi-
cal discourses made by the “cultural Christians” are entirely flawed because they
fail to take serious the integrity of the Christian tradition and the authority of the
Bible.4 It is expected that although these two approaches to theology seem to
address the same subject matter and share similar goals, e.g. promoting the
understanding of Christianity among the Chinese people, they are so radically
divergent that some sorts of tension, competition or even conflict between them
seem to be inevitable. In fact, this is exactly what happened when Liu Xiaofeng
and He Guanghu articulated their respective theological proposals in the early
1990s.5 The heated debate sparked off by the emergence of “cultural Christians”
and their theological discourses is often rendered as the “cultural Christians
debate”.
3 Liu Xiaofeng might be the only “cultural Christian” of his generation who had been
formally trained in Christian theology. He studied Christian theology at doctoral level
under the supervision of Heinrich Ott at Basel University, after studying foreign
languages, philosophy, comparative literature, etc. in Mainland China.
4 For example, Liang Jialin (Leung Ka-lun), “Youshi women qiandezhai ma?” (Another
Debt we own?), in Institute of Sino-Christian Studies ed., Wenhua Jiduti: Xianxiang yu
Lunzheng [Cultural Christian: Phenomenon and Argument] (Hong Kong: Institute of
Sino-Christian Studies, 1997), pp. 106-112.
5 Their respective agendas are found in Yang & Yeung eds., Sino-Christian Studies in
China, pp. 52-89, 106-132.
3
The term “cultural Christians” was coined probably by some church leaders
in Mainland China, with the implication or connotation that these Chinese schol-
ars of Christian studies were significantly different from the ordinary practicing
Christians. However, the meaning of “cultural Christians” is quite ambiguous
and even misleading because it seems to imply that “cultural Christians” are
“Christians” in a “cultural” but not “religious” sense. In other words, they are
“non-religious” and thus different from those Christians who profess and prac-
tice Christianity as their own religion. This demarcation between “cultural
Christians” and, if there is such a term, “religious Christians” is actually far
from clear. Some people can be Christians in both “cultural” and “religious”
senses of the word. For example, Liu Xiaofeng himself would prefer to use the
term “cultural Christians” to refer to the intellectuals from Mainland China with
personal experience of religious conversion, rather than those who are merely
interested in studying Christianity as a cultural phenomenon without any per-
sonal religious faith.6 According to this definition, in terms of personal faith,
“cultural Christians” are also “religious Christians”; they are not “religious”
merely in the sense that they are not officially registered members of any Chris-
tian church or regular church-goers.
The debate related to the “cultural Christians” phenomenon occurred among
many scholars from Mainland China and Hong Kong. It was started and carried
on by a series of articles published in a rather popular Christian weekly newspa-
per Christian Times (shi dai lun tan) from the fall of 1995 to the spring of 1996,7
lasting for a whole year and thus catching much attention of the public. The third
and fourth articles in this volume, “The ‘Cultural Christians’ Phenomenon in
China” by Peter K. H. Lee (Li Jingxiong) and “Conceptual Differences between
Hong Kong and Chinese Theologians” by Chan Shun-hing (Chen Shenqing),8
review the whole debate and introduce the different views articulated by various
participants. Other than the differences between Hong Kong and Mainland
scholars, Chan argues, the diversity among scholars from the same region is by
no means less significant than that between regions. This brings up the question
that the differences of opinion may not be attributed to the differences in social
and cultural situation alone. It has to do also with the various theological trends
6 Liu Xiaofeng, “Sino-Christian Theology in the Modern Context”, in Yang & Yeung eds.,
Sino-Christian Studies in China, p.63.
7 Their writings are collected in Institute of Sino-Christian Studies ed., Cultural Christian,
pp.94-196.
8 The two articles are originally published as Peter Lee, “The ‘Cultural Christians’
Phenomenon in China: A Hong Kong Discussion”, Ching Feng 39/4 (Dec 1996),
pp.307-321; Chan Shun-hing, “Conceptual Differences between Hong Kong and
China’s Theologians: A Study of the ‘Cultural Christian’ Controversy”, Asia Journal of
Theology 12 (1998), pp.246-264. Another reference to “cultural Christians” can be
found in chapter 2 of Fredrick Fällman, Salvation and Modernity: Intellectuals and
Faith in Contemporary China (Lanham: University Press of America, rev. ed. 2008).
4
which had influenced the scholars involved and may probably affect the future
development of Sino-Christian theology.
Intellectual Orientations and Theoretical Issues

Given the historical review outlined above, it is important to examine the
intellectual orientations and the theoretical issues involved in the movement for
a deeper exploration. Four articles are included in Part II to illustrate the theol-
ogical, humanistic, linguistic and cultural orientations and implications of Sino-
theology and to highlight some of the theoretical issues involved.
During the 1980s some so-called “cultural Christians” began to use the term
“Sino-Christian theology” to describe their theological proposal(s). According to
their understanding, the most fundamental feature of Sino- Christian theology is
its employing hanyu, which is often called the Chinese language (zhongwen),9 as
its medium of expression and this makes Sino-Christian theology different from
theologies articulated in other languages. It is important to understand this
proposal against the wider context of Christian theology in modern China. The
first article of Part II, “Theological Translation and Transmission between China
and the West” authored by Lai Pan-chiu (Lai Pinchao) gives us such an overview.
Against this background, Sino-Christian theology apparently differs from
indigenous theology (bense shenxue), which was quite dominant in Mainland
China before 1949 and continued to flourish in Hong Kong and Taiwan.
Whereas indigenous theologies tend to focus on the relationship between
Christianity and traditional Chinese culture, Sino-Christian theology emphasizes
the importance of the relationship between Christianity and contemporary
Chinese society. Similarly, Sino-Christian theology as a concept also differs
from other possible alternatives such as China’s theology (zhongguo shenxue)
and Chinese people’s theology (huaren shenxue), though the references of all
these concepts may largely overlap. Similar to the term “Chinese”, which may
be understood in political (referring to China as a nation), ethnic (referring to the
Chinese people), cultural (referring to the Chinese culture) and linguistic
(referring to the Chinese language) terms, there are many possible ways to
define the relevant theological endeavors. It is rather obvious that Sino-Christian
theology prefers to define its own theological endeavor in linguistic terms. This
makes it distinct from some other approaches to Christian theology prevalent in
contemporary China. With regard to its relationship to the theologies in other
9 The expression “hanyu” reflects the awareness that China is a multi-ethnic country, in
which there are many other ethnic groups in China, although these ethnic minority
groups are overshadowed in both cultural and numerical senses by the most dominating
tribe of han. Since there are many languages with various dialects being used by
different ethnic groups in China, it is more accurate to call the official language of China
“hanyu” rather than “zhongwen”, which literally means the Chinese language or the
language of China.
5
languages, Lai points out that in the past Christian theologies in China were
mainly translated from the West. However, Lai also argues, the two most active
periods of Chinese theological innovations, namely the rise of Chinese theology
in the 1920-30s and the revival in the 1980-90s, coincide with massive transla-
tions. Furthermore, both theological translation and innovative construction
were usually triggered by some contextual concerns. They are complementary
rather than mutually exclusive. Lai expects that as the Chinese situation is rather
unique, the theological renaissance partly constituted by the emergence of cul-
tural Christians may one day become capable to contribute significantly to the
international theological discussion. At that time, the theological exchange be-
tween China and the West will no longer be a one-way traffic from the West to
China.
The next two articles of Part II, “The Value of Theology in Humanities:
Possible Approaches to Sino-Christian Theology” by Yang Huilin and
“Sino-Christian Theology: the Unfolding of ‘Dao’ in the Chinese Language
Context” by Zhang Qingxiong, address some theoretical issues involved in the
construction of Sino-Christian theology. Yang’s article attempts to evaluate the
value of theology against the context of humanities in China from the perspec-
tive of modern hermeneutics. This kind of attempt is quite necessary because
Sino-Christian theology is developed mainly in the academia of Communist
China. The participants of the movement are mostly non-believers and
Christianity has never been a major constituent in this culture. In order to justify
its place in the Chinese academia, Sino-Christian theology has to explain from
the academic point of view why it is so important to include theology in
humanities and why it is beneficial to translate and adopt some “foreign” con-
cepts in the Chinese academia. Zhang’s article adopts a more philosophical,
mainly Wittgensteinian, perspective, emphasizing on the connection between
language (related to word and dao) and the related form of life of the relevant
language users. Zhang further illustrates that with the aid of human words, the
divine Word recognized by the Christians will generate some new contents.
Therefore when Christian theology comes to the Chinese context, an exciting
new form (Sino-Christian theology) is expected to emerge.
In his “The Paradigm Shift: from Chinese Theology to Sino-Christian
Theology” included in this volume, Chin Ken-Pa (Zheng Qingbao) attempts to
spell out the implications of Liu Xiaofeng’s theological proposal with some
further elaborations. According to Chin, Liu’s theology assumes that
Sino-Christian theology should be placed in parallel with theologies of other
languages, since all theologies are the consequences of accepting the divine
Word into the respective native languages (and forms of life). According to this
view, when the divine Word comes to the Chinese context and when the
academics in China listen to it, it is not merely a process of translation or
adaptation, but the formation of a new paradigm. It is because it is not only the
6
adoption of a foreign classic or tradition, but the acceptance of the divine Word
which might “interrupt” or even “endanger” the transmission of the original
“pure” Chinese tradition. At this juncture, perhaps one may be able to
understand why in spite of Liu’s seemingly awkward expressions, his
theological proposal aroused a lot of heated debates from different academic
perspectives.
Basic Characters and Contingent Features

After sketching the background of Sino-Christian theology as an intellectual
movement, we are going to delineate some of the basic characters of
Sino-Christian theology. We will see that due to the institutional, personal and
historical factors, Sino-Christian theology is neither static nor monolithic. It did
not start as a school of theological thought with one single founder and a clearly
articulated theological position, although the prime proponents’ proposals were
widely discussed. The movement does not have any particular doctrinal formula
agreed by all of its proponents and followers. It has no representative doctrine of
God, Christology, ecclesiology, etc. It even does not have a philosophical frame-
work or methodology shared by its advocates. On the contrary, there are signifi-
cant differences among the prime proponents of Sino-Christian theology with
regard to their approaches to Christian theology. For example, Liu Xiaofeng’s
theology appears to be more “Barthian”, being influenced particularly by Barth’s
early publications without proper attention paid to his later ones, whereas He
Guanghu’s more “Tillichian”. Other than translating several books by Tillich, He
Guanghu proposes that given the context of Mainland China, Tillich’s theology
should be translated and introduced before that of Barth. He Gaunghu’s theology
also attempts to make use of traditional Chinese culture, which is considered by
Liu as unnecessary or even wrong theological attempt. In addition to the diver-
gence among its proponents, another important factor for the variations of
Sino-Christian theology was that even the delineation of Sino-Christian theology
made by individual proponent might not be very clear and consistent.
Nevertheless, since the launching of Sino-Christian theology, it has bore
several identifiable characters shared by the prime proponents, particularly Liu
Xiaofeng and He Guanghu, even though some of these characters were rather
“contingent” – meaning that these characters might change or even disappear in
the course of subsequent development. Before we move on to the discussion
concerning the development of Sino-Christian theology, it is helpful to briefly
sketch these characters first:
1. Sino-Christian theology takes hanyu or the Chinese language as the medium
of expression. Sino-Christian theology is defined in neither political, nor
cultural, nor political terms, but by the language it uses.10
10 This is a rather definitive character, though not entirely free from ambiguity. It is not
entirely clear as to whether the theology written in Chinese by a foreigner (whose
7
2. Sino-Christian theology, which is inevitably contextual because the lan-
guage it uses is shaped by the Chinese cultural, religions, social and political
contexts, takes seriously the contemporary Chinese context.
3. Sino-Christian theology takes the academia, particularly universities, rather
than churches or theological seminaries as its institutional basis.
4. Sino-Christian theology emphasizes its intellectual, cultural and humanistic
nature of theology rather than its ecclesiastical function.
5. In terms of methodology, Sino-Christian theology employs the methods
shared by some other disciplines in humanities without excluding the
method(s) particularly to Christian theology.11
Of course, other than these rather basic characters, there are also some dominant
but not essential features appearing in the writings of some but not all represen-
tatives of Sino-Christian theology.
As we are going to see, due to the theological diversity among its propo-
nents, the conceptual ambiguities involved and the subsequent developments
brought forth by some other scholars, some characters are no longer the defini-
tive characteristics of Sino-Christian theology. In other words, Sino-Christian
theology as an intellectual, cultural or theological movement underwent some
significant changes in its subsequent developments. In order to have a more ade-
quate understanding of the movement, it is thus very important to pay attention
to the recent developments and to reconsider which characters or features should
be regarded as contingent rather than essential to the movement.
Sino-Christian Theology at the Crossroad

In the year 2000, an important book on Sino-Christian theology was published.12
In addition to a few essays by Liu Xiaofeng and He Guanghu, the book includes
many essays from other scholars in Mainland China, Hong Kong, Taiwan and
even overseas. Some of the authors articulated their own ideas of Sino-Christian
theology, while some others provided critical comments on the ideas of Liu
Xiaofeng and He Guanghu. In a paper published in that volume, Lai Pan-chiu
argues that instead of focusing on Liu Xiaofeng’s theology, Sino-Christian
theology can and should be understood in a much broader way.13 The strategy
adopted in the paper is to emphasize the distinction between two senses of the
word “Sino-Christian theology” – one narrower and one broader. Through
mother tongue is not Chinese) should be recognized as part of Sino-Christian theology.

11 Whether Christian theology is to be regarded as part of the human sciences is an issue
for further discussion.
12 Daniel Yeung ed., Hanyu Shenxue Chuyi [Preliminary Studies on Chinese Theology]
(Hong Kong: Institute of Sino-Christian Studies, 2000).
13 Lai Pan-chiu, “hanyu shenxue de leixing yu fazhan luxiang”(Typology and Prospect of
Sino-Christian Theology), in Daniel Yeung ed., Preliminary Studies on Chinese
Theology, pp.3-21.
8
reviewing the relevant primary and secondary publications, it argues that the
word “Sino-Christian theology” is being used in two different ways. Broadly
speaking, “Sino-Christian theology” could refer to any theology written in the
Chinese language, so that one can trace the history back to several centuries ago,
say, starting from Ming dynasty. 14 Nevertheless, sometimes Sino-Christian
theology seems to designate specifically the theological thinking of some cul-
tural Christians, i.e. a kind of philosophical expression of personal faith gaining
a footing in the academic society of the humanities and the social sciences. In
this sense, Sino-Christian theology is radically different from both the semi-
nary-based church dogmatics and the “indigenous theology” adopted by many
theologians in Hong Kong and Taiwan.15 One can find the evidence for this nar-
rower understanding of Sino-Christian theology in the works of Liu Xiaofeng,
who clearly opposes theological indigenization and emphasizes on the
individuality of faith and theology. Such a conceptual ambiguity in Liu’s own
discourses on Sino-Christian theology shows that Sino-Christian theology re-
mains in its infancy stage of searching for its own niche and orientation. On the
one hand, it would like to adhere to a long-standing tradition (Sino-Christian
theology in the broad sense); on the other, it is dissatisfied with the tradition and
tries to develop a particular approach out of the current context (Sino-Christian
theology in the narrow sense).
This strategy of distinguishing the two senses of Sino-Christian theology and
favoring the broader sense makes possible for more people, including Lai Pan-chiu
himself, to take part in Sino-Christian theology as a theological or cultural
movement, without being a Sino-theologian in a narrow sense of the word. An
implication of this strategy is that some of dubious or controversial characters of
Sino-Christian theology can be regarded as something nonessential. In other
words, it is for some contingent or personal reasons that some scholars, particularly
Liu Xiaofeng, tends to emphasize the individual character of faith, the
non-ecclesiastical character of Sino-Christian theology, etc. The approach proposed
by Liu is to be regarded as merely one of the possible approaches and by no means
the only possible or legitimate way to do Sino-Christian theology.
In addition to the distinction between the narrow and broad senses of
Sino-Christian theology, Lai’s paper further argues that it is advisable for
Sino-Christian theology to adopt a broader sense of the word in order to make
room for the participation of other scholars because there are many other schol-
ars who study Christianity from historical and sociological perspectives rather
14 Liu Xiaofeng, “Sino-Christian Theology in the Modern Context”, p.52.

15 This usage of “Sino-Christian theology” can be found also in Chen Zuoren (Stephen
Chan), “Zhongyiben daoyan” (Introduction to the Chinese Edition), in Dionysius,
Shenmi Shenxue (Mystical Theology), Bao Limin trans. (Beijing: Sanlian, 1998), p.27;
and “Jiaoyi, shenxue yu :wenhua Jidu tu” (Doctrine, Theology, and ‘Cultural
Christians’), in Cultural Christian: Phenomenon and Argument, pp.244-254.
9
than from philosophical or theological perspectives. Furthermore, it is not neces-
sary for Sino-Christian theology to exclude indigenous theology and the use of
resources of traditional Chinese culture. As Sino-Christian theology remains at
its infancy stage of development, there is no need and no hurry for its advocates
to give an exclusive definition of Sino-Christian theology and to confine it to a
particular type of theology. It is because the healthy development of Christian
theology in China may need various types of theology.16
Based on the idea of this diversity, Jason Lam developed a “Typological
Consideration of Sino-Christian Theology”.17 Through examining the history of
Christian theology and adopting the typology of modern theology suggested by
Hans W. Frei,18 Lam argues that the divergence between the theology con-
structed in the Chinese academia and that in the ecclesiastical setting is only a
contingent phenomenon emerging in a rather special socio-political setting in
Mainland China. Since the two institutions have not been given much room to
communicate to each other, and they both have very different developing agen-
das, their theological discourses constructed in the past show significant differ-
ences. In stead of taking them as a contradictory dichotomy of either-or, a
healthier approach to handle their diversity is to assign the seemingly opponents
to a continuous theological spectrum, in which various types of theology with
different orientations and setting would flourish in their own ways and have dia-
logue with each other.
Nowadays, the distinction between the broad and narrow senses of
“Sino-Christian theology” has become widely accepted. In recent years, there are
more publications related to “Sino-Christian theology” in the broad sense than
those focusing on the narrow sense. For example, a recent volume of Logos &
Pneuma (vol. 27 [2007]) takes “Sino-Christian Theology in Ming & Qing Dynas-
ties” as the title for the main theme. This is all too obvious that it assumes a very
broad understanding of “Sino-Christian theology”. As Wang Xiaochao observes,
in recent years, the study of Sino-Christian theology entered into a stage of
“various articulations under one flag” (yimian qizhi, gezi biaoshu). Though some
of these articulations of Sino-Christian theology are deviated from the ideas of the
prime proponents, Wang suggests, one has to accept this diversity because as the
participants have diversified academic, cultural and religious backgrounds, it is
neither necessary nor possible to unify their opinions.19
16 For a revised English version of the paper, see Lai Pan-chiu, “Typology and Prospect of
Sino-Christian Theology”, Ching Feng 6.2 (2005), pp.211-230.
17 Jason Lam, “Hanyu Jidujiao shenxue de leixing xue si kao” (Typological Consideration
of Sino-Christian Theology), Logos & Pneuma 23 (2005), pp.165-184.
18 Hans W. Frei, Types of Christian Theology (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1992).
19 Wang Xiaochao, “Guanyu Hanyu shenxue neirongde ruogan gouxiang” (Some
Considerations of the Content of Sino-Christian theology), Logos & Pneuma 29 (2008),
p.167.
10
Recent Development and Prospect
Partially due to the cultural, social and political atmosphere of China as well as
the efforts made by the cultural Christians and many other institutions, including
particularly the Institute of Sino-Christian Studies, the academic study of
Christianity enjoyed a phenomenal growth in China in the last two decades. In
recent years, several important developments or changes, which will affect the
theological development in Mainland China, became more and more apparent.
The first noticeable change to be mentioned is the cultural, intellectual and
religious background of the researchers. As He Guanghu notices, there are some
significant differences between the scholars of Christian studies of his genera-
tion and those of the younger generations.20 In a recent questionnaire-survey
conducted on the younger generation (aged roughly 35 to 45) of Mainland China
scholars engaging in the study of Christianity, it is found that in comparison with
the scholars of previous generation (aged 45 or above), there are more and more
scholars of the younger generation taking Christianity as their own religion and
actively involving in church activities. Some of them admit that their academic
studies of Christianity are partially motivated by their Christian faith. A report of
the survey, “Preliminary Survey on the New Generation of Scholars of Christian
Studies in Mainland China”, prepared by Gao Xin is appended to this volume. In
light of these findings, there may be more healthy interactions or even
cooperation between the academia and the Christian churches in the future.
Though Sino-Christian theology needs to preserve its own identity as an
academic enterprise, it does not necessarily mean that it has to be separate from
or hostile to the ecclesiastical circle. This point is also indicated in the second
chapter of this volume authored by Li Qiuling, who belongs to the older
generation of Mainland China scholars engaging in Christian studies. As the
study of Christianity includes both the humanistic and ecclesiastical
dimensions,21 the prospect of Christian studies in Mainland China may benefit
from the healthy interactions between the academia and the Christian churches
in China.
Secondly, some Mainland China scholars of Christian Studies, particularly
of the younger generation, would prefer to identify themselves as “Christian
Scholars” (jidutu xueren) in order to distinguish themselves from the “cultural
20 He Guanghu, “Jianshan dai you rencai chu: ershi shijimo zhi ershiyi shijizhu Zhongguo
Jidujiao yanjiu xuezhe su miao” (Trends of Chinese Scholars in Christian Studies at in
the Turn of the Twentieth and Twenty-First Century), Logos & Pneuma 29 (2008),
pp.53-75.
21 Lai Pan-chiu, “Jidu Zongjiao Yanjiu de Renwen yu Jiaohui Xiangdu” (The Humanistic
and Ecclesiastical Dimensions of the Study of Christianity), in Xu Yihua & Zhang
Qingxiong eds., Jidu jiao xue shu [Christian Scholarship], 2 (Shanghai: Shanghai Guji,
2004), pp.167-192.
11
Christians” who do not have clear commitment to Christianity.22 Some of these
scholars of the younger generation, notably Sun Yi and Zhang Xuefu, even argue
that the methodology of human sciences are inadequate for Sino-Christian
theology which should take seriously the Christ event, proceed from a Christian
theological perspective and not to reduce theology to some sort of philosophy.23
In fact, Liu Xiaofeng also emphasizes on the centrality of the Christ event in
theological thinking and the distinctiveness of theological method vis-à-vis other
human sciences,24 but Liu does not stress the role of the church in theological
thinking as Sun and Zhang do. This new self-identity of “Christian scholars”
clearly signifies an important development of the movement.
Thirdly, in terms of its relationship with theologies in other languages,
Sino-Christian theology has moved gradually from focusing on translating and
introducing the works of famous western theologians to placing greater
emphasis on the creative re-interpretation of western theologies and the articula-
tion of innovative theological discourses with Chinese characteristics. This can
be seen from the recent publications of the two volumes concerning Karl Barth
and Sino-Christian Theology (2008).25 In fact, the first volume is a reprint of a
previous volume published in 2000. Comparing the contents of the two volumes,
one may find a rather subtle yet significant development. Both volumes have
introductory essays on Barth’s theology, but the second volume addresses wider
range of issues and presents Barth’s theology in a more comprehensive and
systematic way. An even more significant development is that in the first volume
there is only one paper on the significance of Barth’s theology for
22 Chen Yaqian, “Xueyuan yu Jiaohui: Jidutu Xueren jiqi Kunhuo” (Academia and Church:
Christian Scholars and their Perplexities), in Xu Zhiwei ed., Jidu jiao si xiang ping lun
[Regent Review of Christian Thoughts] 5 (Shanghai: Shanghai Renmin, 2007),
pp.215-226; Wen Wei-yao (Milton Wan), “Shenxue yanjiu yu Jidu jiao jing yan”
(Christian Studies and Its Corresponding Religious Experiences), Logos & Pneuma 29
(2008), pp.123-153.
23 Zhang Xuefu, “Yanshuo zhi Dao he Shangdi zhi Dao – Jianlun Jidujiao Shenxuede
Benzhi” (The Word of Speaking and the Word of God: With Special Reference to the
Nature of Christian Theology), in Xu Zhiwei ed., Regent Review of Christian Thoughts
5, 195-204; Sun Yi, “Shenxue Yanshuo yu Renwen Jinlu” (Theological Speaking and
Humanistic Approach), in Xu Zhiwei ed., Regent Review of Christian Thoughts 5, pp.
205-214; Sun Yi, “Hanyu shenxue yu Jidu shijian” (Sino-Christian Theology and the
‘Event of Christ’), Logos & Pneuma 29 (2008), pp.183-198.
24 Liu Xiaofeng, “Sino-Christian Theology in the Modern Context” pp.72-79.
25 Andres S. K. Tang (Deng Shaoguang) & Lai Pan-chiu eds., Bate yu Hanyu Shenxue:
Bate shenxue de zai si [Karl Barth and Sino-Christian Theology: Barth’s Theology
Reconsidered] (Hong Kong: Logos & Pneuma, 2000, reprint 2008) and the second
volume Ou Li-jan (Ou Li-ren) and Andres S. K. Tang eds., Bate yu Hanyue shenxue er:
Bate shi shi si shi zhou nian ji nian wen ji [Karl Barth and Sino-Christian Theology II:
Essays to Commemorate the 40th Anniversary of his Death] (Hong Kong: Logos&
Pneuma, 2008).
12
Christian-Confucian dialogue,26 but in the second volume there are three essays
on Barth and Buddhism.27 Furthermore, the roles played by Barth’s theology in
these essays are different. In the essay in the first volume, it is basically a
unilateral application of the insights of Barth’s theology to the Confucian-
Christian dialogue. In the essays on Barth and Buddhism in the second volume,
one may find some sort of bilateral dialogue between Barth and Buddhism,
including an attempt to evaluate Barth from a Mahayana Buddhist perspective.
This development reflects that Sino-Christian theology has become more mature
in its attitudes towards Western theologies as well as the resources of traditional
Chinese culture.28
Fourthly, the approaches adopted by Mainland China scholars of Christian
studies also shifted from being dominated by the human sciences, particularly
philosophy and to a less extent literature and history, to include more and more
the methods in social sciences, including sociology, anthropology, etc. This
development reflects not only the growth of what is called empirical or positive
studies (shizheng yanjiu) in Mainland China, but also the awareness that
Christianity is no longer something belonging exclusively to western civilisation
and it has become a cultural as well as social phenomenon or reality in
contemporary China. Over the past few years, the Institute of Sino-Christian
Studies has published several books related to the sociological and/or anthro-
pological studies of Christianity in China. These studies include both empirical
studies of the practices of Christianity in Beijing, Tai’an and Duanzhuang with
some well-articulated theoretical frameworks. On top on these, the Institute of
26 The chapter in the first volume is: Chen Jiafu (Keith K. F. Chan), “Renxing yu Jidu:
Bate de jidulun renguan yu yeru duihua” (Humanity and Christ: Karl Barth’s
Christological Anthropology and Christian-Confucian Dialogue), pp. 291-325. For a
modified English version of the paper, see: Keith K. F. Chan, “Karl Barth’s
Christological Anthropology and Christian-Confucian Dialogue”, Ching Feng, 42/1-2
(March-June 1999), pp.1-33.
27 The three chapters in the second volume are: Deng Shaoguang (Andres S. K. Tang),
“Chanzong yu Bate de yuyan wenzi guan” (Zen and Barth’s View on Language and
Word), pp.469-482; Deng Shaoguang, “Cong Tiantai Foxue kan Bate de jidulun” (A
Tien-tai Buddhistic Interpretation of Karl Barth’s Christology), pp.483-500; and, Lai
Pan-chiu, “Cong Foxue kan Bate de zuiguan ji renxinglun” (Barth’s Doctrine of Sin and
Humanity in Buddhist Perspective), pp. 501-524. For a modified English version of
Lai’s article, see: Lai Pan-chiu, “Barth’s Doctrines of Sin and Humanity in Buddhist
Perspective”, Studies in Inter-religious Studies 16.1 (2006), pp.41-58.
28 Lai Pan-chiu, “Theological Translation & Transmission between China and the West”,
Asia Journal of Theology 20.2 (October 2006), pp.285-304 (reprinted in this volume);
“Inheriting the Chinese and Christian Traditions in Global Context: A
Confucian-Protestant Perspective”, Religion & Theology 10/1 (March 2003), pp.1-23;
“Development of Chinese Culture and Chinese Christian Theology”, Studies in World
Christianity 7.2 (2001), pp.219-240; reprinted in Yang & Yeung eds., Sino-Christian
Studies in China, pp.280-303.
13
Sino-Christian Studies is launching a translation series of “Western Academics
and Public Ethics”, which introduced some state-of-art publications of public
theology in the western world. The integration and mutual enrichment between
empirical studies and theoretical works may yield another flourishing scene in
the academic studies on Christianity in the future. This may become not only an
important trend in the development of Christian Studies in China as a whole, but
also a contribution to the practical or pastoral activities of the Christian
churches.
Fifthly, other than the diversification of approaches, the scope of study has
become broader and broader. In the past very little has been done to the area of
biblical studies. Since most “cultural Christians” are not strongly affiliated to the
institutional churches, the role and authority of the Bible in the construction of
Christian theology was an important issue involved in the “cultural Christians”
debate. But in recent years, due to efforts made by the Chinese University of
Hong Kong and some other institutions, there are more and more properly
trained biblical scholars in Mainland China. With regard to the publications in
China related to biblical studies, phenomenal growth can be detected in both
qualitative and quantitative terms. The Institute of Sino-Christian Studies is also
launching the first comprehensive textbook series on biblical studies in Main-
land China. These publications are supposed to exert some lasting influence on
the future generations. In fact, the recent issue of Logos & Pneuma (vol. 31
[Autumn 2009]) took “Biblical Studies and Chinese Academia” as its main
theme. Most of the articles published in the issue are written by younger
generation of scholars and show their potential to match the international
academic standard. An even more encouraging sign is that You Bin, one of the
theme initiators, has proposed an agenda of “Sino-Christian Scriptural
Hermeneutics”,29 disclosing the intention to produce a more integral discipline
of theological studies in the Chinese context.
Sixthly, following the developing trend in biblical studies, when scholars re-
read the Bible and the whole Christian tradition in dialogue with the Chinese
culture, a brand new type of scriptural theologising may emerge in China. In
“Sino-Christian Theology, Bible, and Christian Tradition”, the first article of
Part III, Lai Pan-chiu examines the development as well as prospect of biblical
studies in Mainland China. Lai argues that in spite of the difficulties to be
overcome, biblical studies in China has the potential to make distinctive and
innovative contributions to biblical studies worldwide. There are some recent
publications in biblical studies vividly confirming Lai’s expectation that the
Chinese contexts (including the Chinese texts) can play vital as well as creative
roles in the Chinese interpretations of the biblical texts. One of them might be
the second article of Part III, “Messianic Predestination in Romans 8 and
29 You Bin, “Zou xiang hanyu xueshu yujing de Jidu jiao jing xue” (Towards a
Sino-Christian Scriptural Hermeneutics), Logos & Pneuma 31 (2009), pp.43-64.
14
Classical Confucianism”, authored by Yeo Khiok-khng [Yang Keqin]. In the
essay, Yeo develops an inter-textual reading between Confucius and Paul or
between the Romans and the Analects. Although the two sides seem quite
incommensurable at first glimpse, Yeo demonstrates in his account that a
cross-textual reading can facilitate a Chinese-Christian worldview which is open
to the future without discounting the past. This case illustrates the possibility of
constructing a Sino-Christian theology in an innovative way.30 Although the
theological significance of this kind of biblical studies may remain far from
clear, the Chinese interpretations of the Bible have recently attracted the
attention of some foreign scholars.31
Seventhly, with the developments mentioned above, Sino-Christian
theology is moving towards a full-fledged study (or studies) of Christianity,
rather than focusing on the theological aspect alone. Some years ago Logos &
Pneuma changed it subtitle in Chinese32 from Chinese Journal of Theology
(hanyu shenxue xuekan) (up to vol. 11, Autumn 1999) to Christian Cultural
Review (Jidujiao wenhua pinglun) (starting from volume 12, Spring 2000).33
This change of subtitle, in hindsight, might have indicated that the scope of the
journal was broadened to cover those non-theological (usually systematic or
philosophical) studies on Christianity or Christian culture. This move is further
reinforced by the recent publication of a bilingual journal in Taiwan titled
Sino-Christian Studies: An International Journal of Bible, Theology and
Philosophy (Hanyu Jidujiao Xueshu Lunping). The subtitle of the journal in
English clearly indicates not only its international character but also the width of
its scope which includes not only philosophy and theology, but also biblical
studies. In other words, the goal or target of Sino-Christian theology as an
intellectual movement is no longer restricted to systematic theology, which was
the focus of discussion during the 1980s and 1990s. After two decades of
development, the aim of the movement seems to be expanded from the
establishment of Sino- theology to the establishment of “theological studies” as
a whole or “theology” in a broad sense, which may better be called
“Sino-Christian Studies”.
Admittedly, during the last two decades, academic publications on Christian-
ity from both the prime proponents and younger scholars have grown
30 Another book-length example can be found from Lin Yan, Zai Hanwen Guji Chuangshi
Shenhua de Liangguangxia Chongdu Chuangshiji 1-3 [Re-reading Genesis 1-3 in the
Light of the Creation Myths of Ancient Chinese Texts] (Lanzhou: Lanzhou University
Press, 2008).
31 See Chloë Starr ed., Reading Christian Scriptures in China (London: T & T Clark,
2008).
32 The English title remains unchanged - Logos & Pneuma: Chinese Journal of Theology.
33 In fact, this is also the Chinese title for a book series or “book in lieu of journal” (yi shu
dai kan) called “Christian Culture Review” (Jidujiao wenhua pinglun) published in
Mainland China (Guiyang: Guizhou Renmin, 1990 -) edited by Liu Xiaofeng.
15
phenomenally and in exciting ways. It is not difficult to find that various
disciplinary approaches are employed to conduct serious studies of Christianity.
However, it is also important to note that the theological construction of
Sino-Christian theology remains far from well developed. There are some
volumes related to Sino-Christian theology published recently, but these volumes
look like collections of essays or introductory writings rather than truly
book-length research monographs. 34 It remains very difficult to find any
systematic articulation of Christian theology to be identified as a showcase for
Sino-Christian theology. Therefore more substantial works of Sino-Christian
theology are called for in order to become a truly mature theological enterprise. If
becoming more reflective or critical on oneself is one of the signs for becoming
mature, Sino-Christian theology seems to begin to mature. The last chapter
“Reflection on Enlightenment – a Proposal of the Focus of Sino-Christian
Theology” by Lin Hong-Hsin (Lin Hongxin) may be an example showing
Sino-Christian theology’s becoming more reflexive and critical of oneself. Lin’s
essay reviews the Chinese Enlightenment – the May 4th movement – in light of an
examination of the European Enlightenment. According to Lin, a lesson to be
learnt from the historical development in Europe is that the once revolutionaries
may turn to anti-revolutionaries, the supposedly enlightened ones to those barred
from light. When the cultural Christians began to introduce Christian thought into
China, they themselves or the others might consider them as the enlightened ones
who might bring enlightenment to China. However, if Sino-theologians are really
concerned with the contemporary situation of China, Lin reminds, they should
always take a critical stance towards themselves and keep on asking: Are we
really enlightened? In what aspects shall one continue to further develop the
present state of Sino-Christian studies?
34 Some examples can be found in Liu Xiaofeng, Hanyu shenxue yu lishi zhexue
[Sino-Christian Theology and Philosophy of History] (Hong Kong: Institute of
Sino-Christian Studies, 2000); Yang Huilin, Jidujiao de Dise yu Wenhua Yanshen [Basic
Features and Cultural Extensions of Christianity] (Harbin: Heilongjian Renmin, 2002);
He Guanghu, Tien ren zhi ji [The Heaven and the Human] (Beijing: China Social
Science, 2003), Yue ying wan chuan: zongjiao, shehui yu rensheng [The Moon in
Streams: Religion, Society and Life] (Beijing: China Social Science, 2003); Zhuo
Xinping, Shensheng yu Shisu Zhijian [Between Sacred and Profane] (Harbin:
Heilongjian Renmin, 2004); Jason Lam, Duo yuan xing Hanyu shenxue quan shi [A
Polyphonic View on Sino-Christian Theology] (Hong Kong: Logos & Pneuma, 2006);
Lin Hong-hsin’s 3-vol. series, Shui qi meng shui [Who Enlightens Whom?], Dian yu
xian [Point and Line], and Luo ye sui feng [Fallen Leaves Gone with the Wind] (Hong
Kong: Logos & Pneuma, 2008); Chin Ken Pa, Shangdi, guanxi yu yan shuo [God,
Relation & Discourse] (Shanghai: VI Horae, 2008); Paulos Huang (Huang Baoluo),
Hanyu xueshu shenxue [Sino-Christian Academic Theology] (Beijing: Religious Culture,
2008); Wen Weiyao, Shenming de zhuanhua yu chaoba [On the Transformation and
Transcendence of Humanity] (Beijing: Religious Culture, 2009).
16
Concluding Remark
In view of these recent developments, the intellectual, cultural or theological
movement, which took “Sino-Christian theology” as its flag in the 1980s and
1990s, may better understand its own task in terms of “Sino-Christian studies”
which may better reflect the future direction of the movement. This is not to give
up the study of Sino-Christian theology as such, but to place this “hard-core” in
a wider framework of Sino-Christian studies, which includes the studies of all
the aspects of Christianity, including theology, social institutions, scriptures,
history, and even the material cultures. This move, to a certain extent, may help
the scholars already involved in the movement to avoid some unnecessary
controversies concerning whether and how Sino-Christian theology is Christian
theology, to rally more participants (especially those engaging in
non-theological studies of Christianity) to this academic forum or platform, and
to exercise greater influence on the academic studies of Christianity in the
Chinese speaking world.
Although it is repeatedly stated in this introductory essay that Sino-Christian
theology is still in an infancy stage of development, new ideas and perspectives
are expected to appear from time to time in this burgeon field of discussion. It is
hoped that the theological discussion in China will make distinctive and
significant contribution to the international theological discussion. To this end,
the present volume may be regarded as a very little first step forward.35
35 Some materials included in this introduction are adopted from Lai Pan-chiu, “From
Sino-Christian Theology to Sino-Christian Studies: A Cultural-Theological Movement
in Contemporary China,” paper presented at the 7th International Conference of North
East Asia Council of Studies of History of Christianity, held at Central China Normal
University, Wuhan, China, 24-26 August 2009.
17
PART I
Historical Review
The Emergence of Scholars Studying Christianity
in Mainland China
Jason T. S. Lam
The study of Christianity in universities and research institutes is nothing

unusual. It is rather remarkable, however, that Christian studies have become
established in the cultural and educational system of communist China and have
been developing rapidly since the late 1980s. A considerable number of scholars
are now pursuing the serious academic study of Christianity and publishing their
findings, and are doing so not in seminaries or other ecclesiastical settings but in
institutions of the social and human sciences run and financed by the state. Their
research includes not only studies of Christianity from historical and socio-
logical perspectives, which may often be considered value-neutral from a reli-
gious point of view, but also the production of confessional theology, although
the latter is much smaller in quantity than the former. Some scholars who are
interested in religion even become committed Christians. In this article I intro-
duce the phenomenon of the production of theology in these circumstances,
articulating the factors that make it possible, analyzing the nature of the theo-
logy produced in this situation and making a theological reflection on the
orientation of theology relevant for Asian countries.
A Description of the Phenomenon

Apart from writings criticizing Christianity from the “advanced” communist
perspective there was only scanty publishing on Christianity in communist
China before 1980; it was all translated works that were usually closely related
to the study of western philosophy. Since the 1980s publishing has been
growing rapidly in terms of both quantity and quality. At the outset the
publications were still mainly translated works on Christianity from the per-
spectives of history, cultural studies, sociology, religious studies and even
theology. Later on articles, books and journals by Chinese scholars appeared in
increasing numbers. In the higher education system religious studies depart-
ments and research institutions were established in some important universities
such as Beijing and Nanjing.1 Nowadays some of these offer religious studies
programmes from undergraduate level up to postgraduate level and publish
1 For details and figures, see He Guanghu, “Religious Studies in China 1978-1999 and
their Connection with Political and Social Circumstances”, Studies in World
Christianity 7(2001), p.28.
21
textbooks. Some distinguished scholars have emerged and have been playing
important roles in the development of religious studies.2 Even in liberal Chinese
societies like Hong Kong and Taiwan it is unusual to find Christian studies
programmes offered and academic books published by the state education
system. It is a significant fact that the academic study of Christianity has become
a formal part of the communist cultural and educational system.
Following Liu Xiaofeng 3 we can divide the research interests of these
scholars into five types:
1. Religious studies: the study of Christianity as one of the world religions from
the perspectives of philosophy, sociology, anthropology and cultural studies.
2. History of Christian thought: the study of patristic, scholastic and contem-
porary Christian thought.
3. History of Christianity: the study of the history of the western churches and
the churches in China.
4. Arts and literature: the study of Christian arts and literature though the ages.
5. Christian theology: the study of Christian doctrines.
Most of these studies can be pursued without a commitment to Christian faith
and most of the discussions are developed in the realm of the human and social
sciences. However, some of the scholars involved agree that in certain circum-
stances to have a genuine understanding of Christian theology proper and to
develop meaningful discourse about it may require a commitment of faith. It is
important, therefore, to analyse the attitude of these scholars towards the
Christian faith.
In their attitude towards Christianity the scholars in Mainland China can be
divided into three groups:4
(A) These scholars take Christianity as one of the world religions. They have no
religious commitment themselves. They regard Christianity as a “foreign” reli-
gion and are concerned to identify those of its features that are different from
Chinese culture. In a sense they are doing comparative study between Christi-
anity and Chinese culture.
(B) These scholars are not committed to the Christian faith either; but they do
not study Christianity from a cultural-nationalistic perspective: their approach is
2 Liu Xiaofeng, “Gongchandang wenhua zhiduzhong de jidujiao xueshu” (Academic

Studies of Christianity in the Cultural System of the Communist Party), in Institute of
Sino-Christian Studies ed., Wenhua Jidutu: Xianxiang yu Lunzheng [Cultural
Christian: Phenomenon and Argument] (Hong Kong: Institute of Sino-Christian
Studies, 1997), p.65. Here after cited as: Cultural Christian, p.85.
3 Liu Xiaofeng, “Academic Studies of Christianity in the Cultural System of the
Communist Party”, in Cultural Christian, pp.65-66.
4 Chen Rongnu, “Dangdai zhongguo zhishifenzi yu hanyu jidujiao xueshu de jiangou”
(Contemporary Chinese Intellectuals and the Construction of the Sino-Christian
Academic) in Cultural Christian, p.262; Li Qiuling, “Shenxue yu wenhua de hudong”
(The Dynamics between Theology and Culture), in Cultural Christian, pp.132-33.
22
more value-neutral. Their frame of reference is shaped by the academic
standards of the social and human sciences. Some of them show an appreciation
of the Christian faith, however.
(C) These scholars have a personal commitment to the Christian faith and
comprise the only group committed to doing Christian theology proper. They do
not do dogmatic theology in a traditional way, however, since they are working
in the realm of the human and social sciences and have to adopt the so-called
religiously unbiased approach required in these academic circles.
Needless to say, the divisions amongst these groups are rather fluid and
their interaction means that people sometimes move from one group to another.
Group A is the largest, then Group B, and Group C is the smallest. Group C is
the most active, however, and includes the most prominent figures of the circle.
They are sometimes called the “Cultural Christians” (wenhua jidutu) because
although they have a personal commitment to the Christian faith many of them
are not baptized members of an institutional church, nor do they have a direct
relationship with any seminary or ecclesiastical institution. This is one of the
reasons why several years ago vigorous debate arose between them and some
scholars in Hong Kong, who mainly work in seminaries and institutions with an
ecclesiastical background.5
A Historical and Sociological Analysis of the Phenomenon

In most Chinese societies Christian studies and especially theology are usually
done in seminaries and institutions which are run by the church or at least have a
Christian background. 6 The special feature of the emergence of scholars
studying Christianity in Mainland China is that they have no relationship with
existing ecclesiastical institutions and are all located in the cultural and
educational system run by the communist government. The development of this
remarkable phenomenon is worth further analysis from the historical and
sociological perspectives.
After the communist government was established in Mainland China in
1949, and especially during the ten years of the Culture Revolution, the
Christian churches were forced to surrender all their educational institutions,
including schools, universities and seminaries, to the state. Subsequently they
had to struggle for their existence and accommodate themselves to their new
5 See Part II of Cultural Christians, pp.96-196, which contains all the articles of debate
emerged in the year 1995-1996.
6 The Baptist University of Hong Kong, for example, was originally established by the
Baptist Church and thus has a department of religion and philosophy; the Chinese
University of Hong Kong has a department or cultural and religious studies (and a
divinity school financed by churches as a constituent part) because Chung Chi College,
one of the member colleges of the university, was formed by members of formerly
Christian universities in Mainland China.
23
situation under an atheist socialist government. The general repression of
religion ceased over 20 years ago and religious freedom is now enshrined in the
constitution. However, since the churches’ academic resources were completely
abolished for such a long time the seminaries in Mainland China have until
recently been struggling to produce clergy to meet the needs of the churches.
They have therefore had no extra resources to devote to research and the
institutional churches have not been able to produce high quality academic
studies.
A humanities faculty is not complete without the study of religions,
however. Ever during the Cultural Revolution, therefore, the study of
philosophy, history and other subjects in secular universities included material
on various religions, though this was usually present so that the religions in
question could be “criticised”. Once ideological control was relaxed, however,
this material began to attract the interest of scholars in its own right.7
Despite the atheist stance of the communists and their eagerness to impose
their ideology on every area of the cultural and educational system, it was an
undeniable fact that communism was a product of the history of western thought.
Its origin therefore had to be studied in that context; and one of the essential
constituents of western thought is Christianity. Indeed, the writing of Marx,
Engels and even Lenin include discussions of creation, original sin, the Trinity
and other elements of the Christian faith. As early as 1956, therefore, the
communist government was already planning to translate 1630 western
philosophical works over a period of 30 years. This was the beginning of the
process of introducing a vast amount of western thought into the Chinese
cultural and educational system. Some older-generation Mainland scholars
learned about Christianity in this way. The more important point, however, is
that it prepared the human resources and experience needed for the translation of
a large number of Christian classics and a large quantity of developing Christian
theology in recent years.8
The cultural and educational system nevertheless provides only a necessary
but not a sufficient reason for the appearance of serious academic Christian
studies in Mainland China. There are plenty of academic resources such as
seminaries and even universities with a Christian background in other Chinese
societies, but none of these societies has ever seen such a dramatic growth in
Christian studies as that which has occurred in Mainland China over the last one
and a half decades. There must, then, be other reasons for this exciting
phenomenon.
7 Chen Cunfu, “Wenhua jidutu xianxiang de zonglan yu fansi” (Review of and

Reflection on the Phenomenon of the “Cultural Christian”), in Cultural Christian, p.9;
He Guanghu, “Religious Studies in China 1978-1999”, pp.22-25.
24
Liu Xiaofeng, a prominent figure in the circle, points out that although
Chinese societies like Hong Kong and Taiwan have never experienced ideo-
logical control like that in communist Mainland China, they rarely produce
writings that are widely transmitted in, and accepted by, the wider circle of the
human and social sciences beyond the ecclesiastical institution; and the reason
for this, in his view, is that Christian studies in these places are mainly
conducted in institutions run by churches. Although the institutional churches
enjoy complete freedom in these societies, they are to a large extent profoundly
influenced by their fundamentalist and evangelical wings and have little
intention of influencing the cultural and academic realms. What is more,
although these liberal societies allow complete religious freedom, based on the
political principle of the separation of church and state, the cultural and edu-
cational system is reluctant to let the institutional church have too much
influence. A further consideration is that because of their Chinese cultural
identity and their market-led economic orientation, these modern secular socie-
ties rarely listen to the voices of Christian intellectuals and they have limited
audiences to make their discourse influential.9
Some Mainland scholars try to explain the phenomenon of which they are a
part from a sociological perspective on the basis of their own experience. As
noted earlier, communism is a product on the basis of western thought. More
specifically, it is an heir of the Enlightenment and thus inherits its revolutionary
character. It is critical of all kinds of tradition and its antireligious stance is only
one of its may “anti” position. 10 Early Chinese communist intellectuals were
inspired by this spirit and succeeded in their political revolution. After the
communist government was established communism was not only the directive
of the political realm, it was also transformed into an intellectual discourse for
justifying and establishing socialist China as a modern national state. As such it
not only combated western imperialism but also took a critical stance towards
traditional Chinese culture as a conservative spirit hindering the acceptance of
“advanced” communist revolutionary thought by ordinary people; but it is in this
way that communism as a stream of western thought has accommodated itself to
traditional Chinese society and become an autocratic ideology with the help of
political power. 11

Communist Party”, in Cultural Christian, p.71.
10 The Enlightenment spirit is critical of religion but not necessarily antireligious. The
antireligious stance of most communist governments may partly originate from their
political motives.
11 Liu Zongkun, “Xiandai yujingzhong de wenhua jidutu xianxiang” (The Phenomenon
of the Cultural Christians in the Modern Chinese Situation), in Cultural Christian,
p.47.
25
There has been something of a foundational shift in the cultural and
academic world in this communist state. Although some radical Marxists still
resist the development of Christian studies, they have in a sense become the
arena for the expression of an inner tension within western culture between
communist and Christian thought rather than of an external tension between an
eastern and a western religious tradition.12 Although it cannot be denied that at
the grass-root level antichristian attitudes still arise mainly from national and
cultural identity, among intellectuals nurtured by the communist government,
who provide the major transformational force in the cultural and educational
system, such attitudes arise more from an Enlightenment spirit than from an
eagerness to sustain a cultural identity.13 At an earlier stage, when the commu-
nist government needed to strengthen its control, it tended to treat those who
embraced traditional Chinese cultural thinking as resisting the politically
orthodox position of communism by a form of cultural nationalism. Meanwhile
although the tension between Christianity and communism can hardly be eased,
communist thought can never completely prevent people from studying
Christianity, as Christianity is in a sense the predecessor of communism in
European intellectual history. Scholars studying Christianity are of course very
unlikely to transform themselves into a dominant political power in the Chinese
national state.14
The communist government has thus completely transformed the ecology
of the cultural and educational system for the sake of making communism an
autocratic ideology in the modern national state of China. One side effect of this
has been the suppression to a certain extent of the exclusivist stance of scholars
embracing traditional Chinese culture in the academic realm. Meanwhile,
through the communist cultural and educational system Christian thought has
silently participated in the making of modern thought in this ancient country.
Once the control of an autocratic ideology was relaxed in the academic realm,
therefore, a wide variety of types of thinking had a more or less equal chance of
developing and gaining popularity among intellectuals. This has been the scene
since 1978, when Deng Xiaoping came to the political foreground and began
gradually implementing his policy of “reform and openness”.
The above description may appear too idealistic, so let us look at the
concrete situation. In 1952 all Christian universities and religion departments in

Communist Party”, in Cultural Christian, p.69.
13 Liu Zongkun, “The Phenomenon of the Cultural Christian in the Modern Chinese
Situation”, in Cultural Christian, pp.47-50.
14 One of the reasons why Cultural Christians keep themselves distant from the
institutional churches, although there is no bar to their becoming involved with them,
may be that want to avoid being suspected of trying to gain popularity among the vast
numbers of Christians in Mainland China.
26
Mainland China were closed. A few Christian classics were still being translated
from the 1950s to the early 1970s, but they did not attract much attention
because ideological control was severe in the academic realm. After the end of
the Cultural Revolution in the late 1970s, a new situation developed. The
communist government admitted the errors of the Cultural Revolution, and the
belief that all religions are antirevolutionary was criticized as an oversimplified
dogma. 15 All kinds of religious studies then began to re-establish normal
development.
By now the scholars who had had formal academic training in religious
studies and theology before the Cultural Revolution had either died or were very
old. 16 Religious studies could now rely only on intellectuals trained in other
disciplines. Of the five areas of research in Christian studies (see the discussion
in the previous section,17 the history of Christian thought (area 2) and the history
of Christianity (area 3) have experienced the fastest growth. This was because
although departments of religion had been closed for a long time some
intellectuals were still able to receive training in philosophy and history even
during the Cultural Revolution, and these people were now better prepared for
study in areas 2 and 3 than in the other areas. Many of the Mainland scholars
recently involved in Christian studies graduated from philosophy and history
departments during the period form the late 1970s to the early 1980s. Some of
them have gradually but successfully transformed themselves into scholars in
the area of religious studies and a few in Christian theology. Some distinguished
figures have had the chance to study overseas in religion and theology
departments and have returned to reinforce the movement. Religion departments
and research institutions thus began to be established in the state education
system from the late 1980s after this generation of scholars gained sufficient
research experience and acquired the relevant positions in the system. The
number of translated works and even original writings they produced then
increased dramatically. Now the younger generation nurtured since the late
1980s is becoming another major dynamic element in the circle.18
An Analysis of the Nature of Theology

A special feature of this phenomenon is that most scholars involved do not learn
Christianity from the institutional churches but mainly through their own
15 For an overview of the discussion in China, see He Guanghu, “Religious Studies in

China 1978-1999”, pp.25-27.
16 Before 1949 the Second World War and the Chinese civil war meant that most people
in Mainland China were unable to receive a formal education.
18 Chen Cunfu, “Review of and Reflection on the Phenomenon of the Cultural Christian”,
in Cultural Christian, pp.13-15.
27
academic studies and experience in translating Christian classics. It is not
surprising that some thereby develop a keen research interest in religious studies.
A small proportion – though the actual number is very few – even has a
commitment to the Christian faith and has developed high-quality theological
discourse. Liu Xiaofeng points out the significance of this phenomenon as
evangelization without missionaries. 19 I would add that they in turn become
missionaries and preach the Christian message to intellectuals without the aids
of the institutional churches. Their writings are transmitted in the human and
social sciences among Chinese intellectuals and the churches in Mainland China
play no part in this process. This is a very special phenomenon in the history of
Christianity, especially in the modern history of Christianity in Asia, and it
directly affects the nature of the theology these people produce.
The importance of one point can hardly be overemphasized for the above
phenomenon to occur: the lessening of ideological control in the communist
state, which has led to a vacuum in both the public sphere and the individual
mind and an openness to all sorts of ideas. In the academic realm a quasi-liberal
situation has developed: all types of religious and cultural thought can be studied
and appreciated, as long as this does not lead to the development of a social
movement. Some scholars involved confess that they suffered from ideological
control in the past and now find consolation in the studying Christianity in the
new situation. As a researcher situated in Hong Kong I should admit that my
interaction with the group of scholars studying religions in Mainland China is
still limited. I can only try to predict the development of their studies, basing my
conjecture on the assumption that ideological control in the academic realm will
not revert to that of the Cultural Revolution. This conjecture is important,
however, for an appreciation of the theological discourse these scholars are and
will be producing, which is relevant for our theological reflection.
As I have stated repeatedly these scholars are working solely in the
academic realm and have very little, if not none, interaction with the institutional
churches. The result is that their studies and even their theology are produced in
the realm of the social and human sciences and make use of the corresponding
language. (Here I am mainly referring to Group C, the “Cultural Christians”)
They are therefore experiencing a great tension as they construct their theology.
On the one hand, if they overemphasize their confessional stance they run the
risk of losing their place in their institutions, as these are supposed to be
religiously unbiased. On the other hand they acknowledge that it is because of
their personal conviction that they are able to produce genuine Christian
theological discourse rather than religious studies discourse. If they withdraw
from this position, they will become members of Group B. This explains why
19 Liu Xiaofeng, Hanyu Shenxue yu Lishi Zhexue [The Sino-Christian Theology and
Philosophy of History] (Hong Kong: Institute of Sino-Christian Studies, 2000).
28
Group C is few in number. They may be criticized by Group A from a cultural-
national position and by Group B from a supposedly religiously unbiased
position. Nevertheless Group C is the most active and influential of the groups.
Indeed it sometimes happens that members of Group A who withdraw from their
cultural-national position and members of Group B who are drawn from the
Christian faith become members of Group C.20
Regardless of the changing inner dynamics amongst the groups and the
number of scholars they comprise one thing is quite certain: they have to pursue
their studies and do their theology in the realm of the human and social sciences
and using the appropriate language. This is not their own choice but a given
condition. Some of their works are “exported” to other Chinese communities,
and scholars working in seminaries and other ecclesiastical settings have
detected the difference in nature in their works. As communication between
scholars in different regions increases rapidly and in view of the fact that the
objective of some of the Mainland “theologians” is to establish a global Chinese
theological circle, some theological reflection on the phenomenon is relevant. I
believe that such reflection will also have significance for theologians in other
Asian countries where Christianity is a religion of foreign origin rather than
indigenous.
A Theological Reflection on the Typology of Theology

As a matter of fact, theological discourse produced in the realm of the human
and social sciences using corresponding languages are not something new in the
western world. Most traditional universities in Europe and private universities in
the USA still have a divinity faculty or theology department. Nonetheless
theologians working in such institutions since the time of the Enlightenment (for
example Friedrich Schleiermacher, John Henry Newman, Edward Farley) have
at times felt the need to produce a discourse of justification for the presence of
their discipline in the modern university system. While theological seminaries
run by Christian denominations operate outside the state education system,
relatively value-neutral religion departments form in new universities, and here
theologians find it difficult to involve a confessional stance in their academic
discourse in the modern secular cultural and educational system. Therefore,
although scholars in divinity faculties and even religion departments continue to
produce Christian theology this has its own distinctive quality and is sometimes
regarded as a type of “theology” different from the traditional confessional dis-
course.
In most Chinese societies there is a long tradition of the study of
Confucianism, Taoism and Buddhism, in university departments of philosophy,
20 Chen Rongnu, “Contemporary Chinese Intellectuals and the Construction of the Sino-
Christian Academic”, in Cultural Christian, p.263.
29
history, literature, sociology, anthropology, cultural studies and of course reli-
gious studies. In such departments these religions are studied differently from
the way they are studied in institutions run by the respective religious commu-
nities. In the latter case scholars can develop confessional discourse freely; but
scholars working in the former institutional settings need to adapt their
discussion to the rules of the above-mentioned university disciplines and may be
required to justify the involvement of their confessional stance. As Liu Xiaofeng
points out, if the study of traditional religions is to occupy a proper place in the
modern cultural and educational institution it has to undergo transformation.
Nevertheless, regardless of their own faith commitment, scholars of traditional
Chinese culture and religions in universities in Chinese societies can still
produce high-quality discourse accepted by intellectuals. The same thing can
apply to the study of Christianity.21
The question of the transformation of the study of religion is a crucial one
for Christian theologians in Mainland China. It also has significance for
theologians elsewhere. Liu Xiaofeng has articulated the importance of producing
this kind of Christian theology in the modern world. In any modern secular state,
whether it is socialist or liberal democratic, the cultural and educational system
(including universities, research institutes and the like) is the major environment
where a religion or culture can find intellectual disciples and form intellectuals
and even produce academic discourse. Nevertheless they are considered to be
private sectors and it is difficult for them to extend their influence beyond their
own religious communities. If the influence of Christian theology is not to be
restricted to the institutional church, then, its discourse must be of a kind that is
acceptable in the academic realm of the modern secular world system, we can
see that Christian studies in the West and the study of traditional Chinese culture
and religions in Chinese societies have constantly been adapting themselves to
that system. Thus they can survive in the system as studies of ancient cultural
heritage and continue to exert influence on intellectuals.
Some Chinese scholars have pointed out that the changes which have
occurred in the last half century in Mainland China are basically a drastic form
of modernization in a relatively short time-span. The communist government is
attempting to domesticate a form of modern political thought (communism) in
order to construct the “orthodox” cultural discourse of the national state in China
(see the descriptions of this phenomenon by Liu Zongkun and Liu Xiaofeng).
Although we are often reminded that we have already entered a post-modern age,
the global project of modernization is still constantly influencing the social,
political and cultural context. We should of course not unreservedly welcome
this process, since it may conceal various forms of colonization. Nevertheless,
whether we like it or not we are facing a situation in which local contexts,
21 Liu Xiaofeng, The Sino-Christian Theology and Philosophy of History, pp.55-57.
30
cultures, traditions and identities are more readily transformed than ever before.
Christian theologians should be conscious of this changing context so that
theology may be able to play a part in the process.
The challenge for theologians working in academic circles in these
circumstances is to produce genuine Christian theology in the realm of the
human and social sciences which does not lose its confessional stance. If we
accept the need to produce this kind of theology, then we need to examine how
this is to be done. The discussion so for seems to give the impression that
theology produced in ecclesiastical settings and theology produced in the
academic realm should exhibit completely different qualities. The former starts
form a confessional stance while the latter must originate in a so-called reli-
giously value-neutral context. However if theology is to be genuinely
“Christian” it must be based in faith in Jesus Christ. It seems, therefore, that
producing a confessional “Christian theology” in the academic realm is basically
impossible. Do we need to insist on a dichotomy between these two types of
discourse, however?
At this point I would like to refer to Hans Frei, a theologian who has spent
a lifetime grappling with this issue. Frei points out that the status of Christianity
in the modern western world has become ambiguous, such that two mutually
exclusive views of Christian theology have emerged. On the one hand,
Christian theology is an instance of a general class or generic type and is therefore to be

subsumed under general criteria of intelligibility, coherence, and truth that it must share with
other academic disciplines.
while on the other hand,
Theology is an aspect of Christianity and is therefore partly or wholly defined by its

relation to the cultural or semiotic system that constitutes that religion. In this view theology
is religion-specific, and whether or not other religions besides Christianity have theologians
or something like them would have to be adduced ease by specific case.
In addition Frei points out that the first view sees theology as a cognate
discipline to philosophy while the second sees it as closer to anthropology and
sociology.22
Both types of theology exhibit problems by their very nature. Since the first
type makes use of some existing philosophical system and its corresponding
language to express Christian thought, it is not speaking first from the point of
view of a believer but tries to describe Christian faith from a perspective that
22 Hans Frei, Types of Christian Theology (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1992),
pp.1-2.
31
may not be commensurable with that faith. The second type, however, commits
itself to the confessional stance and produce genuine Christian discourse. The
problem here is that people outside the confessional circle may not be able to
understand the language of the religious community concerned. Cultural
Christians in Mainland China get into both types of trouble. They want to
produce discourse from a confessional stance but must use the language of the
human and social sciences. They thus suffer from a great intellectual tension.
Frei’s unfinished project Types of Christian Theology may shed light on the
matter. He thinks that Christian theologians in the West as well are continuously
struggling to do theology in the tension between these two poles. Instead of
simply dividing their works into two opposing categories, however, he finds that
it is more appropriate to arrange them into a continuous spectrum with the two
supposedly mutually exclusive positions at the two ends. In his system Frei
articulates five typologies, with type one representing those approaches that are
closer to philosophical disciplines and type five those that are characterised by a
confessional stance. If one is anxious both to maintain one’s own convictions
and produce a discourse that will be understood, then the optimal choice would
probably be the middle point, type three, which would be likely to produce the
most balanced discourse between the two poles.
Christian theologians have in fact from the very beginning been faced with
the challenge of encountering the context they are living in. theology addressed
itself to the Greek and Latin cultures of the Roman world, and then to the
Neoplatonism and Aristotelianism of the medieval period. In recent times it has
been addressing itself to modernism and postmodernism. One of the challenges
to theologians today may be that theology needs to appropriate the language of
the human and social sciences. In other words academic theology may need to
introduce history, sociology, linguistics, philosophy and so on into its discussion,
or even restructure itself to fit the discussion of these disciplines into itself as a
kind of modern science (to use Ernst Troeltsch’s term becoming a
Wissenschaftliche Theologie). The traditional way of doing dogmatics may not
be an appropriate option in some circumstances. The mission of this type of
theology is as follows:
Theology as academic enterprise and as Christian self-description in the Church must be

correlated. Philosophy and theology must be correlated. External and self-description of
Christianity must be correlated, and in each case, two factors are autonomous yet reciprocally
related, but that reciprocity and mutual autonomy is not explained by any more basic structure
of thought under which the two factors would be included.23
23 Hans Frei, Types of Christian Theology, p.38.
32
In line with this aim, Frei points out that the correlation envisaged in type three
must not rest on a tight method, but always remain an experiment and an
imperfect one. Hence this type of theology must endure an ever-present tension,
risking contradiction and confusion but trying to be hermeneutically consistent.24
A theology of this type is “a carefully modulated way of articulating the faith
philosophically but therefore fragmentarily, even though in a fit, descriptive
fashion. At some point, though not too quickly, philosophical agnosticism has to
set in the interest of full-blooded Christian theology.” 25 Nevertheless, “if you’re
not a theologian of type one or two – that is to say, if you are not systematic in
your correlation between general meaning and academic criteria and the specific
self-description – you are not too worried about cutting your philosophical
losses.” 26
Although the academic situation in Mainland China is unique, it is a
worthwhile enterprise for theologians in other Asian countries to consider the
issues arising; they are often neglected in Asian countries where Christian
studies are conducted mainly in Christian institutions. If this were to continue,
Christianity might be doomed to play a role only in the private sector but never
in the public sphere affecting the making of modern culture. The churches might
continue to grow, but Christianity might well remain with the status of a popular
religion, unable to assume its full responsibility for transforming culture. Not
only would it lose its role in the world, but the power of Jesus Christ would
become irrelevant. 27 If the period of communist rule has accidentally and
paradoxically created an appropriate situation for Christian study to become a
formal part of the cultural and educational system of the state, this implies that
the Christian faith already possessed the potential to influence the construction
of modern Chinese thought in Mainland China. Liu Xiaofeng claims that this is
a chance Chinese Christian intellectuals cannot afford to miss. 28 Are Asian
theologians aware of the changing context in which and with which we are
doing theology under the agenda of modernization and are we prepared to give
of our best to the Master? I believe that this is a relevant and important question.
24 Hans Frei, Types of Christian Theology, pp.77-78.

25 Hans Frei, Types of Christian Theology, p.91.
26 Hans Frei, Types of Christian Theology, pp.89-90.
27 Liu Zongkun, “The Phenomenon of the Cultural Christian in the Modern Chinese
Situation”, in Cultural Christian, p.55.
28 Liu Xiaofeng, The Sino-Christian Theology and Philosophy of History, p.4; see also
He Guanghu, “Religious studies in China 1978-1999”, pp.30-31.
33
Historical Reflections on “Sino-Christian Theology”
LI Qiuling
(Translated by Alison Hardie)
“Sino-Christian theology” (Hanyu Shenxue) has now been in existence for ten
years, and has become a notable movement within theology. On the one hand,
because its declared aim is to develop Christian theology, it has attracted
attention in the religious sphere, particularly in that of Protestant Christianity; on
the other hand, because it advertises its humanistic and scholarly content, it has
attracted the attention of academia. In its ten-year development, “Sino-Christian
theology” has given rise to a number of issues which are worth reflecting on.
The Origin and Development of Sino-Christian theology

In June 1994 the first (biannual) issue of Logos & Pneuma: Chinese Journal of
Theology appeared, published by the Research Department of Tao Fong Shan
Christian Centre in Hong Kong (which later became the autonomous Institute of
Sino-Christian Studies). Logos & Pneuma was originally started in 1934 by the
Norwegian missionary Dr. Karl Ludvig Reichelt, the founder of the Tao Fong
Shan Christian Centre. In addition to spreading Christian culture, the publication
primarily focussed on the cross-over between Christian thought and culture and
Chinese traditional culture, and on the integration of academic research on
religion with religious culture. After its 57th issue, it ceased publication in 1979.
Logos & Pneuma is the revived form of the original journal, and is obviously
intended as a continuation of Karl Ludvig Reichelt’s original purpose. But what
is noteworthy is that the words “Sino-Christian theology” were added to the
Chinese title in the beginning; this was the first time that the term “Sino-
Christian theology” appeared in print in Chinese, and thus it can be seen as the
birth of Sino-Christian theology.1 In the foreword to the first issue of the revived
1 Sino-Christian theology should prima facie mean all Christian theology expressed in
Chinese, or Sino-Christian theology in a broad sense. If so, then even disregarding the
historical documents of Nestorian Christianity in the Tang dynasty, there was plenty of
Sino-Christian theology at the turn of the Ming and Qing dynasties, and any Chinese-
language Christian writing thereafter could be included in its scope. But fundamentally, the
great majority of these documents were simply a rendering into Chinese of Western
writings on Christianity, without any intention to represent a ‘Sino-Christian’ form of
theology. It is precisely this to which the proponents of Sino-Christian theology in the
sense in which it is used in this paper are opposed and which they endeavour to avoid. See
Liu Xiaofeng, Hanyu Shenxue yu Lishi Zhexue [The Sino-Christian Theology and Philo-
sophy of History] (Hong Kong: Institute of Sino-Christian Studies, 2000), pp.3-4, 7-8.
35
journal, the publisher gave the following interpretation of Sino-Christian
theology:
The subtitle “A Journal of Sino-Christian Theology” has been added to the revived
Logos & Pneuma; the implications of Sino-Christian theology are, firstly, to develop
Christian theology and its culture by means of the historical philosophical resources and
social experiences of Chinese-language culture, in order to form a Christian theological
culture imbued with Chinese-language thought and culture; secondly, to develop the subject
of theology within the academic field of Chinese-language thought, and to establish a
scholarly dialogue with Confucian, Taoist and Buddhist thought as well as with modernist
schools of thought; nowadays, Chinese-language academia (especially in philosophy,
sociology, history, politics and cultural studies) is actively developing its own academic space
and models, and not following US and European academic paths; Sino-Christian theology
should also develop its own academic space and academic models, so that Christian theology
can become an integral part of Chinese-language culture and thought, and a component within
humanistic scholarship; thirdly, it is the shared enterprise of Chinese-language religious
studies scholars from all social areas within the Chinese-speaking world (the mainland,
Taiwan, Hong Kong, Malaysia, Singapore, and the Chinese communities of North America).2
As for the intention behind Sino-Christian theology, according to the

recollections of Daniel Yeung (Yang Xinan), an active proponent and promoter
of Sino-Christian theology, who at the time was Deputy Head of the Tao Fong
Shan Christian Centre and Director of the Research Department of the Christian
Centre, and became the Executive Director of the Institute of Sino-Christian
Studies at its foundation, it clearly emerged from the strategy of Liu Xiaofeng,
the leading proponent of Sino-Christian theology and later the long-serving
Special Researcher and Academic Director of the Institute of Sino-Christian
Studies. The foreword to the first issue of the revived Logos & Pneuma quoted
above was obviously penned by Liu Xiaofeng. But it was the serendipitous
meeting, mutual understanding and cooperation between Liu Xiaofeng and
Daniel Yeung, as controller of an operating budget, which ultimately allowed
Sino-Christian theology to emerge. Daniel Yeung’s memoirs can help us to
understand better the aims of Sino-Christian theology. After recalling his
meeting and discussion with Liu Xiaofeng, he writes:
What surprised and amazed me at the time was his suggestion that the development of
Chinese theology – in addition to the traditional church route – could, in China’s particular
2 Logos & Pneuma, 1 (June 1994), pp.8-9. In 2000, Logos & Pneuma’s Chinese subtitle
was changed again to “A forum on Christian culture”, which does not contradict the
intention of Sino-Christian theology: “to promote research in Sino-Christian culture based
on Sino-Christian theology and mutual inspiration and advancement with church-based
research in theology and religious studies in humanistic academia.” (See “To the new
century” in Logos & Pneuma 12 [2000])
36
circumstances, combine the shared endeavours of Chinese academia, and the development of
humanistic scholarly research into Christianity, with the aim of systematising and
rationalising Christian religious studies, so that it would be recognised as part of the
contemporary Chinese humanist tradition, and could thus have a fundamental effect on
society and culture.
From then on I kept pondering on the relationship between scholars outside the church
and the development of church theology. Considered from the angle of the history of the
development of theology, how had ordinary believers within the church or indeed scholars
outside the church reformed the traditions of church theology, and how had they acted as a
progressive force at theological turning points in each historical period?
How could church theology and such humanistic Christian religious studies advance
their mutual understanding and cooperation? That contemporary Chinese academia should
spontaneously reconsider the essence and value of Christianity was, from the point of view of
missionary history in China, an unprecedented historical moment: how should we respond to
it?
What are the points of contact between the understanding of Christianity among Chinese
academics from the 1980s onwards and intellectuals in the Tang, Song, Yuan, Ming, Qing and
the 20th century?
When some Chinese scholars take part in translating canonical Christian works, through
their Chinese and Western humanistic training together with their specialisation in Eastern
and Western languages, will they become the interpreters of these classics, and restructure
Sino-Christian thought? When the rich philosophical resources of the Chinese language meet
the non-indigenous thought system of Christianity, how will they adopt, change or create new
ideas, thus enriching Chinese thought itself? 3
The appearance of Sino-Christian theology was undoubtedly an attempt to

respond to these questions. But it is evident that it is by no means the “Sino-
Christian theology” in the broad sense which can be understood by looking at
the surface meaning of the Chinese phrase literally “Chinese-language
theology”, namely Christian theology expressed in the Chinese language. In the
thinking of the two creators of Sino-Christian theology, these obvious
characteristics should be apparent:
(1) A new understanding of Chinese language: “Chinese language” when

combined with “theology” no longer denotes merely a system of linguistic
symbols, but also includes the rich historical cultural resources which it
expresses.
(2) The humanistic and academic nature of Sino-Christian theology: although
Sino-Christian theology is still the theology of Christianity, it no longer
3 Daniel Yeung ed., Hanyu Shenxue Chuyi [Preliminary Studies on Chinese Theology]
(Hong Kong: Institute of Sino-Christian Studies, 2000), pp.viii-ix.
37
insists on the precondition of belief, but emphasises the academic study of
Christian theology from a humanistic starting-point; coinciding with new
developments in the study of Christianity in mainland Chinese academia, it
can even be regarded as a friendly invitation extended to mainland scholars.
(3) “The aim of Sino-Christian theology”: the establishment and development of
Christian theology remains the aim of Sino-Christian theology, but it is
noteworthy that this aim is no longer that of “bringing China to Christ” so
familiar in the history of Christian proselytising, but that of the entry of
Christian theology into mainstream Chinese culture; it is the enriching of the
resources of Chinese-language thought by means of Christian theology, and
Christian theology’s incorporation into Chinese humanistic scholarship.
Somewhat later, in the second issue of Logos & Pneuma (spring 1995), Liu
Xiaofeng published an article entitled “Sino-Christian Theology in the Modern
Situation” (Xiandai Yujingzhong de Hanyu Jidu Shenxue), which he
subsequently expanded into the book The Sino-Christian Theology and
Philosophy of History (Hanyu Shenxue yu Lishi Zhexue). He Guanghu, who had
been a visiting scholar at the Institute of Sino-Christian Studies in 1995, while
he was a research fellow at the Research Institute on World Religions of the
China Academy of Social Sciences, published two successive articles in the
Canadian Chinese-language Regent Chinese Journal (Weizhen xuekan), entitled
“The basis and significance of Sino-Christian theology” (Hanyu shenxue de yi ju
yu yi yi) and “The methodology and approach of Sino-Christian theology”
(Hanyu Shenxue de Fangfa yu Jinlu). 4 In these articles, which were later
included in Modernity, Change in Tradition and Theological Reflections 5 and
Preliminary Studies on Chinese Theology (Hanyu Shenxue Chuyi) respectively,
He Guanghu undertook a quite comprehensive discussion of Sino-Christian
theology.
Although the emphases of Liu Xiaofeng’s and He Guanghu’s arguments
were different, their basic line of thinking was identical, particularly in their
discussion of the basis of Sino-Christian theology. In their view, the foundation
of Christian theology is the word of God itself (the Word), but the Word can
only become known through its inspiration of human language. Thus, language
is the vector of theology, and the inspiring Word of God must be expressed
through human language in order for it to be accepted by man. In principle, all
languages can equally express Christian theology. Liu Xiaofeng used the
4 Regent Chinese Journal, (1996) no.2 & no.3.

5 Liu Xiaofeng, Xie Pinran and Zeng Qingbao eds., Xiandaixing, Chuantong Bianqian yu
Shenxue Fansi: de yi, er jie Hanyu Shenxue Yuanzhuo Huiyi Lunwenji [Modernity,
Change in Tradition and Theological Reflections: a Collection of Papers Presented at
the First and Second Han-Yu Theologians Round-table Symposium] (Hong Kong: Tao
Fong Shan Christian Center, 1999).
38
following diagram to explain the tripartite relationship between the Christ
event, Christian theology in its ideal form, and historical Christian theology:
The Christ event

(ideal) Christian theology

---------------------------------------------------
(historical) Greek-language theology – Latin-language theology – European-
language theology – Sino-Christian theology
In this diagram, the central position is held by “Christian theology in its ideal
form”. According to Liu Xiaofeng’s interpretation, this is “the Word of God
itself, and only God himself is in possession of theology in its ideal form”; “the
Christ event” is “the historical revelation of God in person”; any ethno-historical
Christian theology is predicated on the Christ event, and is “the concrete
historical expression within the parameters of ethnic cultural-linguistic exper-
ience” of Christian theology in its ideal form. 6 Thus, theologians of Sino-
Christian theology should not view Christian theology, along the lines of
“indigenous theology”, as Western theology, and merely aim to substitute the
Chinese language for a Western language;
As regards the possibility of Christian theology in Chinese, the basic issue is that if the
cultural-linguistic experience of Chinese-language thought is to accept and express the Christ
event and to acknowledge Christ, Sino-Christian theology must, after a delay of several
hundred years, consider the re-foundation of its expression, and emerge from the ideological
straitjacket of indigenisation or sinicisation, to face directly the Christ event.7
In this sense, the relationship between Sino-Christian theology and other

historical Christian theologies is one of equal “co-existence”.
From the point of view of the vertical relationship (the faith relationship) between Christian
theology in its ideal form and in its historical forms, the relationship between Sino-Christian
theology and other theologies in history is one of co-existence. There are no early- or late-comers
to the Word; all Christian theologies in history are faith events, and their co-existence achieves the
shared accumulation of the cultural-linguistic experience of Christian thought.8
He Guanghu’s argument further increased the emphasis on language. In this
connection, he put forward the concept of “mother-tongue theology”. In his
6 For the diagram and quotation, see Liu Xiaofeng, The Sino-Christian Theology and
Philosophy of History, p.89.
7 Liu Xiaofeng, The Sino-Christian Theology and Philosophy of History, p.90.
39
view, “In general, theologians mostly use the language of their native land, or at
least the language that they mainly use in particular situations, to carry out their
theological writing.” This language can be referred to as their “mother-tongue.
Virtually all theological writing is in the theologian’s own mother-tongue, or in other

words, theology is basically all “mother-tongue” theology.9
What is known as mother-tongue theology is a theology expressed through the

theologian’s own mother-tongue, which has as its material the existential experience and
cultural resources expressed in this language, and principally serves the users of this
language.10
In this sense, the equality of Sino-Christian theology with other theologies

becomes reality. “What is known as Sino-Christian theology is no more or less
than a member of the great family of ‘mother-tongue theologies’, just like
English-, German-, French- or Spanish-language theology.”11
Additionally, He Guanghu has also pointed out the significance of using the
term “Sino-Christian theology”, and defined the methodology and future
direction of Sino-Christian theology. For example, in comparison with indigen-
ous theology, contextual theology etc., Sino-Christian theology’s “inclusivity is
greater and it is more neutral in its values”, and it is better able to embody “the
richness of the cultural content borne by the Chinese language over millennia”,
and so on. Methodologically, Sino-Christian theology should maintain the
“instrumental principle” that language “is always simply a vector and a material,
and cannot be used to alter religion”; the “openness principle” whereby it “must
not only create but even more must absorb, must not only produce original
writing but also translate, must not only develop but also collate, must not only
be retentive but also be open”; and the “contextual principle” whereby “the
‘existential experience’ and ‘cultural resources’ of which Sino-Christian
theology is formed should have no temporal or spatial limits, and should not be
limited to the past while rejecting the present, nor limited to mainland China
while rejecting overseas elements.” The future direction of Sino-Christian
theology should be “from inward to outward”, “from general to particular”,
“bottom up” and so on.12
The Sino-Christian theology championed by Liu Xiaofeng, He Guanghu,
Daniel Yeung and others is still fundamentally a form of Christian theology, and
not Christianity as an object of study. However, the humanistic and academic
status emphasised in Sino-Christian theology has much in common with the
9 Daniel Yeung ed., Preliminary Studies on Chinese Theology, p.26.

12 See Daniel Yeung ed., Preliminary Studies on Chinese Theology, pp.23-53.
40
academic study of Christianity in Mainland China, and this has done much to
call attention to Sino-Christian theology.13 In the rise or revival of the study of
Christianity taking place in Mainland China at the present time, apart from a few
scholars who have received specialist education and training in religious studies,
most researchers have come to the study of Christianity from philosophy,
history, literature or other humanities subjects. Many mainland scholars may be
indifferent to the rallying-cry of “Sino-Christian theology”, and may not approve
of applying the label of Sino-Christian theology to their research, but they can
acknowledge and even accept the advocacy of Sino-Christian theology. They
have no intention to establish or develop a theology for Christianity, but are
endeavouring to carry out objective research into Christian belief, doctrine,
theology, and history, and into the influence of Christianity on various areas of
society, to explore the possibility or paths of dialogue, exchange or even
integration between Christian thought and Chinese culture, and so on. This is
precisely what the proponents of Sino-Christian theology also advocate. Thus
the work of the two parties may to a great extent overlap, providing a foundation
for further cooperation. The academic study of Christianity in the Mainland at
present is scattered and inadequately resourced; its links with the outside world
are limited, and research materials are in short supply. The introduction of Sino-
Christian theology has had an obviously beneficial effect on this situation, and
the cooperation between the two parties has been mutually stimulating; this has
led some people to include within the scope of Sino-Christian theology the study
of Christianity in mainland academia.14 Therefore, the account of Sino-Christian
theology which follows will also inevitably incorporate, with reservations, some
research into Christianity currently being carried out in the mainland.
After its introduction, with the active encouragement of its proponents plus
the positive response of Mainland academia, Sino-Christian theology can be said
to have borne remarkable fruit.
The Hong Kong Institute of Sino-Christian Studies does not have its own
corps of researchers, but has hosted several dozen invited scholars; from a
small-scale start, the number of researchers invited to Hong Kong as short-term
visiting scholars or guest lecturers currently stands at 10 a year, so that there is
an ever-increasing contingent of academics cooperating in Sino-Christian
theology. Moreover, the Institute also subsidises Mainland master’s and doctoral
students doing research on Christianity to come to Hong Kong on short-term
courses, providing them with bursaries; there are now as many as 18 higher
13 In fact, the original intentions of Sino-Christian theology included making use of the
ideas of academics in China; see Daniel Yeung’s memoirs quoted above.
14 Indeed, if we understand “theology” as the study of a god or gods, the objective study of
the Christian faith can also be called a kind of theology. In so far as it is research carried
out into Christianity from outside the organised Church and in an academic manner, it is
basically compatible with Sino-Christian theology.
41
education institutions in the mainland which are in receipt of such subsidies, and
about 75 bursaries are awarded every year. Many of these research students will
be future co-workers on Sino-Christian theology.
The Institute of Sino-Christian Studies has been active in organising and
participating in international conferences exploring the development of Sino-
Christian theology, such as the 3 round tables on Sino-Christian theology held in
1985, 1987 and 2005, and it actively promotes cooperation between Mainland
academia and Christian academic institutions in Hong Kong, Macao, and
Taiwan and in other countries, to widen the influence of Sino-Christian theology.
The Institute has also established the “Tao Fong Academic Awards” for the study
of Christianity in the mainland (consisting of the “Xu Guangqi Prize” for an
original scholarly publication and the “Karl Ludvig Reichelt Prize” for a
scholarly translation) and a prize for an outstanding thesis by a research student
in Christian studies, in order to encourage academic research into Christianity at
different levels and of different types.
The outstanding product of the Institute is its massive Chinese Academic
Library of Christian Thought (CALCT), comprising the “Ancient Series”,
“Modern Series” and “Research Series”, with translations of and introductions
to classical works of foreign Christian scholarship through the ages, of which
more than one hundred have already appeared. The great majority have also
been published in simplified-character editions in the Mainland to great acclaim,
and most of the translators are Mainland scholars. In addition the Institute has
published collections such as the Tao Fong Translation Series. The Institute’s
periodicals such as Logos & Pneuma and the Bulletin of the Institute of Sino-
Christian Studies provide a forum for Chinese scholars of Christianity in the
Mainland, Hong Kong, Macao, Taiwan, North America and elsewhere. They are
the leading periodicals in Sino-Christian studies, and under the banner of Sino-
Christian theology they cover subjects ranging from the Bible and the ideas of
theologians through the ages to all sorts of hot topics in the modern world; in
fact they are quite comprehensive in their coverage.
All these activities have greatly advanced Christian studies in the Mainland,
and have attracted wide attention and had positive effects both in China and
overseas. The term “Sino-Christian theology” has even been accepted by some
churches. Naturally, as well as positive acclaim and participation, some doubts
have been expressed. In 1995 and 1996, a debate took place in the pages of
Hong Kong’s Christian Times (Shidai Luntan) under the heading of “cultural
Christians”, relating to research on Sino-Christian theology, in which eight
scholars from Hong Kong, the mainland and Taiwan took part; subsequently the
Institute of Sino-Christian Studies invited more than twenty scholars to write
about this debate for collective publication in 1997 as Cultural Christian:
Phenomenon and Argument (Wenhua Jidutu: Xianxiang yu Lunzheng). In 2000,
the Institute again invited twenty scholars to contribute articles discussing the
42
advocacy of Sino-Christian theology and the resulting debate, which were
published in Preliminary Studies on Chinese Theology.
However that may be, in a certain sense, the aims which Sino-Christian
theology set for itself at the outset, namely “to develop Christian theology and
its culture by means of the historical philosophical resources and social
experiences of Chinese-language culture, in order to form a Christian theo-
logical culture imbued with Chinese-language thought and culture” and “to
develop the subject of theology within the academic field of Chinese-language
thought… so that Christian theology can become an integral part of Chinese-
language culture and thought, and a component within humanistic scholarship”
are gradually becoming reality.
Reflections on Sino-Christian Theology

In 1993 the Tao Fong Shan Christian Centre was simply one of many private
academic institutions in Hong Kong, with no special status, and its Research
Department, later (in 1995) to become the Institute of Sino-Christian Studies,
rarely had any particular academic influence in Hong Kong, with its many
theological colleges. Although Liu Xiaofeng had made something of a mark
academically before he raised the topic of “Sino-Christian theology”, his
authority in the theological field was limited. But that the rallying-cry of Sino-
Christian theology, once issued, could elicit such an immense response, have a
number of noteworthy aspects.
In the first place, “Sino-Christian theology” responded to a social need.
From the 1980s onwards, China entered on an era of reform and opening up.
Specifically as regards Christianity, the policy of freedom of religious belief was
gradually reinstated and improved, normal church activities were revived, there
was a sharp increase in the number of believers, the average educational level of
believers rose, and a strong desire to understand Christian theology emerged.
From another angle, China’s opening up was, in a certain sense, in actual fact an
opening to the West, and in these circumstances, cultural exchange between
China and the West reached an unprecedented height; it was inevitable that
Christianity, as the basis for Western culture, should be seen as something which
people not only wanted but needed to understand. In other words, the interest of
Chinese society at large in getting to know and understand Christianity increased
day by day. This interest went far beyond anything that could be satisfied by the
preaching of ministers in church. Moreover, in the particular social and his-
torical situation of the Chinese Church, there was a severe shortage of clergy
and particularly of religious theorists; with the rapid increase in the number of
believers, the clergy were fully occupied in pastoral work and were quite unable
to satisfy the demand of society at large for knowledge of Christianity. To some
extent this demand stimulated the revival of research into Christianity in
Chinese academia from the 1980s onwards in response. The development of
43
Sino-Christian theology at this point and its focus on the Chinese mainland can
be described as extremely opportune and appropriate.
Secondly, the fact that Sino-Christian theology was not predicated on
belief, but aimed to undertake humanistic, academic research into Christianity,
lessened to some extent the opposition between Church and non-Church,
believer and non-believer, and also between different denominations within
Christianity; it provided a platform for scholars of different beliefs and
viewpoints to explore issues together. Fundamentally, belief is arbitrary and
exclusive. Innumerable religious conflicts and even wars in the past have arisen
from articles of faith which were unacceptable to one side or the other, as well as
from underlying political and economic interests. Even within the same faith,
different interpretations could still give rise to sharp controversies, even to
ferocious strife. Religious tolerance is a modern phenomenon in the West, and
inter-faith dialogue is an even newer event. The rise of Sino-Christian theology
is an embodiment of this zeitgeist. It not only encourages dialogue among the
Catholic, Protestant, Orthodox and other branches of Christianity, but also
promotes dialogue between Christianity and other faiths, and even dialogue
between people of faith and those of none. This broad inclusively is a funda-
mental reason for the rapid increase in the numbers of those cooperating with it.
Thirdly, Sino-Christian theology advocates making full use of the his-
torical-cultural resources of the Chinese language, to understand Christian
theology from a basis of the existential experience of Chinese-speakers; this is
obviously helpful in reducing the gulf between the Christian and Chinese
cultures. The Chinese and Christian cultures are two different cultures which
have developed separately with their own characteristics in two distinct
geographical areas, whose ways of thought and values are in some ways
incompatible. Since the introduction of Christianity into China, there have been
frequent clashes between the two. The Jesuit missionaries in the late Ming –
early Qing attempted to interpret the Christian faith through certain concepts
from traditional Chinese culture, and did a lot to advance their integration, but
the subsequent “Rites Controversy” brought all their efforts to nought. After the
beginning of the modern period, Christian culture became the culture of power;
although its spread in China was obviously successful in a purely cultural sense,
further alienation was engendered by its forcible propagation. The “indigeni-
sation” movement commenced by the Protestant church in China from the end
of the 19th century was an attempt to reduce this alienation. Liu Xiaofeng has
said that “the ‘indigenised’ theology of which he is a critic is of course also a
type of Sino-Christian theology”, 15 but from another angle, Sino-Christian
theology can also be seen as a form of “indigenised” theology, although what it
“indigenises” is not just the church’s surface organisation, liturgy and language,
but its inward thought and existential experience.
15 Liu Xiaofeng, The Sino-Christian Theology and the Philosophy of History, p.4.
44
Fourthly, Sino-Christian theology advocates the introduction of Christian
theology into mainstream Chinese culture, so that Christian theology can
become an integral part of Chinese-language culture and thought, and a
component within humanistic scholarship; this is in line with the current open
spirit of Chinese society. Over all, Chinese culture is an open system, and
Chinese culture today is in practice the outcome of multi-ethnic cultural
integration. The absorption of an external culture is bound to introduce new life
into Chinese culture; the introduction of Buddhism is often cited as a successful
example of this. From the beginning of last century, China has been on an
ideological roller-coaster; an important feature of this was the concept of the
“orientalisation of Western learning”. But the interesting thing is that while
China gradually accepted Western ideas such as science, democracy and so on in
the wake of the May Fourth Movement, it still excluded their root, namely
Christianity. China today is once again in a period of ideological adjustment.
Whether Christian thought, values and indeed theology can assist the spiritual
development of Chinese society today is indeed an issue worth exploring and
also a direction worth pursuing.
The development and achievements of Sino-Christian theology should be
affirmed. However, Sino-Christian theology in itself exhibits some problems
which deserve further consideration. These problems derive not only from the
original intention of the founders of Sino-Christian theology, because the
development of Sino-Christian theology is still being affected by these original
intentions, but also from Sino-Christian theology’s subsequent course of
development, because this course cannot after all be constrained by the original
intentions of the founders.
First is the relationship between Sino-Christian theology and the “tradition”
of Christian theology.
The origin and development of Sino-Christian theology are largely
inseparable from Liu Xiaofeng and He Guanghu’s theoretical views on its
legitimacy, direction, methodology etc. However, in the views of these two
thinkers, we may detect a common problem, which is that they have
“deliberately” evaded the “tradition”.16
In arguing for the legitimacy of Sino-Christian theology, Liu Xiaofeng has

put forward the concept of “Christian theology in its ideal form” which is “the
Word of God itself, and only God himself is in possession of theology in its
ideal form”, while the Christ event is “the historical revelation of God in
16 This “evasion of tradition” refers purely to Liu Xiaofeng and He Guanghu’s views on
Sino-Christian theology. In practice, they have both organised a large-scale
compendium of Christian theological works in translation, as well as both carrying out a
great deal of detailed research on the Christian theological tradition.
45
person”, and all theologies in their historical forms are “the concrete historical
expression within the parameters of ethnic cultural-linguistic experience” of the
Christ event. To put it another way, they are the expression of the Word of God
through human language. Therefore, there is no need for Sino-Christian
theology to use one form of human language to replace another form, nor to
“sinicise” or “indigenise” the expression of another form of human language;
the Word of God should rather be directly received and expressed in the form of
human language known as Chinese. Thus, the rich historical tradition of
Christian theology has been lightly set aside by Liu Xiaofeng. Proponents of
Sino-Christian theology must “directly face the Christ event” in the light of their
own existential experience.
He Guanghu’s argument is based on language being the vector of theology.
If language is the vector of theology, the revealed Word of God must be
expressed through human language, in order to be received by man. Any
language may equally express Christian theology. Since “virtually all theological
writing is in the theologian’s own mother-tongue”, then Sino-Christian theology
“is no more or less than a member of the great family of “mother-tongue
theologies”, just like English-, German-, French- or Spanish-language theo-
logy”. In fact, this line of argument has no fundamental distinction from that of
Liu Xiaofeng; their underlying theoretical basis is that of the Platonic “idea”.
The Word of God is the single, ideal, unchanging, pure “idea” of theology, and
the historical, actual theologies are varying manifestations of this idea. Relative
to the idea, all manifestations are deficient, and the manifestations differ among
themselves only quantitatively. In the same way, the “tradition” of Christian
theology has no particular status either.
However, “directly facing the Christ event” is merely a fine ideal, which
can never be realised.
“Christian theology in its ideal form”, as the Word of God itself, can only be
possessed by God, and therefore can never be grasped by man. In order to be
understood by man, the Word of God must “become flesh”. In a certain sense, in
Liu Xiaofeng’s logic, we can understand “the Christ event” as the “incarnation” of
Christian theology in its ideal form. However, this “incarnation” of the Word is
not abstract flesh but entirely specific flesh, that of the Aramaic-speaking Jesus of
Nazareth. The Christ event took place in a specific language environ-ment, and
without this language environment we would have no knowledge of the Christ
event. When we “face” the Christ event today, we must do this through the New
Testament, which took shape in a specific language environ-ment. The process
whereby the New Testament became canonised as part of Holy Scripture lasted
for several centuries; in this process, the Christian “tradition” was decisive in
determining which writings became canonical. The Bible did indeed form the
scriptural basis of the Christian tradition, and in a certain sense the Bible itself
was also a product of this “tradition”. In later times, while Chinese-speakers
46
remained unaware or barely aware of the Christ event, Christianity had already
developed a rich tradition, and amassed a vast quantity of literature; this is a fact
which today’s Sino-Christian theology cannot and should not avoid in “facing”
the Christ event. The present writer pointed out in a previous paper:
Language is the cradle of existential experience; the Christ event is no exception but
must also exist within language. In other words, in actuality there has never been a “general”
Christian theology; from the start, some form of human language has always been the vector
of theology. To take this further, Sino-Christian theology is not the result of Chinese-speaking
Christians “facing the Christ event”, but the result of Latin-, English-, German-, French- or
Spanish-speaking theologians preaching the gospel in China. Alternatively one may say that
the Chinese initially received the revelation from God not directly but indirectly through
Westerners. Certainly “there are no early- or late-comers to the Word”, but the “Word” which
we hear is initially not the Word of God but of man.17
In expanding his article “Sino-Christian theology in the modern language

environment” into the book The Sino-Christian Theology and Philosophy of
History, Liu Xiaofeng added the following passage:
Of course, the Word of God is not outside the realm of language; it is the living, vibrant
Word, the Word of the Holy Spirit itself, the Word which has uncovered the sinful nature of
all historical words (writings and traditions).
“Language” here seems not to mean human language, because it has the ability
to “uncover the sinful nature of all historical words”. But Liu Xiaofeng does in
fact give some affirmation to the Western Christian theological tradition:
There are no early- or late-comers to the Word, but there are early- or late-comers in
preaching the Word; the history of Western and Eastern Christian theology is the prehistory of
Sino-Christian theology. Sino-Christian theology must enter into this history, and inherit its
multiple strands. The starting-point of Sino-Christian theology’s history of ideas lies of course
in the New Testament and the Greek and Latin fathers of the church, and not in the Six
Classics and the pre-Qin philosophers. To reject the cultural-linguistic experience of Western
Christian theology as belonging only to the West may be a “rational trick” played by the
national soul of Chinese thought with the help of indigenisation.18
Obviously, Liu Xiaofeng is here making some concessions to the Christian
theological tradition, but he is still as hostile as ever to indigenisation.
Next comes the relationship between Sino-Christian theology and
traditional Chinese culture.
17 “Some thoughts on Sino-Christian theology”, in Daniel Yeung ed., Preliminary Studies

on Chinese Theology, pp.192-193.
47
In Liu Xiaofeng’s thinking, the position of traditional Chinese culture is
even more hopeless. Logically speaking, since he emphasises that Sino-
Christian theology is expressed in the Chinese language, and states that
“Chinese language” refers not merely to a system of linguistic symbols but also
includes the “existential experience and cultural resources” which it expresses, it
should therefore be implicit in Sino-Christian theology that it values traditional
Chinese culture. However, while on the one hand Liu Xiaofeng praises the fact
that Chinese-language thought has amassed an extremely rich cultural-linguistic
experience, providing unlimited prospects for Sino-Christian theology, on the
other hand he also stresses that ideological resources are not concentrated in the
ethnic system of thought. In his view
Christian theology is faith-based rational reflection on and expression of the Word of

God; this reflection and expression, as an act of belief, takes place within a particular ethno-
historical and cultural-linguistic experience; considered in its historical form, it takes no more
than two basic forms: either to base Christian theology on the ideological system and its
expressive concept(s) which the ethnic language/culture already has, or else to seek the
linguistic expression of the existential experience of the recognition of Christ outwith the
existing ethnic system of thought.19
The first form, Liu Xiaofeng describes as follows: “From the first group of
scholar-official theologians to the present, many Chinese-language theologians
in succession have expressed their belief in Christ through a combination of the
ideological system of Confucianism, Taoism or Chinese Buddhism with
Western-language Christian theology”; he calls this the “ethnic principle” form.
The second form “breaks through the ethnic system of thought and religious
tradition, and directly expresses awareness of the Christ event in the language of
existence”; he calls this “the embodied interpretative form”. It is the latter which
Liu Xiaofeng advocates.
The good news of the Christ event is proclaimed to the primordial existential experience of
the individual; salvation through the Word of God in Christ comes to individual lives in an ethno-
historical context, and not to an ethnic “principle”; an understanding of the Christ event must be
rooted in the direct, primordial existential experience of the individual, and not in an ethnic world
view or view of life. Christian theology should be the outcome of the encounter of the Word of
God with the existential experience of man and not with an ethnic system of thought.20
Here he clearly exhibits a rejection of the traditional Chinese culture represented
by Confucianism, Taoism and Buddhism. At the same time, because of his
rejection of the “ethnic”, “man” here is not “Man” with a capital letter, but man
as individual, and it is the existential experience of the individual which
19 Liu Xiaofeng, The Sino-Christian theology and Philosophy of History, p.93.

20 Liu Xiaofeng, The Sino-Christian theology and Philosophy of History, p.94.
48
encounters the Word of God.
It is indeed true that, as Liu Xiaofeng says, the ideological resources of the
Chinese language “are not just concentrated in the ethnic system of thought”,
but “tradition” is not necessarily maintained simply through a “system of
thought”; it can equally well show its great strength through the everyday
psychology and way of thinking of a people. In a certain sense, “tradition” is
precisely an organisation and summarising of “existential experience” in
different periods, which is also imperceptibly present in contemporary
“existential experience”. It is certainly unacceptable wilfully to force a
comparison between the Confucian, Taoist or Buddhist systems of thought and
Christian theology in this way, but proponents of Sino-Christian theology, born
and bred in this tradition, neither can nor should cast aside their “ethnicity”, nor
cast aside the influence which tradition exerts on them by various means, and
“directly” face the Christ event purely in the light of their own individual
existential experience. Individual existential experience will inevitably bear an
ethnic stamp. In a certain sense, the legitimacy and vitality of Sino-Christian
theology lies precisely in this “ethnic tradition”. In this sense, the proponents of
Sino-Christian theology can only turn their backs on their own cultural tradition,
and face the Christ event through the medium of the Christian tradition and in
the light of their own individual existential experience. This may form
something of a constraint on Sino-Christian theology, but it is also a valuable
strength of Sino-Christian theology.
Third is the relationship between Sino-Christian theology and the
universality of Christianity.
Christianity is a religion which emphasises its universality and which is
also a universal religion. The Christian God is not a national god but the god of
the whole world; He is not a god who blesses a particular people to make them
superior to all other nations, but one who wishes to save the entire human race.
Although Christianity had a particular geographical origin, right from the start it
“went out over all the world”, “preaching the gospel to all nations”. In this
sense, Christian theology ought to make use of the cultural resources of all
peoples, and should serve every member of every race.
But this is just an ideal Christian theology. One may say that such a
theology has never existed. What has existed and continues to exist is a specific
form of theology which makes use of the cultural resources of a particular ethnic
group and serves a particular ethnic group, or, as He Guanghu describes
“mother-tongue theology”:
What is known as mother-tongue theology is a theology expressed through the

theologian’s own mother-tongue, which has as its material the existential experience and
cultural resources expressed in this language, and principally serves the users of this
language.
49
Though one might say that the historical “Greek-language theology” and “Latin-
language theology” were relatively “universal”, today’s “mother-tongue
theologies” already form quite a large family.
However, the particularity of “mother-tongue theology” has never
obscured the universality of Christian theology. On the contrary, Christian
theology, in the course of its spread, has generally been able to integrate
successfully with local cultures, thus giving birth to “new forms” of Christian
theology, while at the same time ensuring its own universality. It is in this that
the great vitality of Christianity lies.
As a relatively new member in the great family of “mother-tongue
theologies”, the particularity of Sino-Christian theology is that it is a theology
which primarily serves Chinese-speakers, with the Chinese language as its
“vector” and with “the existential experience and cultural resources expressed in
the Chinese language as its materials”. However, it should be noted that this
particularity of Sino-Christian theology equally cannot obscure the universality of
Christian theology. The fact that it has the Chinese language as its vector is the
fundamental characteristic that makes Sino-Christian theology Sino-Christian
theology, but although Chinese is one of the most widely-spoken languages in the
world, the number of non-native speakers who can use Chinese is extremely
limited. If its only vector is the Chinese language, that is bound to affect the
influence and currency of Sino-Christian theology. Therefore, Sino-Christian
theology ought to try to use other languages apart from Chinese as vectors. Use of
the existential experience and cultural resources expressed in Chinese as its
materials is the basis on which Sino-Christian theology is founded, but to give
due attention to the existential experience and cultural resources expressed in
other languages is equally vital to the development of Sino-Christian theology.
Particularly in the circumstances of globalisation, when the world has become a
“global village”, human existence is becoming more and more unified, and the
cultural-linguistic particularity of existential experience is becoming weaker and
weaker, this point is even more important. Primarily serving Chinese-speakers is
the objective of Sino-Christian theology, but it should also look further a field: as
a Christian theology, Sino-Christian theology should also serve the whole human
race. Sino-Christian theology ought also to pay attention to the ever more urgent
issues affecting the whole human race, such as environmental pollution, the crisis
of natural resources, peace, cloning, etc. Sino-Christian theology should not just
be talking to itself within a closed circle of Chinese-speakers, but should speak
out in all form on all matters with which Christian theology should be concerned.
Fourth is the relationship between Sino-Christian theology and the
organised Church.
Sino-Christian theology emphasises academic research, and advocates
inter-denominational, inter-faith, and inter-doctrinal dialogue; it believes in the
50
encounter between the existential experience of the individual and the Word of
God, so it will inevitably keep a fairly large distance from the organised Church.
However, as a result of the particular situation of the Chinese Church at
present, and against the social background of the substantial growth in the
number of Christians in China, many believers have become aware of
Christianity not through the Church but through Sino-Christian theology, and the
influence of Sino-Christian theology is all the greater among Christians of a
higher educational level. This is the reason both for the wide acceptance of Sino-
Christian theology, and for the anxiety of some people from the organised
Church. How to ensure that its own development can be acknowledged or
accepted by the organised Church and how to have an influence on the organised
Church are issues worth paying attention to for the development of Sino-
Christian theology.
In 1995-1996, when Sino-Christian theology was still in its infancy, a
debate around the study of Sino-Christian theology took place in the pages of
the Hong Kong Christian Times.21 The starting-point of the debate was the fact
that some Christian scholars expressed mixed feelings about the enthusiasm for
an understanding of religion which was growing day by day in Chinese society
and the study of Christianity which was just gathering strength. They had
observed that “an interest in and desire to know more about Christianity” had
appeared in contemporary Chinese society, and the response to this appeal came
“not from the Church or the theological colleges in the mainland but from a
group of academics teaching in universities or working in research institutes”,
and these scholars
were graduates of distinguished universities and had been trained or were grouped in
Beijing and other centres of culture and scholarship; some had even been awarded Ph.D.s
from universities in continental Europe. They are highly educated, able speakers, cultured,
capable writers, and have a deep knowledge of theology, but this knowledge does not derive
from the Church or from the seminary. For all sorts of different reasons, they admire
Christianity, and are keen to increase understanding of Christianity among Chinese people, so
they have translated many canonical works of Western theology and have written books
explaining Christianity. But, because they have never had much contact with the Church, I am
afraid that their understanding of the Christian faith, though correct, is not complete. They
pore over works of theology, but seldom read the Bible; they engage with other academics,
but have no church life; they discuss Christian theology, but distance themselves from the
Christian flock; they are devoted to theology but not necessarily to God; God is an object of
study for them rather than an object of prayer and worship.22
21 All the papers from this debate and the discussions modifying this debate were later
published as a collection by the Hong Kong Institute of Sino-Christian Studies as
Cultural Christian: Phenomenon and Argument.
22 Lo Ping-cheung, “Zongguo Yaboluo yu Xianggang Shenxuejie zhi Jiuqi Weiji” [Chinese
51
Objectively speaking, the situation described here corresponds to reality, it
continues largely unchanged to the present day, and those involved in Sino-
Christian theology have no intention to change it. Sino-Christian theology is a
field of study and not a belief; this is the original point of Sino-Christian
theology. But after all, what is studied in Sino-Christian theology is Christian
theology, and the many Christian believers are the main readership for Sino-
Christian theology. Sino-Christian theology ought to pay more heed to the
voices coming from the Chinese Church and from Chinese Christians, and
should give more consideration to those issues which exercise the Chinese
Church and Chinese Christians, so that their own ideas can be more readily
acknowledged and accepted by the Chinese Church and Chinese Christians; this
should be beneficial to the growth of Sino-Christian theology.
Sino-Christian theology is a unique phenomenon in the history of Christian
theology. The scholars who work on Sino-Christian theology are mostly
unconnected with the organised Church, and some of them are not even
Christians. Sino-Christian theology’s pulpit is not in the churches, seminaries or
theological colleges, but in universities and research institutes. The audience for
Sino-Christian theology is not confined to Christians, but includes anyone who
is interested in Christianity. However one may regard this phenomenon, its
growth and success have become incontrovertible facts.
“Apollos” and the Post-97 Crisis for the Hong Kong Theological Community], in Cultural
Christian, pp.97-98.
52
The “Cultural Christians” Phenomenon in China:
A Hong Kong Discussion
Peter K. H. LEE
From the fall of 1995 to the spring of 1996 a series of articles appeared in the
Hong Kong weekly newspaper Christian Times, exchanging views on the
phenomenon of “cultural Christians” in the People’s Republic of China. The
participants included four Hong Kong theological educators, three Chinese
scholars speaking on behalf of the “cultural Christians” in China, and one
theological worker from Taiwan.
This article attempts to recapture the salient points at issue; it will show how
the so-called “cultural Christians” phenomenon is seen through the eyes of some
representatives of the Hong Kong theological world and how the spokesman for
the cultural Christians explain or defend themselves. The writer of this article
took part in the exchange, so that he writes with a sense of involvement, but he
will try his best to be as fair as possible.
How the Controversy Got Started

The controversy was started by Dr. Lo Ping Cheung (Luo Bingxiang), then
Chairman of the Department of Religion and Philosophy at the Hong Kong
Baptist University. He wrote an article (in two parts) entitled “The Chinese
Apollos and the 1997 Crisis of the Hong Kong Theological World”.
The article began by referring to the “Macedonian call” and the religious
fervor in China. The “religious fervor” is seen in the masses as well as in the
intellectuals’ study of religion in general and Christianity in particular. The
author was impressed by this outburst of energy, especially in academic circles.
He then said that this is a “Macedonian call” to the Hong Kong theological
world to respond.
Dr. Lo used the expression “The Chinese Apollos” to represent those
Chinese intellectuals who have developed keen interest in Christian thought,
borrowing the reference in Acts 18:24-28 to Apollos, a learned Jew from
Alexandria, who became an eloquent preacher on behalf of Jesus as the Messiah,
but apparently with imperfect understanding. Liu Xiaofeng is a prototype
“Chinese Apollos”. He studied foreign languages in Sichuan University and
philosophy, he was drawn to Christianity through Dostoyevsky and Christian
existentialist writers. He later went to Basel University, Switzerland, to study
theology and was awarded a Doctor of Theology degree. Though he received
baptism somewhere along the way, he has had little connection with the
53
institutional church anywhere. A prolific writer, Liu then did his research and
editing work under the sponsorship of the Institute of Sino-Christian Studies in
Hong Kong.
Lo Ping Cheung in his article introduced other Chinese Apollos like He
Guanghu, Zhuo Xinping, and Tang Yi, all of the Institute on World Religions of
the China Academy of Social Sciences in Beijing, and Zhuo translated books on
Christian philosophy, but none is a baptized Christian.
What is “the Macedonian call” issued by these Chinese Apollos or cultural
Christians? According to Lo Ping Cheung, it is a call to the Christian theologians
at a place like Hong Kong to rise up to respond to the challenge of
religious-intellectual ferment in China.
But alas! the Hong Kong theological circles will find themselves in a crisis,
come 1997, the year Hong Kong will revert back to China. There are four
reasons for the crisis:
Firstly, the Hong Kong theological worker will lose their right to speak as
theologians, because they will be no match for the Chinese Apollos due to the
latter’s academic output and erudition. Those Chinese who are caught us in the
religious fervor will turn to the Chinese Apollos rather than the Hong Kong
theological writers, if they write at all.
Secondly, the position of the Hong Kong theological spokesman is
precarious. While Hong Kong is not without Christian believers who are in
intellectual quest, they are unlikely to find nourishment from the Hong Kong
theological institutions and Christian publishing houses; and instead they will
have access to the publications put out by the Chinese cultural Christians, whose
understanding of Christianity has certain impediments, however.
Thirdly, forced to the sideline, the Hong Kong theological workers will
forfeit the golden opportunity of introducing Christian thought to the Chinese
intelligentsia who are open to the spiritual quest, and that opportunity will be
taken over by the Chinese Cultural Christians. Thus the Hong Kong theologians
will lose their leadership role in the Chinese theological world.
Fourthly, the Hong Kong theological community is really ill-equipped to
heed the Macedonian call from the intelligentsia in China: the theological output
from Hong Kong is feeble; the theological workers mostly lack a broad cultural
outlook and are unprepared for dialogue with culture, most of the theologians in
Hong Kong are not fluent enough in Mandarin to speak to the Chinese
intellectuals.
What can be done to meet the crisis? Dr. Lo appealed to his Hong Kong
colleagues in theological work to expand their intellectual horizon beyond the
institutional church, to broaden their cultural outlook, and to increase the depth
of their writings.
54
The Hong Kong Theologians’ Response
The first Hong Kong theological worker to respond to the challenge posed by Lo
Ping Cheung was Leung Ka-lun (Laing Jialin), then lecturer and now president
at the Alliance Bible Seminary. He wrote also a two-part article entitled “Is it a
Debt We Owe?”
Dr. Leung welcomed the phenomenon of religious interest among the ranks
of the Chinese intelligentsia and commended the rise of the cultural Christians.
Yet he was more guarded in his estimate of the intensity of the so-called
religious fervor and the numerical strength of the scholars and writers on
religion. Further, he pointed out that these intellectuals are rarely steeped in the
historical development of Christian thought and are likely to be attracted to
certain isolated theologians or bits and pieces of theological learning.
Dr. Leung did not think that the appearance of cultural Christians is an
uncommon phenomenon in history. The rise of the Chinese Apollos should not
pose a threat to the more thoughtful Christians in China or Hong Kong. But he
reiterated that some of the Chinese intellectuals who are interested in the study
of Christian thought approach the subject totally out of context, so that they
cannot really make an impact on Chinese culture. Leung Ka-lun took note of Lo
Ping Cheung’s appeal to the Hong Kong theological workers to broaden their
cultural base and to open themselves up. But he felt that the Hong Kong
theological educators really have enough in their hands in preparing people for
service in their church. To ask them to assume the added responsibility of
evangelizing the one billion Chinese on the Mainland is unrealistic. Besides,
why should that be a debt owned by the Hong Kong theological educators?
Next, Joseph T. W. Kaung (Jiang Dahui) of the Divinity School of Chung
Chi College, the Chinese University of Hong Kong, made a brief response. He
was highly appreciative of the contributions of Liu Xiaofeng and the other
Chinese cultural Christians through their research and translation work. But he
could not see how they would pose a threat to the Hong Kong churches and
seminaries. Most of the church leaders couldn’t care less what these intellectuals
are saying, and the Hong Kong theological spokesmen, assuming they have
something to say, cannot presume to address theological issues for the whole of
China.
Then I, the writer of this paper, submitted a piece (in two parts), entitled
“The Self-reflection of the Hong Kong Theological Workers and the Appearance
of the Chinese Apollos”. The first part of my article began by rejoicing in the
emergence of the Chinese Apollos. The “cultural Christians” have done
considerably much by translating writings from abroad into Chinese and by
writing down some thoughtful reflections, though I thought the Western “China
watchers” tend to over-project their excessive enthusiasm. I was not as worried
as Dr. Lo Ping Cheung about what he saw as the crisis facing the Hong Kong
theological world. I shared Leung Ka-lun’s concern not to add an extra burden to
55
the Hong Kong co-workers beyond what they could carry. Yet I felt that they
should look beyond the cloistered walls of the seminary; and in recent years
more and more well-trained theologians are returning to Hong Kong so that
Hong Kong now has no small gathering of Christian intellectuals. I concurred
with Joseph Kaung’s point that the Hong Kong theologians cannot really speak
for all of China.
The second part of my paper turned to encouraging my Hong Kong
theological colleagues to re-orient their thinking and task, thanks to Dr. Lo Ping
Cheung’s warning of an imminent crisis looming in the horizon. I would rather
turn such a crisis into an opportunity for creative response at a critical moment. I
would not down-play the theological seminaries’ responsibility to equip people
for the ministry and to prepare them for evangelistic outreach. Evangelism,
however, need not be confined to preaching the Gospel to individuals to save
their souls or mass-evangelism American-style. It is essentially proclaiming the
Good News to those who have not heard it before – and the potential audience
includes the intelligentsia, a group who are Dr. Lo’s primary concern. I, too,
share this concern, except that I am more modest in my expectation from the
Hong Kong theological co-works than he. Apart from their heavy burden with
responsibilities for the Hong Kong churches, I happen to take the contextual-
ization task seriously, so that I believe that the Hong Kong theologians should
begin their theologizing task in the Hong Kong context. Granted, increasingly it
is a Hong Kong-China context; but, nevertheless, being situated in Hong Kong,
they should begin there, and then expand the horizon toward greater China. Of
course, if it is authentic contextual theology, it will speak the Word of God in the
given context; even then, however, the Hong Kong people should be humble and
modest.
I really meant to offer a word of encouragement to my Hong Kong
comrades-in-arms. I know their impediment – e.g. sectarianism, parochialism
and institutionalism – but I would like to see them break out of their confine-
ments, and I believed that they could, collaborating and upholding one another
more than before. Supporting Dr. Lo Ping Cheung’s interest in dialogue with
culture and in interdisciplinary endeavors. I said that his university, the Hong
Kong Baptist University, and the Chinese University of Hong Kong, have within
their respective structures ample opportunities for faith-culture dialogue and
cross-disciplinary studies. Moreover, the religion/theology departments of those
universities can act as links between secular learning and the church/seminary. I
concluded by saying that, if the Hong Kong theologians have the authentic Word
of God to say, they have every right to be theological spokesmen, even if there
are few star soloists, but they can sing as a chorus. Then, perhaps, a few of the
cultural Christians or intellectuals for Mainland China will listen in too.
56
The Chinese Scholars Speaking for Themselves
Dr. Li Qiuling, Professor of Philosophy at the Renmin University of China,
Beijing, who happened to be visiting Hong Kong at the time, read the
discussions by the Hong Kong theological workers. Before returning to Beijing,
he offered his comments, printed in a four-part article entitled “So-called
‘religious Culture-Fervor’ and ‘Christian Culture-Fervor’”.
In the first part, Dr. Li admitted that in recent years there is indeed
considerable interest shown by Chinese intellectuals in the study of religious
phenomena in general and in the understanding of Christian thought in particular.
He said that that is a healthy phenomenon, following the collapse of the Marxist
dogma which condemns religion as opium of the people. There are those of the
intelligentsia who begin to realize that religion need not be opium but can be
nourishment for the human soul. Li would not go so far as to say that China now
witnesses a religious revival; with a good many of the intellectuals the quest is
for knowledge rather than for religious faith.
In the second part of his article, Dr. Li gave a delineation of three types of
scholars who might be called “cultural Christians”. The first type includes those
who pursue objective research on religions, including Christianity, with no
religious commitments. They form the largest group, and their researches cover
a wide range of topics in historical, cultural and social phenomena. The second
type consists of those who, while approaching the study of religious with
objectivity, show varying degrees of sympathy with Christianity, without
necessarily calling themselves Christians. They form a smaller group (Dr. Li
includes himself in it) than the first. The third type of scholars confesses their
Christian faith. A few of these scholars have come to the Christian faith as they
pursue their studies, while others have already received a theological education
and then have decided to follow an academic career. The third group (of which
Liu Xiaofeng is an eminent representative) is even smaller than the second. Li
Qiuling questioned the suitability of the expression “cultural Christians” for all
three types of religious scholars; he also feared that the term “China Apollos”
has connotations which are too ambiguous.
The third part of the Li paper goes into a technical discussion of the issue
involved in the academic study of religion. Dr. Li thought that religion can
certainly be a valid object of scholarly study and that the scholar has no
accountability to the religious authority for his/her research as long as the
research is conducted in accordance with the canons of scientific study. The
question of the subject of belief, that is, the believer as subject, came up. Li then
quickly shifted to the Hong Kong scene where he saw the tendency on the part
of some Christian believers to confine themselves to a narrow framework. He
allowed for the possibility of inter-subjective communication, and he made room
for the believer to critique scholarly research. However, he was wary of
self-styled orthodoxy which shuts off communication or dialogue.
57
In the last part of the paper Li commended the indigenization/ contextual-
ization/inculturation work that is being advocated or attempted in some circles.
He seems to have suggested that in the process the persons involved in the
theologizing or study or reflection can carry on meaningful dialogues. He
concluded by a reference to Liu Xiaofeng’s work as the editor of Logos &
Pneuma (published in Hong Kong), which is devoted to the development of
“Sino-Christian theology” as an instance of the contextualization process. By the
way Li’s paper echoes my concern for dialogue and interaction.
At the next turn, in chimed another Chinese scholar, Zhang Xianyong, who,
having taught theology at the Nanjing Union Theological Seminary, is presently
pursuing a Doctor of Theology degree at Basel University (without the endorse-
ment of the leaders of the church in China) and teaching at Sun Yat-sen
University in Guangzhou.
Mr. Zhang’s paper, entitled “Response to the Chinese Apollos Problem”,
looks at the problem in terms of three “circles”. A circle, in Zhang’s use of the
image, has an inner and an outer ring.
The first circle is the “sacred-secular double ring”. Just as in the Acts
account of Apollos, the apostles, including Paul, belonged to the inner, sacred
ring, and took Apollos to be in the outer and less sacred ring, so the institutional
churches in China and Hong Kong tend to look upon the Chinese Apollos as
belonging to the periphery and as being less spiritual.
The second circle reveals the “Hong Kong-China divide syndrome”.
Zhang’s reading of the Hong Kong theological world was that there are those
who consider the Hong Kong churches to be the inner circle (Lo Ping Cheung
and Leung Ka-lun) and the Chinese intellectuals (Christian or otherwise) on the
outside periphery (although Lo and Leung differ in their strategic response to the
“outsiders”). Zhang didn’t see the same Hong Kong-China divide in Joseph
Kaung and I, who seemed to him to maintain an “ecological balance” or call for
inculturation as a step toward dialogue between Hong Kong and China.
The third circle intimates the “Han-barbarian tension”. Zhang thought that
some of the Hong Kong “inner circle” people still consider Liu Xiaofeng and the
other Apollos to be on the fringe because the latter’s contributions lie mainly in
the translation of foreign works. Zhang thought that to be a misjudgment of Liu
Xiaofeng, who, he maintained, has the commitment to write, and encourage
others to write, Christian theology in the Han (Chinese) language for the
Chinese people. If that puts Liu on the periphery, so be it, because being in such
a boundary situation facilitates dialogue between the Chinese Christians (Han)
and the Christians abroad (barbarians).
Sharp Hong Kong-China Tit-for-Tat

Leung Ka-lun, who was the first Hong Kong theological educator to respond, in
a tempered tone, to Lo Ping Cheung’s article on “Chinese Apollos”, now
58
because more outspoken in his retort to Zhang Xianyong. Zhang’s piece is
clever but ambiguous at points, and Leung was impatient. In an outburst the
latter reacted sharply to a remark made by someone from China that Liu
Xiaofeng’s showing up in Hong Kong is like entering a “no-man’s land”; Leung
said that he could show a long list of able theologians in Hong Kong. Leung
reiterated the importance of the Christian tradition for the theological schools,
which are different from research institutes carrying on research in a vacuum.
He reacted against those intellectuals who look down upon the scholarly level of
the theological professors and students, and accused them of “intellectual
hegemony” and being out of touch with the masses. Leung was not against
interdisciplinary studies but said that is easier said than done. The high-flying
intellectuals may take delight in hovering from discipline to discipline but if
they are Christians they should have roots in the Christian tradition.
Leung’s article provoked a four-part response under the general title
“Whose Christ? Which tradition?” from someone with the pseudonym “Po Fan”,
who is apparently from China. From the sub-titles it can be inferred that the
article sets up straw-men to be knocked down: “Pride and Prejudice”,
“Orthodoxy and Heterodoxy” and “Which Tradition?” The whole piece is long
and wordy but does not really speak to real issues and falls prey to ad hominem
arguments. That would have been a sorry ending to a spirited exchange of views
but for a thoughtful message from Taiwan.
An Analytical Resume from Taiwan

Chin Ken Pa, a theological worker from Taiwan (a Ph.D. student in National
University of Taiwan graduate school of Philosophy then; now Professor in
Graduate School of Religion at Chung Yuan Christian University), sent a piece
entitled “Conflicts in the Hermeneutics of the Chinese theologians’ Linguistic
Turns”.
At the outset the author noted linguistic ambiguities in the expressions
“Chinese Apollos”, “Cultural Christians” and “Sino-Christian theology”. All
these terms are associated with Liu Xiaofeng, actually the central figure in the
whole controversy, who, curiously enough, never spoke a word in person in the
exchanges back and forth. Chin then, Wittgenstein-style, analyzed three conflicts
in linguistic usage by the Chinese theologians (Hong Kong and China):
1. Hong Kong languages. Beijing language. From the start Lo Ping Cheung
called attention to the Hong Kong theologians’ ineptness with the Beijing
language (Mandarin), and behind that fear is the perceived superiority of the
Mandarin-speaking intellectuals. Other from Hong Kong, however, have a
different view of “the right to speak as theologians”, fluency to speak
Mandarin or not. The Beijing scholars’ language is indeed of a different style,
as may be seen in Po Fan’s analysis of the Hong Kong theological world.
59
2. Churchly language vs. Scholarly language. Those who are immersed in the
institutional church speak a language totally different from the scholars’. The
former can hardly tolerate the latter, and vice-versa.
3 English-American language vs. Continental language. Whereas the Hong
Kong theological educators have mostly received their higher degrees from
universities in America and U.K., some of the Chinese scholars have been
absorbed in the works of continental European and Russian writers. I might
note, in parenthesis, that the European and Russians writings are less familiar
than the English-language writings, and that for that reason the interpreters of
the former seem to have a certain mystique.
Chin Ken Pa contended that the various languages cannot remain static and must
undergo changes, or “make turns”, but when the Chinese theological writers,
whether in Hong Kong or China, cannot adapt themselves to the changes, they
get into a jam.
Chin then devoted the second half of his presentation to the conflict between
church-oriented theology and humanities-oriented theology. He used the label
“radical hermeneutics” to characterize Liu Xiaofeng’s theological stance. From
Chin’s characterization, Liu’s radical hermeneutics is under the influence of Karl
Barth’s insistence on the absoluteness of the Word of God as the “Primal Origin”
of the life of faith. Does it mean that Liu can rise above tradition and context?
Chin was not clear. Yet Liu claims to have the aspiration to promote Sino-
Christian theology. Can Liu square the Barthian “wholly-otherness” of God with
his interest in culture? In his brief comments, Chin did not take up the question.
Chin did suggest that Liu not so much extracts himself from culture as he takes
an open attitude toward culture, i.e., the humanities. (Parenthetically, when I
have the opportunity I would like to dialogue with Liu Xiaofeng more on the
viability of inculturation or contextualization of Chinese theology from a
Barthian perspective.) In contrast, Leung Ka-lun is seen by Chin Ken Pa to be a
representative of church-oriented and tradition-bound theology. Actually Leung,
too, pleads for going back to the original source of the Christian faith, but,
nevertheless, if Chin’s reading is correct, Leung frequently finds himself falling
back on an apologist’s position. To me, such a characterization of Leung Ka-lun
is at best half-truth. From my acquaintance with him as a church historian and
theological educator, he is keenly interested in examining the indisposed to
interreligious dialogue and bold theological explorations. At any rate, Leung is
definitely much more church-bound than Liu.
Whether or not Liu Xiaofeng and Leung Ka-lun are the prototypes of
humanities-oriented theology and church-oriented theology respectively, these
two theological orientations do exist in Hong Kong. I do not think that they need
to be mutually exclusive; rather they should be brought into complementary
interaction.
60
Chin Ken Pa paid me the compliment for being the most clear-headed of the
Hong Kong theological spokesmen. I wish to thank him for it. Let me return my
compliment that Chin’s article is seminal at two points: (a) his Wittgensteinian
“linguistic analysis” helps to clear up a picture that was getting murky, and (b)
his invoking of Barthian thought opens up the question of a viable theology of
inculturation (the question of “the freedom of culture for the Praise of God”).1 TP PT
Concluding Remarks
Looking back, in my initial response to the controversy, I probable painted too
rosy a picture of the Hong Kong theological scene. On the one hand, I may have
underestimated the entrenchment of the church-oriented mentality in Hong
Kong (and China); on the other hand, I may have overestimated the capacity of
the Chinese University of Hong Kong and the Hong Kong Baptist University to
blaze trails for faith-humanities dialogue (even as some of the Western “China
watchers” of the intellectual scene in China may have over-stated the vibrancy
of the intellectual scene in China may have overstated the vibrancy of the
religious-cultural ferment there). Lo Ping Cheung’s warning on the crisis facing
the Hong Kong theological community should not be lightly dismissed.
Nevertheless, I repeat, I would like to see 1997 as a kairos for greater things to
come. I still believe that there are enough talents in the Hong Kong theological
community as well as the secular academia to act as catalysts for faith-culture
dialogue and inculturation of Christianity in the Chinese soil. At the same time I
am of the opinion that in the post-1997 era Hong Kong can serve as a
theological interactions rather become a cul-de-sac (as Lo Ping Cheung feared).
That makes me an incurable optimist, a compliment or an accusation I have
received before. Ironically, Liu Xiaofeng was then located in Hong Kong, and I
have heard both him and He Guanghu (another cultural Christian) saying that
Hong Kong is a place conducive to theological and cultural dialogue because (a)
in one place there is a concentration of talented minds, and (b) it enjoys freedom
of thought. After 1997 Hong Kong will be “Hong Kong, China”, meaning Hong
Kong will be a part of China, and if tiny Hong Kong is really a good place for
dialogue, then let the Hong Kong theological and academic communities open
their doors more widely to welcome scholars and cultural Christians from the
Mainland – and Taiwan too! – to come to exchange views, so all may challenge
one another and learn from one another and enrich one another’s faith and
understanding.
1 Cf. Robert J. Palma, Karl Barth’s Theology of Culture: the Freedom of Culture for the
T T
Praise of God (Allision Park, PA: Pickwick, 1983).
61
Conceptual Differences between Hong Kong and Chinese
Theologians: A Study of the “Cultural Christians”
Controversy
Shun-hing CHAN
Introduction
A debate on the subject of “Cultural Christians” was sparked off in September
1995 in Christian Times, an independent Christian weekly published in Hong
Kong, and lasted for ten months until May 1996. Eight scholars had spoken on
the issue. Four of them are scholars from Hong Kong, three of them are from
Mainland China, and one from Taiwan. The group of Hong Kong scholars
included ecumenical as well evangelical theologians. Among the Mainland
Chinese scholars, one was an academic involved in the study of Christianity,
the other a theologian within the Chinese Church community and the third one
a theologian not associated with the Church. The background to the debate was
the rise of a number of Chinese scholars who were interested in the study of
the Christian culture, as well as a group of Christians who were not formally
associated with church establishments and who became Christian through
reading Christian works rather than going to church. Among those scholars
who actually professed to be Christians, Liu Xiaofeng was the most prominent
one with the “Sino-Christian (Hanyu) Theology” that he advocated. The
theological community in Hong Kong called these scholars who studied
Christianity and Christians who were converted through reading Christian
works “Cultural Christians”. This is apparently a rather generalized allusion.
Lo Ping-cheung (Luo Bingxiang), a Hong Kong theologian, compared these
“Cultural Christians” in China to Apollos, a biblical character described in the
Acts of the Apostles, and went to call on Hong Kong theologians to “play the
parts of Agirppa and Priscilla to correct any inadequacies” Apollos might have.
Lo’s article invited response from a few Hong Kong theologians, before
sparking off a rather heated debate between Mainland and Hong Kong scholars
on the subject of “Cultural Christians”. Peter K. H. Lee has given an elaborate
account of the views of each of the scholars involved in Ching Feng.1
I believe that the “Cultural Christian” debate has been one of the most
significant events in recent years for the theological community of Hong Kong,
which has become a special administrative region under the People’s Republic
1 Peter K. H. Lee, “The ‘Cultural Christians’ Phenomenon in China: A Hong Kong

Discuss- ion”, Ching Feng Vol. 39, No 4 (December 1996), pp.307-21.
63
of China after its reunification with China on July 1, 1997. While the Chinese
government has made a pledge that Hong Kong will remain unchanged for
fifty years, increasing cultural interaction between Chinese and Hong Kong
churches are inevitable. The conceptual differences between Chinese and Hong
Kong theologians will have a definite impact on the development of
Christianity in China as well as Hong Kong. Against such a background, the
“Cultural Christian” debate serves as a reader-text for us to analyze issues
arising from such differences. Although the ideas expressed by the scholars
involved in the debate were not necessarily well-defined and some arguments
were simply emotional, I believe that the debate was a genuine, conceptual
interaction between Chinese theologians and Hong Kong theologians. An
analysis of the arguments and values presented would serve to clarify
misunderstandings and shed light on the possibility of future conflict or
cooperation. This effort is crucial for the future development of Christian
theology in both Hong Kong and China. Hence, this essay represents the
reading and interpretation of the “Cultural Christian” debate by a Hong Kong
theologian.
The Theological Ideas of Hong Kong Theologians Revealed in the

“Cultural Christian” Debate
In the course of the debate, the Hong Kong theologians’ understanding of the
ideas, tasks and methodologies of Christian theology are revealed. A careful
reading shows that there is diversity or even conflict of views among the Hong
Kong theologians. Meanwhile, we do not fail to read some similarities in ideas
between Chinese theologians and Hong Kong theologians.
1. Lo Ping-cheung
Lo Ping-cheung, Professors, Department of Religion and Philosophy, Hong
Kong Baptist University, is the one who started off the debate. He expresses
concerns and worries that the Cultural Christians have yet to “know more
accurately about the Christian faith, because they are not closely associated with
the Church. They are well-versed in theology but not the Bible; they are in close
association with academics but they are hardly members of the Christian
community. They have a passion for theology but not necessarily for God. They
study about God but may not be praying to Him.”2 Although Lo does not
explicitly mention his theological methodology, he does mention some
2 Lo Ping-cheung, “The ‘Apolloses’ of the Contemporary China: Chinese ‘Cultural

Christians’ and the Post-97 Crisis for the Hong Kong Theological Community (Part I)”,
Christian Times 419 (September 10, 1995), p.10. (Editors’ note - The articles
published in Christian Times are in Chinese, but due to the limit of space, no
transliteration of the titles of the articles will be provided in this chapter.)
64
normative rules: the theologian should lead a pious life (reading the Bible, going
to church, being part of a faith community, loving God, praying to God, etc.)
apart from the normal academic life (reading academic works, associating with
academics, teaching theology, etc.). Scholarship goes with piety. Lo suggests,
“Hong Kong theologians should play the parts of Agrippa and Priscilla to correct
any inadequacies of Apollos.”3
Lo also proclaims what he sees as the task of Christian theology in Hong
Kong: (1) “While serving the Church community is the primary task of
theologians, the intellectual class who shows interest in the Christian faith
should not be ignored. There are plenty of such intellectuals in China.
Theologians in Hong Kong should look beyond the walls of the Church and try
to reach the academic group.” In this respect, “theologians at the Baptist
University and the Chinese University should share the work with their
counterparts who teach in independent seminaries.” (2) Theologians in Hong
Kong “should be engaged in more dialogues with academics of other
disciplines and enrich our general knowledge in contemporary disciplines such
as social science and natural science.4
Lo’s criterion on “scholarship and piety” raises the objection of Li Qiuling,
Professor, Department of Philosophy, Renmin (People’s) University of China.
Commenting from an academic point of view, Li maintains that “the academics
in China and the theologians in Hong Kong do not have a common set of criteria.
The criteria of the academic are the criteria of culture, while the criteria of the
theologian are the criteria of faith… The academic community is not
accountable to the Church or the theological community. The ultimate criterion
in evaluating any study is whether it is scientific. The study should be based on
factual evidence and be logically viable. Sometimes we may add social
accountability as an additional norm, to see whether the study brings benefits to
the society as a whole.” However, he also maintains that this does not mean the
theological community has no right to criticize the studies of the academic
community. If academics have the right to discuss the faith of the theologians,
then of course theologians have the right to comment on the validity of these
studies. But neither party should impose its own standards on the other.”5 As a
response to the subject of “scholarship and piety,” Li’s views are that the
common criteria for theological dialogue between Hong Kong and Chinese
theologians could only be criteria relating to scholarship, not these relating to
piety. Li’s views are later accepted by Lo, who clarifies his views by saying that
3 Lo Ping-cheung, “The ‘Apolloses’ of the Contemporary China (Part I)”, p.10.

4 Lo Ping-cheung, “The ‘Apolloses’ of the Contemporary China (Part I)”, p.10.
5 Li Qiuling, “The Interaction between Theology and Culture: the Mixed Feeling of the
Hong Kong Theological Community towards the Rise of the So-called ‘Chinese
Apolloses’ Part III: The Right of the Mainland Academic Community to Study
Christianity”, Christian Times 435 (December 31, 1995), p.10.
65
“his ‘scholarship-piety’ requirement applies only to theologians who profess the
faith but are not associated with the established Church,” not to those scholars in
Christianity in general.6
Lo’s first plea for the cultural mission of Christian theology is related to
Bo Fan’s discussion of the “culture orientation” of the “Sino-Christian
Theology.” According to Bo Fan, “the confession of faith (I believe) is based
on experience and reflections of the self, and therefore has a natural link to
forms of literature and philosophy… Hence the theology of ‘I believe’ is
necessarily a (secular) cultural theology”.7 Lo’s “cultural mission” seems to
echo with Bo Fan’s “cultural orientation”, but in fact Lo is more concerned
with the evangelical mission of theology among the academics, while Bo Fan
is discussing the subject matter of theology. Although both emphasize cultural
mission of Christian theology among academics, their basic beliefs are quite
apart.
Locally, Leung Ka-lun (Liang Jialin) is not very enthusiastic about Lo’s
cultural mission. “I am perfectly aware that the present ‘ideological vacuum’ in
China, emerging as a result of the waning of the official ideology, offers a
golden opportunity for Christianity to strive for a greater presence in China.
Having said that, however, I believe that the task of shaping the future of
Chinese and Hong Kong cultures is too immense for the Hong Kong Church
and its theological community.” 8 Leung’s response indicates the differing
views on the tasks of Christian theology in the developments in Hong Kong
and China between a seminary theologian and a university theologian.
Lo’s second cultural mission is also related to the basis for the
“Sino-Christian Theology” proposed by Bo Fan. “The future Chinese
Language Theology will be a theology with the Chinese Language (Hanyu),
one of the secular languages in the broad sense (the ‘cultural-existential
6 Lo Ping-cheung subsequently accepted the criticism of Li Qiuling and admitted that

the allusion of “Cultural Christians” should not include all Chinese scholars of
Christianity generally. Three types of scholars should be differentiated: 1) scholars
with no personal affiliation to Christianity; 2) scholars who do not profess to be
Christians but who nevertheless show a certain degree of approval and favour; and 3)
scholars who profess to be Christians but who are not associated with the established
churches. Lo further pointed out that the second type should be regarded as Apollos in
an early stage who has been “not yet corrected by Agrippa and Priscilla”, whereas the
third type would be Apollos at a later stage. Lo Ping-cheung, “Jingda Pipingzhe”
(Reply to Critics), in Institute of Sino-Christian Studies (ed.), Wenhua Jidutu:
Xianxiang yu Lunzheng [Cultural Christian: Phenomenon and Argument] (Hong Kong:
Institute of Sino-Christian Studies, 1997), pp.202-203.
7 Bo Fan, “Who’s Christ and Which Tradition? Part II: Orthodoxy and Heresy”,
Christian Times 451 (April 21 1996), p.8.
8 Leung, Ka-lun, “Must We Apologize? (Part II)”, Christian Times 422 (October 1,
1995), p.10.
66
context’) as its resources and modern philosophy, poetry and social theories as
its means of expression.”9 Both Lo and Bo Fan stress the interaction between
Christian theology and Chinese culture, philosophy, natural science and social
science. However, Lo believes that theologians should have knowledge in
classical Chinese. Chinese culture, social science and natural science because
only in this way could they engage in dialogue with scholars of other
disciplines. His concerns are purely a technical problem. Bo Fan, on the other,
wants to draw upon the Chinese Language, modern philosophy, poetry and
social theories as the resources or means for theological construction. Lo and
Bo Fan have great differences in the basic concept of the subject matter of
theology and in the choice of elements in constructing theology. This
difference apparently underlies the reason for the conflict between Chinese and
Hong Kong theologies, and is worth further investigation.
2. Leung Ka-lun
The second Hong Kong theologian involved is Leung Ka-lun of the Alliance
Theological Seminary. Coming from an evangelical tradition, Leung criticized
the “Cultural Christian” of “two breakaways in methodology”. First they do
not follow the traditional approach of theological studies which begins with
biblical hermeneutics and biblical theology, goes on the historical and
systematic theologies and develops into applied or pragmatic theology. “They
typically neglect biblical studies in analyzing the ideas of various theologians.”
Second, they tend to break away from historical contexts. The “Cultural
Christians” have little regard for the religious communities or theological
tradition of the theologies under study… and tend to paraphrase their ideas.”10
In another article, Leung further explains his understanding of the task of
theology by quoting Emil Brunner as follows: “The intellectual enterprise
which bears the traditional title ‘dogmatics’ takes place within the Christian
Church. It is this that distinguishes it from similar intellectual undertakings,
especially within the sphere of philosophy, as that is understood… We study
dogmatics as members of the Church, with consciousness that we have a
commission from the Church, due to a compulsion which can only arise within
the Church.”11 Here, we see Leung revealing his own approach to theology. He
believes that a theological study is an integral part of dogmatics, a duty
commissioned by the Church.
Zhang Xianyong (Richard X. Y. Zhang), formerly lecturer of the Nanjing
Theological Seminary and currently teaching at Sun Yat-sen University, agreed
9 Bo Fan, “Who’s Christ and Which Tradition? Part II: Orthodoxy and Heresy”, p.8.
10 Leung, Ka-lun, “Must We Apologize? (Part I)”, Christian Times 421 (September 24,
1995), p.10.
11 Leung, Ka-lun, “A Discussion with Zhang Xianyong on Issues relating ‘Cultural
Christians’ (Part II)”, Christian Times 444 (March 3, 1996), p.10.
67
with Leung’s criticism of the two “breakaways”, saying that “those within the
circle [of the Church]”will have no problem agreeing with Leung’s criticism.12
Note that the “circle” here refers to the Church circle. The implication, I guess,
is twofold. First, Leung’s criticisms are valid as a common ground only for
Chinese and Hong Kong theologians within the Church circle, but not those
“Cultural Christians” outside the circle. Second, Zhang Himself is speaking
from the inside of the circle. Zhang’s position is crucial, especially when
compared to Bo Fan’s position.
Bo Fan explicitly states that he cannot accept Leung’s theological ideas.
He accuses Leung of “unconsciously ascertaining the priority of ‘orthodoxy’ or
‘mainstream’ theology and the position of Church dogmatics, the authority of
which he does not prove (or deem any proof necessary), is more privileged
than others in the study of theology.”13 Bo Fan points out that while there are
certain limitations in the types of knowledge and methodology that Chinese
scholars are acquainted with, their “non-ecclesiastical” nature is unlikely to
change. He mocks at Leung’s comments by saying: “Even if the ‘mainstream’
or ‘orthodox’ theological community could afford a supervisory role, what
more can it do besides ‘monitoring’ the errors of these non-orthodox scholars,
‘making orthodox views available’ and ‘refraining from pouring out excessive
praise’? How do we differentiate between the ‘mainstream’ and the ‘minority’?
How do we define ‘orthodoxy’ against ‘non-orthodoxy’? May be we need to
rethink about it.”14 Bo Fan’s comments correspond with Zhang’s, and highlight
the fundamental difference between Chinese and Hong Kong scholars in their
attitude towards theological studies: some Chinese scholars reject the
ecclesiastical and dogmatic norms for theology to which Hong Kong
theologians attach great importance, and actually propose to redefine such
norms.
Meanwhile, there is also diversity among the views of the Chinese scholars.
While Zhang looks at the issue from the inside of the church circle, and accepts
the ecclesiastical and dogmatic tradition of theology, Bo Fan radically rejects
such norms. This difference is worth our attention.
3. Joseph Kaung
When we compare the third speaker from the Hong Kong theological
community with Lo and Leung, the situation is even more complex. Joseph T.
12 Zhang Xianyong, “The Community within the Circle and the Community Outside: A
Response to the Issue of ‘Chinese Apolloses’ - The Third Circle: Between the
Periphery and the Centre of Chinese Culture”, Christian Times 441 (February 11,
1996), p.11.
13 Bo Fan, “Who’s Christ and Which Tradition? Part I: Pride and Prejudice.” Christian
Times 450 (April 14, 1996), p.9.
14 Bo Fan, “Who’s Christ and Which Tradition? Part I: Pride and Prejudice”, p.9.
68
W. Kaung (Jiang Dahui), the Divinity School of Chung Chi College, the
Chinese University of Hong Kong, comes from an ecumenical (or liberal)
tradition. He belongs to one of those to whom Lo’s pleas to “look beyond the
walls of the Church and try to reach the academic group and engage in more
dialogues with academics of other disciples” and to “correct the inadequacies
of Apollos” is directed. However, Kaung maintains that he welcomes the rise
of “Cultural Christians” in China and proposes they should not be asked to
follow the norms of the Hong Kong theological community, because any such
requirements would deprive them of their characteristics. Kaung believes that
“it was necessary for a scholar to keep a distance from the subject of study. As
theology represents reflection on faith, doing theology should be a second
order activity. A theologian studies religious faith but does not engage directly
in religious activities.15 This concept in methodology is strictly different from
Lo and Leung, who emphasize the role of Church and dogmatics.
Kaung’s idea on doing theology reflects heritage of Professor Philip Shen,
one of the founders of the ecumenical theological tradition of Chung Chi.
According to Shen, theology is the believer’s purposeful reflection by reason.
Such reflection can be distinguished into different orders. The first order is
reflection on humanity, life and the world (ultimate realities) based on faith or
the elements given or presupposed by faith (such as the Bible and traditions).
The second order is reflection on faith itself and its given or presupposed
elements (including the ultimate basis of faith). Theological studies may be
regarded as a second order activity.16 In other words, theological studies are not
a part of dogmatics. Rather, the Church and the dogmas are the objects to
which theological reflection is directed.
Kaung further points out that the theological community of Hong Kong
has been dominated by British and American theologians, playing the role of a
“distributor”. Kaung believes that the threat of western theologians is more
serious than the threat of the “Chinese Apostles”, more likely to “stifle the
development of the local theological community”. In fact, Kaung is a
proponent of the “de-colonialization” of theology, and has made this comment
on the idea and task of Christian theology: “All theologies are contextual
theologies, constructed by theologians living in a particular time and space in
an attempt to understand, respond to and provide a context for the substance of
the faith on a contemporary basis. Hong Kong Christians living in this
particular time and space should also renew their efforts in theological
15 Joseph Kaung, “Chinese Apolloses: A Crisis?”, Christian Times 423 (October 8, 1995),
p.10
16 Philip Shen, “Methodology in Theology”, in Chan Shunhing ed., Xinyangde Tiankong:
Jidujiao Shenxue Daoyin [Invitation to Theology] (Hong Kong: Hong Kong Christian
Institute, 1994), pp.119-20.
69
reflection in an attempt to construct a Hong Kong theology.”17 The claim that
“all theologies are contextual theologies” is diametrically different from
Leung’s proposition that “theology is dogmatics”. Rather, it is comparable to
the “cultural-existential context”, the basis for the Sino-Christian Theology as
suggested by Bo Fan.
In Bo Fan’s opinion, human beings receive the grace of God in a
“cultural-existential context”. The existence of a person is first rooted in a
culture, not in a church. The cross exists only in the “cultural-existential con-
text”. Therefore the theology of “I believe” is necessarily “a (secular) cultural
theology but not an ecclesiastical theology.”18 Although both Kaung and Bo
Fan lay emphasis on the idea of context, to the broader cultural and
philosophical realms in which one exists but not the particular social, political,
economic and cultural contexts, as underpinned by Bo Fan’s statement: “The
existential and intellectual contexts of that ‘one person’ (Kierkegaard) render
geographical division (between China and the West or between Hong Kong
and Mainland China) irrelevant – essentially they are part of context of the
self.”19 This is the key difference between the “Sino-Christian Theology”
proposed by some scholars from Mainland China and the “Contextual
Theology” proposed by ecumenical Hong Kong theologians.
4. Peter K. H. Lee
The fourth Hong Kong theologian speaking in the debate is Peter K. H. Lee (Li
Jingxiong), former director of the Christian Study Centre on Chinese Religion
and professor of theology and culture at Hong Kong Lutheran Theological
Seminary. As a veteran ecumenical scholar, Lee comments on the problem of
“Theological spokesmanship”, that is the question of authority: “Who is the
spokesman for theology?” Since what is to be spoken is the knowledge from
God, so whoever is able to teach this knowledge is a spokesman for theology.
There could be different classes of spokesman for theology. A genuine
professor of theology is one who has made an effort rationalizing the
knowledge from God and teaching theology in his or her own right or as a
successor of a tradition. Others, such as priests, church leaders, Christian
intellectuals and professionals and theological scholars, may also speak on
theological issues as long as they are able to produce discourses which show
the light of revelation in a rational manners.”20 Are the “Cultural Christians”
qualified to speak on theological matters then? Lee goes onto point out that
17 Joseph, Kaung, “The Decolonialization of Theology”, in Chan Shunhing ed.,

Xinyangde Tiankong: Jidujiao Shenxue Daoyin [Invitation to Theology], p.270.
20 Peter K. H. Lee, “Reflections of Hong Kong Theologians and the Rise of Chinese
Apolloses (Part I)”, Christian Times 429 (November 12, 1995), p.10.
70
“the ‘Cultural Christians’ have yet to meet the necessary conditions for such
authority to speak. There are indeed a number of outstanding ‘Cultural
Christians’, but I do not see how they could speak comprehensively on behalf
of orthodox theology. Besides, their major tasks are only translating and
introducing foreign theology.” 21 Here, Lee has spoken on revelation, the
Christian community and orthodoxy of theology.
Lee’s ideas are in significant conflict with Bo Fan’s idea of the
“Sino-Christian Theology”. Bo Fan’s concepts of the “direct confrontation with
the Christ-event”, “the confession of the individual”, and the “denial of the
orthodoxy defined by the Hong Kong theological community” are in sharp
contrast to Lee. This will be dealt with further in the next section on the ideas
of the Chinese Cultural Christians.
Although Lee is an ecumenical theologian by tradition, his idea on the
subject matter and methodology of theology is obviously different from Kaung,
another ecumenical theologian. In response to Lee’s description of “a genuine
professor of theology” as “one who has made an effort rationalizing the
knowledge from God and teaching theology in his or her own right or as a
successor of a tradition” and the right of others to speak on theology “as long
as they are able to produce discourses which show the light of revelation in a
rational manner”, Kaung is likely to point out that rationalizing the light of
revelation from God into proper discourses is reflection by reason in the first
order. The work of a professor of theology should be to study these discourses,
namely to engage in a second order reflection. Lee and Kaung are in apparent
disagreement even as they both come from an ecumenical tradition.
Lee also comments on the evangelical and ecumenical traditions. He
points out that the evangelical churches in Hong Kong are all “imported” from
the West, and he also notes that “denominationalism which refuses to be open
to new ideas has little future”. On the ecumenical tradition, Lee names the
Chung Chi Divinity School as the most open-minded among seminaries in
Hong Kong. “There is a negative side to this openness: the lack of commitment.
There is also a positive side: faithfulness accompanied by a broad vision. Both
sides are seen at Chung Chi.”22 Lee’s remark gives further evidence to the
contrary of theological traditions in Hong Kong, and proves to the contrary of a
view expressed in the debate to the effect that Hong Kong theologians are
excluding Chinese scholars from the intellectual circle.
Apolloses (Part I)”, p.10.
22 Peter Lee stopped short of further elaboration on his comment on Chung Chi Theology
of “lack of commitment”. Nevertheless, his comment did confirm the diversified
nature of theological traditions in Hong Kong. See Peter K. H. Lee, “Reflections of
Hong Kong Theologians and the Rise of Chinese Apolloses (Part II)”, Christian Times
429 (November 12, 1995), p.10.
71
More importantly, Lee also expresses his views on the future task of
theology in Hong Kong. Lee points out that the context of Hong Kong would
be linked to the context of China after reunification in 1997. By that time, what
Hong Kong theologians should be working on is neither a “Hong Kong
Theology” nor a “Chinese Theology,” but rather a “Hong Kong-Chinese Theo-
logy”. He proposes a direction which may be called theology of “inculturation”.
Lee further explains “inculturation” as “a theologian inculturating and turning
the gospel that he/she and the Christian community manifest into the spiritual
strength for a new life, ultimately transforming the culture, the society and the
people.”23 Lee’s concept of inculturation is concurrent with Li Qiuling, who
also proposes the “the infiltration of theology into culture and culture into
theology”. To put it simply, it is “the Sinification of theology, whereby
theology can be expressed in natural Chinese language and discuss and resolve
the problems of China. It is theology entering the mainstream culture of China
and vice versa.”24 Here, we see a Hong Kong theologian and a Christian
scholar on Christianity in China have similar expectations for the future task of
theology in the context of China and Hong Kong.
The Theological Ideas of Chinese Scholars Revealed in the “Cultural

Christian” Debate
In the first stage of the “Cultural Christian” debate, all those involved are
theologians from Hong Kong. They are mainly concerned with how the
theological community of Hong Kong should respond to the rise of “Cultural
Christians” in China. However, when the Chinese scholars joined the debate,
the discussion develops towards another area. The views of the Chinese
scholars have not only enriched the arguments of the debate, it also allows
Hong Kong theologians to look at Chinese understanding of Christianity from
a closer range and to learn about their feelings for the theological community
of Hong Kong.
1. Li Qiuling
The first speaker from the Mainland Chinese camp is Li Qiuling, the aforesaid
professor of philosophy at the Renmin University of China. Li explains his
understanding of Christianity from an academic point of view. In his opinion,
“the Christian faith represents the entire process in two thousand years’ history
Apolloses (Part II)”, p.10.
24 Li, Qiuling, “The Interaction between Theology and Culture: the Mixed Feeling of the
Apolloses’. Part IV: The Inculturation of Theology’”, Christian Times 436 (January 7,
1996), p.11.
72
in which Christians from different ages experience and understand Jesus in
each of their own unique cultural-historical context. It is also a process in
which Christianity encounters, clashes with and amalgamates with other
non-Christian philosophies. This process will continue while Christianity
prevails. No sect or individual could lay claim to the correct understanding of
the faith. People of each nation have the right to understand the Christian faith
in their own cultural context. Every individual could rightfully have his or her
own understanding shaped by a particular heritage.” Li continues to express his
appreciation of Christianity in more religious terms: “A Hong Kong theologian
has once said that God is the God of the Chinese people as well as the God of
westerners, because he loves the world and all people therein… I would rather
understand the statement as underpinning the right of the Chinese people to
learn about God. God will be the God of the Chinese people only when he is a
God of the Chinese people’s own understanding. By virtue of the same
rationale, God is the God of all people, not just the Christians. And every
individual, Christian or otherwise, has the right to have his own understanding
of God.”25
Putting Li’s understanding of Christianity in the light of the “Cultural
Christian” debate, the immediate observation is the difference between Hong
Kong and Chinese scholars on certain theological ideas. While Li proclaims
that “no sect or individual could lay claim to the correct understanding of the
faith”, Leung Ka-lun maintains that “theology is dogmatics”, suggesting an
obvious gap in understanding. Meanwhile, Li thinks that “the Christian faith
represents the entire process in two thousand years’ history in which Christians
from different ages experience and understand Jesus in each of their own
unique cultural-historical context”, in significant correspondence to Joseph
Kaung’s idea of “contextual theology” and “decolonization of theology”. A
more profound comparison, however, presents itself between Li and Peter Lee.
For many years, Lee has been widely respected in the academic circle for
his efforts in promoting the dialogue between Christianity and Chinese culture.
As quoted earlier, Lee thinks that most Christian denominations [in Hong Kong]
are “imported from the West”, and that “denominationalism which refuses to be
open to new ideas has little future”. This is actually akin to Li’s view that “God
will be the God of the Chinese people only when he is a God of the Chinese
people’s own understanding”. However, Lee would probably not agree with Li’s
proclamation that “no sect or individual could lay claim to the only correct
understanding of the faith”. Of course, Lee would not “lay claim to the only
correct understanding of the faith”, but I doubt whether he would agree that “no
25 Li, Qiuling, “The Interaction between Theology and Culture: the Mixed Feeling of the
Apolloses’ - Part III: The Right of the Mainland Academic Community to Study
Christianity”, Christian Times 435 (December 31, 1995), p.10.
73
sect or individual” ever could, because Lee does believe that there is
“orthodoxy” in matters of theology.
Li, on the other hand, is quite sensitive on the issue of orthodoxy, and is
ready to speak out his mind. “The theological community itself has naturally
become an object of study for the academics, so the latter is quite sensitive to
what theologians have to say. However, if theologians insist that they are the
orthodox people who have an exclusive right to studying the faith, and
maintain a protective instinct against the ‘trespass’(?) of the academics, then
any resulting comments can hardly be valid ones.”26 Li is commenting on the
communication problem between Hong Kong theologians and Chinese
academics here, but Lee’s requirement for “orthodoxy” in the theology is
directed towards the “Cultural Christians”.27 I believe that Lee will probably
agree with Lo Ping- cheung that the orthodoxy requirement in theology applies
only to those scholars who actually confess the faith but not the scholars in
general who study about Christianity. Hence the communication problem
between Hong Kong theologians and Chinese academics here is settled. But
the problem of orthodoxy between Hong Kong theologians and Chinese
academic-theologians remains, and the tension breaks out in Bo Fan’s response
to Leung Ka-lun.28
2. Bo Fan
Bo Fan, nom de plume of Wu Bofan, Assistant Research Fellow, Institute of
Social Science Documentation Institute, China Academy of Social Science, is
apparently an academic-theologian who confesses to be a Christian. Now Liu
Xiaofeng, obviously the figure at the centre of the controversy, never speaks
out in the debate. Rather, Bo Fan’s view on the “Sino-Christian Theology”
largely reflects what Liu has been advocating.29 It looks like that Bo Fan is
speaking on behalf of Liu.30
26 Li, Qiuling, “The Interaction between Theology and Culture: Part III”, p.10.
27 See the section on Peter Lee’s views.
28 Zhang Xianyong was the second Chinese scholar to have taken part in the debate.
Zhang’s concern was more with the theological conflict between the Hong Kong and
Chinese churches. His article does not reflect much of his theological thinking, and he
is thus omitted for a detailed discussion in the present chapter.
29 See Liu, Xiaofeng, “Xiandai Yujingzhong de Hanyu Jidu Shenxue” (Sino-Christian
Theology in the Modern Context), Logos & Pneuma 2 (Spring 1995), pp.9-48.
30 The following quotation from Bo Fan is telling of the capacity which Bo Fan considers
himself: “The future Sino-Christian Theology will be a theology with the Chinese
language (Hanyu), one of the secular languages in the broad sense (the
“cultural-existential context”) as its resources and modern philosophy, poetry and
social theories as its means of expression. It is also the study of secular (as opposed to
ecclesiastical) Christian culture, namely an encyclopedic study of theology. It does not
exclude but necessarily includes all schools of theology in the geographically diverse
74
It has already been pointed out that Lee and Bo Fan are in extreme
disagreement in their concept of theology, resulting from differences in three
main areas: “revelation versus direct confrontation of the Chris event”,
“Christian community versus individual confession”, and “orthodoxy in theo-
logy versus rejection of orthodoxy defined by Hong Kong theologians”. Bo
Fan’s views are presented in repudiation of Leung’s arguments. Hence we have
yet to grasp a fuller picture of what he stands for. Nevertheless, Bo Fan’s
article is a useful reader for any understanding of the difference in Chinese and
Hong Kong theologians.
Pivotal to the Bo Fan-Leung debate is the relationship between theology
and the church tradition. Leung criticizes the “Cultural Christians” of breaking
away from contexts,31 and further questions whether “(Cultural Christians)
should be allowed to interpret Christianity as their discretion, having no regard
for a Christian community who inherits a two thousand-year tradition?”32 Bo
Fan’s answer is “For a mortal such as I (or we) who barely live up to one
hundred years, why is it necessary and indeed how is it possible to inherit and
embrace two thousand years of tradition? In order to “inherit” we must first
choose (those elements that are beneficial).33 Hence, “Cultural Christians”
suggest the “direct confrontation with the Christ-event” and “highlighting on
the importance of the words of Jesus and Paul”. Bo Fan also draws support
from Martin Luther’s proclamation of “scripture alone”, “Christ alone”, “grace
alone” and “faith alone”.
The “direct confrontation with Christ” is closely related to Bo Fan’s
concept of “individual confession”. Lo, Leung and Lee from Hong Kong are
concurrent in their emphasis on the inseparability of theology from the
Christian community and the Church. Leung lends a rather sharp criticism to
the “Cultural Christians”: “Can a person who never goes to church nor accept
any of the ideas and patterns of behavior handed down by the traditions of
Christian faith calls himself a ‘Christian’ just because he is attracted to one
single quote of Augustine?”34 To this query Bo Fan answers: “The meaning of
the Cross (the Way, the Truth, the Life) is realized in the ‘I believe’ confession,
Chinese Language world. However, any theology that rejects the modern context on
the grounds of geographical differences (between China and West, the Mainland and
Hong Kong and the Mainland and Taiwan, etc.) shall themselves be excluded from the
modern language context.” See Bo Fan, “Who’s Christ and Which Tradition? Part II:
Orthodoxy and Heresy”, p.8.
31 See the section on Leung Ka-lun.
32 Leung, Ka-lun, “A Discussion with Zhang Xianyong on Issues relating ‘Cultural
Christians’ (Part II)”, Christian Times 444 (March 3, 1996), p.10.
33 Bo Fan, “Who’s Christ and Which Tradition? Part III: Which Tradition? (2)”, Christian
Times 453 (May 5, 1996), p.8.
34 Leung Ka-lun, “A Discussion with Zhang Xianyong on Issues relating ‘Cultural
Christians’ (Part II)”, p.10.
75
not the ‘we believe’ one bound by the Church. As far as ‘I’ am concerned, the
fundamental question is to ‘be’ a Christian (as opposed to ‘becoming’ a
Christian within the church institution).”35 He then quoted Kierkegaard: “The
Christian faith could only be established in the continued relationship of the
direct confrontation of the lone self with God. It cannot be established on a
once-and-for-all basis by assuming certain external organization.”36
From his concept of “individual confession” Bo Fan advances further to
proclaim his understanding of Christian theology and gives an exposition of
the fundamental concerns of the “Sino-Christian Theology” in response to the
orthodoxy concern raised by Hong Kong theologians.
The confession of faith (I believe) is based on the experience and reflection of oneself,
and therefore has a natural link to the forms of literature and philosophy… Literature is
concerned with the primary origins of the Cross (the ‘cultural-existential dimension’). It has
to do with the existential judgment of the individual. Philosophy means epistemology, the
reflection on knowledge in the context of a particular era. It has to with the epistemological
judgment of the individual. Hence the theology of ‘I believe’ is necessarily a (secular)
cultural theology, but not an ecclesiastical theology. The modern man is not based on the
authority of the Church, but rather the common confession of faith in Christ shared by each
Christian.37
Contrary to Leung’s understanding of the study of theology as inseparable

from dogmatics and a mission entrusted by the Church, Bo Fan’s views are
also in conflict with Zhang Xianyong’s position from within the Church.
Moreover, Bo Fan is doubtful about Lee’s “inculturation”, and, probably
further to, Kaung’s “contextual theology”.
Those who favour indigenized theology say that God is the God of Chinese people as
well as westerners. To a large extent that is true. But the key issue is that we are the “people”
in China, not any people in “China”. The “God” of Christian theology (especially con
temporary theology) is not the God of Isaac, Jacob and Abraham who received the grace of
God in the capacity of the leader of a nation or a clan. God is the God who was persecuted,
mocked and humiliated by unknowing sinners, abandoned after crying to God in desperation,
36 Bo Fan refuted Leung directly: “There are people who do not go to church but call
themselves Christians in China (and indeed everywhere in the world), certainly there
are none who “call themselves Christians but do not accept any ideas or patterns of
behavior of the traditional Chinese faith, or do not even accept that special authority of
the Bible.” See Bo Fan, “Who’s Christ and Which Tradition? Part III: Which Tradition?
(1)”, Christian Times 452 (April 28, 1996), p.8. I have paraphrased the words of Leung
and Bo Fan to highlight Bo Fan’s stress on “individual confession”. See Bo Fan, “Who’s Christ
and Which Tradition? Part I: Pride and Prejudice”, Christian Times 450 (April 14, 1996), p.9.
76
and left dying on the Cross. God is “my God”, the God with a “self”. God in a context of
[absolute paradox].38
Bo Fan’s theological ideas are quite different from both the ecumenical
theologians in Hong Kong and Li Qiuling’s idea of the “sinolization” of
theology.
Towards the end of his article, Bo Fan quoted S. N. Bulgakov, an Eastern
Orthodox theologian:
Tradition is the vivid memory of the Church that contains orthodox doctrines, as its
history shows. It is not a museum of archaeology or a catalogue of science, nor is it a
‘resort’ for faith. It is the inherent vitality of any living, organic body. It exists in its own
stream of life, with all that were in its past. All that were in the past are inherent in the
present. So they are the present, too… The history of the Church develops by
manifesting and historically realizing the supra-historical substance. It translates the
language of eternity into the historical language of human beings, and provided the
substance remains unchanged, this translation reflects the characteristics of these
languages and their times.39
The above is obviously quoted with the intention of establishing the rationale
for the “Sino-Christian Theology”. I guess none of the Hong Kong theologians
in the debate would object to Bulgakov’s discussion of church tradition and
church history quoted above. I suspect that while it is not surprising that
“Cultural Christians” like Bo Fan would like to benefit from the heritage of the
Eastern Church, to quote from an Eastern theologian might also be a deliberate,
strategic attempt in counteracting the British and American theological
traditions to which most Hong Kong theologians are adhered.40 If that be the
38 Bo Fan’s words suggested that he had some misunderstanding of the “indigenization of

theology”. The ideas of “claiming God’s grace in the capacity of a national or clan
leader” does not exist in the proposal of “indigenization of theology”. See Bo Fan,
“Who’s Christ and Which Tradition? Part II: Orthodoxy and Heresy”, p.8.
39 Bo Fan, “Who’s Christ and Which Tradition? Part IV: Conclusion”, Christian Times
454 (May 12, 1996), p.8.
40 Bo Fan has made the following remark on scholars in Hong Kong: “Compared to
Chinese scholars, scholars in Hong Kong have a certain deficiency in the Chinese
Language and knowledge in humanities, which is not likely to be overcome in the near
future. Their inadequate knowledge of the languages, philosophies and cultural context
of Europe as a whole will represent a major obstacle to their understanding of
contemporary western theology (to which British and American theologians have made
very little contribution).” See Bo Fan, “Who’s Christ and Which Tradition? Part I:
Pride and Prejudice”, Christian Times 450 (April 14, 1996), p.9.If we compare the way
that Bo Fan quoted Bulgakov and Leung’s Brunner, we can tell that both were trying to
resort to the authority of traditions.
77
case, it means that the debate might have extended from pure conceptual
differences to ideological strife.
Conclusion
My conclusion after reading the “Cultural Christian” debate is fourfold:
1. The conceptual differences among Hong Kong theologians and among

Chinese scholars are no less than those between the Hong Kong camp and
the China camp. This suggests that diversity, rather than singularity, has
been governing the development of theology in both the Church of Hong
Kong and the Chinese academic community. Therefore I doubt the validity
of comments on the debate which suggests that “Hong Kong theologians
are excluding Chinese scholars from the intellectual circle”41 or that “the
language of Beijing is overwhelming the language of Hong Kong in
anticipation of 1997.” 42 On the other hand, we actually find Chinese
scholars and Hong Kong theologians in agreement on a number of issues,
such as the inculturation between Christian theology and Chinese culture
and the way theology would contribute to Chinese society and culture.
Despite their diversity, there are some values and vision that Chinese
scholars and Hong Kong theologians do share.
2. The debate also brings out some trends of theological development in Hong
Kong. Traditionally, the evangelicals place a high priority on church and
dogma, while ecumenical scholars are more focused on academic studies.
For example, Chung Chi Divinity School of the Chinese University of Hong
Kong is frequently criticized by evangelicals as being too “liberal”. More
than often, Chung Chi’s theology has been labeled “modernist”. Even Peter
K. H. Lee, himself an ecumenical scholar, describes Chung Chi’s theology
as “lacking commitment”. Therefore, it is quite extraordinary that Lo Ping-
cheung, an evangelical, should call for theologians to “look beyond the
walls of the Church and try to reach the academic group” and “theologians
at the Baptist University and the Chinese University” to be committed to the
41 According to Li Qiuling, “Sino-Christian Studies” advocated by Liu Xiaofeng is

“undoubtedly attracting attention”. See Li, Qiuling, “The Interaction between
Theology and Culture: the Mixed Feeling of the Hong Kong Theological Community
towards the Rise of the So-called ‘Chinese Apolloses’. Part IV: The Inculturation of
Theology’”, Christian Times 436 (January 7, 1996), p.11. Zhang Xianyong believed
that Liu was “opening up an outlet beyond the fold of the Church for people inside the
fold, with an intention to enhance Sino-Christian theology both inside and beyond the
fold (in the tertiary sense).” See Zhang, Xianyong, “The Community within the Circle
and the Community Outside: A Response to the Issue of ‘Chinese Apolloses’ - The
Third Circle: Between the Periphery and the Centre of Chinese Culture”, Christian
Times 441 (February 11, 1996), p.11.
42 Bo Fan’s comment. See section on Leung Ka-lun.
78
cultural group and share responsibilities with their counterpart in
independent seminaries”. Here, I see a trend towards professionalism in the
development of theology. Social changes in Hong Kong result in a more
complex social structure, which makes division of labour necessary. The
challenge from “Cultural Christians ” in China will only accelerate the
trend.
3. Turning to China, the debate indicates that the rising group of “Cultural
Christians ”are generally alienated from established churches, and their
theology is developing along a “non-ecclesiastical” line of thinking. I
believe that theology in China will develop in two extremes in the future:
The socio-cultural approach should have good prospects, given the positive
responses from Chinese scholars seen in the debate. 43 The traditional,
church-affiliated approach, on the other hand, would be expecting a difficult
time. The development of socio-cultural theology is less than likely to
benefit traditional church-affiliated theology. Here I see an opportunity for
the theological institutions and diversified cultural traditions of Hong Kong
to serve as a cross-regional infrastructure for theological education and the
development of traditional Christian theology in China after 1997.
4. In the debate, there are issues related to “mainstream versus
non-mainstream tradition” or “orthodoxy versus non-orthodoxy”, and
opinions suggest that such divisions need to be re-defined.44 In addition, a
critic points out that the humanistic approach to theology and ecclesiastical
approach to theology are “incommensurable.” 45 Despite the polemical
views that sometimes exist between different theological traditions, I
believe that dialogue on the conceptual level is always possible. Theology
stresses not only scientific and objective criterion in ideas and methods, it is
also a highly normative discipline. We can put “mainstream” and
“non-mainstream” theologies on the same level and review them under
scientific and objective criterion. The present paper, which is a comparative
analysis of the ideas of various Chinese and Hong Kong theologians, is an
example of how dialogue between different theological thoughts can be
achieved. I suggest that critical discussions of different theologies could be
developed further based upon the ground of descriptive-analytical findings,
43 Chin’s comment, see Chin Ken Pa, “The Language Diversion of Chinese Theology
and Conflicts in Its Interpretation: The Dispute between Ecclesiastical Theology and
Humanistic Theology (Part I)”, Christian Times 455 (May 19, 1996), p.8.
44 The reviews on meta-theoretical discussion of various theologies have in fact already
begun. See He, Guanghu, “Bentu Shenxue Guankui” (A Preliminary Investigation of
‘Indigenous Theology’), Logos & Pneuma 2 (Spring 1995), pp.152-68. Kwan
Shui-man, “Ping Liu Xiaofeng de Hanyu Jidu Shenxue” (A Review of Liu Xiaofeng’s
Sino-Christian Theology), Logos & Pneuma 4 (Spring 1996), pp. 220-39.
45 Chin Ken Pa, “The Language Diversion of Chinese Theology and Conflicts in Its
Interpretation (Part I)”, p.8.
79
particularly in the realm of meta-theoretical discourse. Only after
comparative studies and critical reviews on theological ideas, concepts and
methods, Hong Kong and Chinese theologians could possibly achieve
genuine understanding and cooperation.
80
PART II
Theoretical Reflection
Theological Translation and Transmission
between China and the West1
LAI Pan-chiu
Introduction
Some might suggest that Chinese Protestant theology in the past was essentially a
translated theology, consisting of western theologies translated into the Chinese
language, while innovations were out of the question. According to this view, the
history of Chinese theology is nothing more than the history of the translation and
transmission of western theologies in China. In the 1950s, Chen Zemin
commented on the theological publications of “Old China” in this way:
If we examine the theological publishing in the pre-1949 Chinese church, we find little to
recommend it. Most of the publications were translations, and most selections were made by
western missionaries. Most theological books edited or written by Chinese authors were
compilations rather than original works, or were general reviews. Genuinely creative works
were rare. At such a time there could be no genuinely Chinese church, the Chinese church could
not govern or support itself, and we had little authentic spiritual experience of our own upon
which to draw for self-propagation. In such a situation, poverty of theological thought was only
natural, and a theology able to transcend its times was an impossibility.2
Chen mentions a few examples to support his judgment:
In the first decade of this century, American theologians wrangled endlessly over the issue
of fundamentalism vs. modernism, and the fray was soon introduced into the Chinese church.
1 This paper itself has undergone a process of theological translation. It was originally
written in Chinese and presented at “Übersetzubg und Rezeption: Begegung des
Christentums mit der chinesische Kultur”, a conference co-organized by China-Zentrum e.
V. (Sankt Augustin, Germany) and Institute of Sino-Christian Studies (Hong Kong), held
in Berlin, 6-9 December 2001. An earlier English version of this paper was presented at
“Faithful/Fateful Encounters: Religion and Cultural Exchanges between Asia and the
West”, a conference co-organized by Graduate Theological Union (Berkeley, USA) and
Chinese Academy of Social Sciences (Beijing, China), held in Beijing, October 22-24,
2002. The author would like to thank the participants of these conferences for their
helpful comments.
2 Chen Zemin, “Theological Construction in the Chinese Church”, Chinese Theological
Review (1991), p.57.
83
Before most Chinese Christians had even figured out what fundamentalism and modernism
were, and what these arguments represented in America, they had already fallen into blind,
narrow denominational disputes, fighting vigorously and loyally for their western teachers, and
causing divisions in the young Chinese church. After the First World War, when western
nations sank into poverty, bitterness and despair, the western church turned from blind
optimism to pessimism and bewilderment. The “crisis theology” was immediately exported to
China, and China’s theologians took pride in quibbling over Kierkegaard’s “sickness unto
death” and the paradoxes of “dialectical theology”.3
The examples given by Chen highlight the influence of western theology on

Chinese theology. In fact, evangelical/fundamentalist Christians constitute the
most influential group among the Chinese Christian community, and their basic
religious beliefs are not much different from the evangelicals and fundamentalists
in western countries. 4 However, it remains doubtful as to whether these examples
adequately reflect the entire reality. Another important question is whether
Chinese theology showed dramatic improvements after the Chinese Church had
realized self-governance. Where is the watershed dividing Old China and New
China? Is it the year 1949 as Chen suggests?
Considering the quantity alone, publications in the 1920s and 1930s were no
less than that in the 1950s and 1960s. After 1949, there were fewer translated
works in the publications of the institutional church in China, but then there were
also fewer original works. If we think in terms of theological diversity, the
theological publications during the 1920s and 1930s definitely demonstrate a
greater degree of diversity than those of the 1950s and 1960s. The main reason
behind this difference is that the issues facing Chinese theologians prior to 1949,
such as interaction with traditional Chinese culture, religion and science,
Christianity and revolution, etc., had all been reduced to a single question of how
Chinese Christianity should accommodate herself to the new socialist system.
Theological responses, especially among the Three-Self Church, were highly
standardized with a view to implementing government policies and assisting in
patriotic education and united front campaigns, etc. 5 This standardization
3 Chen Zemin, “The Task of Theological Construction of the Chinese Church”, pp.56-57.
4 Another form of Christianity commonly seen in the Chinese-language community is the
charismatic tradition, which is more popular in rural areas and tends to be neglected in
terms of theological contributions because of its emphasis on experience and practice
rather than theological construction. See: Timothy Yeung Tin Yan, “Indigenous Chinese
Church as an Offspring of Pneumatic Christianity: A Re-examination of the Development
of Christianity in Modern China” (unpublished Ph.D. thesis, Chinese University of Hong
Kong, July 2002 (in Chinese with an Abstract in English).
5 See Luo Guan-zong ed., Zhongguo jidujiao sanzi aiguo yundong wenxuan 1950-1992
[Selected Essays on the Chinese Christian Three-Self Patriotic Movement 1950-1992]
(Shanghai: Chinese Christian Three-Self Patriotic Movement Committee, 1993) and
Philip L. Wickeri, Seeking the Common Ground: Protestant Christianity, the Three-Self
84
persisted until the Chinese government adopted the policy of reform and openness
at the end of the 1970s. The revival of theological activities in Mainland China
began to occur only from the 1980/90s. Meanwhile, theologians in Hong Kong
and Taiwan were also actively responding to challenges arising from their
respective contexts. In retrospect, therefore, there are two periods of flourishing
development in Chinese theology during the 20th Century, namely the 1920/30s
and the 1980/90s.
In the following discussion, I will review the development of Chinese
theology in these two periods, with particular reference to the translation and
transmission between China and the West. At the end of this paper, I will attempt
to discuss the prospect of the relationship between Chinese and western
theologies.
The Rise of Chinese Theology in the 1920/30s

In the 1920s and 1930s, the Chinese Christian community was exposed to an
extensive range of theological problems amid challenges on various fronts, giving
rise to a diversified development of theological literature. On the one hand, it
faced the issue of Christianity and traditional Chinese culture. On the other, the
ideological impact of the new cultural movement, highlighting science and
democracy and the rapid social and political changes, also constituted a serious
challenge to Chinese Christianity. In response to criticisms of Christianity voiced
by the Anti-Christian movement in the 1920s, Chinese Christian intellectuals
endeavored to prove that Christianity was not contradictory to science and that, as
a progressive and revolutionary religion, Christianity was set to make positive
contributions to the nation’s urgent issues.6 Meanwhile, they also attempted to
establish indigenous theology in response to the criticism that Christianity was a
foreign religion.
The question of how Christianity is to be related to traditional Chinese culture
is not a new one. Roman Catholic missionaries first encountered the problem in
the late Ming Dynasty, while Protestant missionaries continued to face it in the
19th Century. In the early 20th Century, theologians endeavored to indigenize the
external forms, institutions and theology of Christianity. Theological indigen-
ization involves the adoption of traditional Chinese philosophical concepts,
especially Confucian thought and terms, in constructing theology with Chinese
characteristics. As far as this approach to theology is concerned, translation of
western theological literature is dispensable and in fact might sometimes be seen
as redundant. Elements or characteristics of western culture in Christian
Movement and China’s United Front (Maryknoll, N.Y.: Orbis, 1988).

6 At that time some Chinese Christians sought to develop political theologies to illustrate
the revolutionary nature of Christianity. See Yeh Jen-chang, “Geming yu Yesu:
1920-1928 Zhongguo Jiaohuide Zhengzhi Shenxue” (Revolution and Jesus: Political
Theology of the Chinese Church 1920-1928), CGST Journal 12 (1992), pp. 19-43.
85
theological traditions might be regarded as nothing but a burden that must be
removed. This approach assumes that the trans-cultural gospel could be adopted
without translating western theological literature into Chinese.
From the 1930s, however, the rapid changes in the social and political
situation in China made many Chinese theologians focus on the relevance of
Christianity to contemporary political and social issues, to such an extent that the
indigenous approach fell out of favor somewhat. The dominant position of
indigenized theology was shaken and taken over by the contextualization
approach, which focused on the relationship between theology and contemporary
society. Some theologians continued to probe the question of traditional Chinese
culture and indigenization while at the same time investigating contemporary
social issues. Some works that appeared to investigate the relationship between
Christianity and traditional Chinese culture were actually dealing with the
question concerning Christianity and contemporary Chinese society.7
Apart from writing original works, Chinese theologians also attempted to
translate western theological works to tackle the problems Christianity faced in
modern China. Certain publishing houses became centers for producing original
Chinese theologies and translating western works. One example is the Chinese
Christian Literature Society (Zhonghua Jidujiao Wenshe, 1925-28), which
emphasized the origination of indigenous theology and published far more
original works than translations. Unfortunately, it lasted for only a very short span
of time for financial and other reasons.8 Another noteworthy institution was The
Association Press of China (Qingnian Xiehui Shuju), founded in 1902. It was a
publishing house managed by Chinese editors throughout without any
interference from foreigners. It published works of famous Chinese theologians
including Zhao Zichen (T. C. Chao, 1888-1979), Liu Tingfang (Timothy Tingfang
Lew, 1891-1947), Xu Baoqian (P. C. Hsu, 1892-1944) and Wu Yaozong (Y. T. Wu,
1893-1979). By the end of the 1940s, it had published more than 500 monographs
and pamphlets, among which only a small portion were translations and books
originally written by Chinese authors.9
These translated works were more often than not a reflection of the concerns
and orientations of contemporary Chinese theologians at that time. For example,
many Chinese theologians were concerned with the accusation that religion in
general and Christianity in particular was unscientific, so much so that they
7 An illustrative example can be found in Wu Lei-chuan (= Wu Zhenchun), Jidujiao yu

Zhongguo Wenhua [Christianity and Chinese Culture] (Shanghai: The Association Press
of China, 1936).
8 For a more detailed account see: He Kai-li (=Herbert Ho Hoi Lap), “Zhonghua Jidujiao
Wenshe yu Bense Shenxue Zhuzuo” (The Christian Literature Society and Indigenous
Theological Writings), CGST Journal 5 (1988), pp. 5-21.
9 Yao Minquan, & Luo Weihong, Zhongguo Jidujiao Jianshi [A Short History of Chinese
Christianity] (Beijing: Religious Culture, 2000), pp. 232-233.
86
translated some western works on this issue in response. Jian Youwen (Timothy
Jen Yu-wan, 1896-1978), for example, pleaded for “a Christianized China by a
Chinatized Christianity”.10 However, he also translated some materials on the
subject of religion and science, and, according to his explanation, such translation
was for the purpose of responding to the critique of religion based on the
scientism implied in the Anti-religious movement.11 This attempt to answer critics
by translating foreign works was quite understandable and inevitable. This is
because modern China has been subject to the influence of more than a few
Chinese translations of foreign writings.12 Many popular criticisms of Christianity
voiced by Chinese intellectuals at that time were based on western ideologies
such as the theory of evolution, materialism and scientism. We might even say
that Chinese Christians at that time faced challenges from communism / socialism
/ nationalism / authoritarianism not unlike Christians in the modern western
society. Translating western theology to respond to challenges of Christianity that
originated from the West seemed to be an appropriate thing to do. At that time,
there were very few Chinese Christians who could write on the issue with
comparable quality.13
Another interesting example is Wu Yaozong, who translated into Chinese A
Common Faith by John Dewey (1859-1932). 14 As it is widely known, Wu
Yaozong was inclined to socialism and therefore could not possibly identify
himself with Dewey’s liberal stance. In fact, Wu criticized Dewey’s thought and
its capitalist ideology in the preface to the translation. 15 Wu’s purpose in
translating the book is clearly illustrated in the Chinese title he chose for the
Chinese version. Instead of translating “a common faith” directly and literally, he
named the Chinese version Kexuede zongjiaoguan (A Scientific View of
10 Jian Youwen, “Shemo shi Jidujiao?” (What is Christianity?), Shengming Yuekan [Life
Monthly Magazine] Vol. 2, Issue 2. (1921.9), pp.1-6; cf. Lin, Ronghong (Lam Wing-hung)
ed., Jindai Huaren Shenxue Wenxian [A Source Book of Modern Chinese Theology]
(Hong Kong: China Graduate School of Theology, 1986), p.52.
11 See Jian Youwen, “Foreword”, in J. M. Coulter, E. G. Conkin & A. S. Wooburne,
Zongjiao yu kexue [Religion and Science], Jian Youwen ed. & trans. (Shanghai: Chinese
YMCA National Association Publication Department, 1922), p.3.
12 See Zou Zhenhuan, Yingxiang Zhongguo Jindai Shehu de Yibaizhong Yizuo [100
Translated Works that Influenced Modern Chinese Society] (Beijing: Zhongguo duiwai
fanyi, 1996).
13 Some of the works originated in Chinese have been reprinted in Lam, Wing-hung, A
Source Book of Modern Chinese Theology, pp. 513-555. For an analysis of the Chinese
Christian responses to scientism, see Sun Shangyang, “Qimeng Huayu yu Zhongguo
Jidujiao Hujiaoxue” (Enlightenment Discourse and Chinese Christian Apologetics?),
Jidujiao Wenhua Xuekan [Journal for the Study of Christian Culture] 8 (2002), pp.47-70.
14 John Dewey, Kexuede Zongjiaoguan [A Scientific View of Religion], Wu Yaozong trans.
(Shanghai: The Association Press of China, 1936).
15 Wu Yaozong, “Introduction”, in John Dewey, Kexue de Zongjiaoguan, pp.14-15.
87
Religion). Wu says: “Dewey advocates a scientific religion, which means a
religion being liberated from the mystical ‘supra-naturalism’.” 16 Wu further
clarifies,
Our purpose of introducing this book of Dewey could be summarized as follows: firstly,
because of its substantial metaphysical elements, religion can easily become superstition, a
danger which could be alleviated by adopting a scientific attitude; secondly, religion in the past
tended to be alienated from daily life, and a scientific view on religion, which starts from reality,
can help to correct this problem.17
Chinese Christians at that time also faced the question of responding to social and
political issues amid rapid changes. Some Chinese theologians introduced the
theology of the social gospel, as they became aware of how this theology could be
related to the contemporary Chinese situation. Chinese translations of Theology
for the Social Gospel and Social Principles of Jesus by Walter Rauschenbusch
(1861-1918), the champion of the social gospel, were published as early as
1923.18 During more or less the same period, works of Harry Frederick Ward
(1873-1966), also an advocate for the social gospel, though less prominent than
Rauschenbusch in the United States, were also translated into Chinese. 19
Particularly noteworthy is the publication of Ward’s Gemingde Jidujiao (A
Revolutionary Christianity). Rather than a translation of a book already published
in English, it consisted of a compilation and translation of Ward’s speeches during
his visit to China in 1925 and some other writings. Jian Youwen stated in his
foreword to the book:
This is a time of revolution, which is especially true for China in transition. The crime of
“anti-revolution” charged by revolutionaries or revolutionary governments is more serious than
16 Wu Yaozong, “Introduction”, in John Dewey, Kexue de Zongjiaoguan, p.2.

17 Wu Yaozong, “Introduction”, in John Dewey, Kexue de Zongjiaoguan, p.14.
18 Theology for the Social Gospel is translated as: Shehui Fuyin de Shenxue, Lin Hongfei,
Dai Kuanyi & Jacob Shi trans., Mao Yun-hsuan rev. (Shanghai: Christian Literature
Society, 1923). Social Principles of Jesus is translated as: Yesu di Shehui Yuanli, Zhang
Shizhang trans. (Shanghai: Christian Literature Society, 1923). Zhao Zichen wrote in the
preface to the Chinese translation of Theology for the Social Gospel: “As Christianity
grows in China, the social gospel is also being preached throughout the nation. In recent
years, cultural movements at home have been expressing interest in understanding
Christianity and intentions to reform the society radically. At this moment, the translation
of Theology for the Social Gospel by my friend Lin Hong-fei is indeed a laudable act of
‘feeding the hungry and giving water to the thirsty’.” See Zhao’s preface to the Chinese
translation of Rauschenbusch’s Theology for the Social Gospel, p.3.
19 For example: Huade (Harry Ward), Jindai Shijiezhong Xinyangde Xiaoneng [Function of
Faith in the Modern World], Yuan Fanglai trans. (Shanghai: The Association Press of
China, 1934).
88
the crime of being Marxist charged by reactionaries and imperialists. The first and foremost
reason for non-Christians’ opposition to Christianity is the latter’s “anti-revolutionary” nature.
Thus it should indeed be appropriate and timely to publish a book on the revolutionary nature of
Christianity in this era of revolution.20
Following Ward, Jian Youwen attempted to emphasize that the ethos of

Christianity was purely ethical, social and revolutionary. After introducing
Ward’s views, Jian went on to say:
If all members of Chinese Christianity continue to proceed in this direction, then critics of
Christianity could no longer charge Christianity as “anti-revolutionary”. Positively speaking,
Christianity might even play a role in the great movement of social reform in the nation’s
renaissance. By that time, people may talk about religion as the stimulant of the people rather
than religion as the opium of the people. And the life of Christianity will last forever in tandem
with the Republic of China.”21
Liu Tingfang, who explicitly acknowledged his indebtedness to Ward, also

endeavored to argue that it could meet the needs of the Chinese context.22
These translations of western theology by Chinese theologians reflected the
Christian responses to the issues derived from the modern Chinese context. The
translation of the theology of the social gospel was criticized by certain
evangelical/fundamentalist Chinese theologians, giving rise to the contention
between the theologies of liberal theology/social gospel on the one hand and
fundamentalist/evangelical theologies on the other. However, the dispute between
liberal and fundamentalist Christians was not only due to the introduction of
western theology, but was also shaped by the Chinese context.
The responses of Chinese theologians to these issues did not stop short of
translation but while they attempted to do their own theology, they were not
entirely immune from western influence of some sort. This can be seen in the
theological development of Zhao Zichen, arguably the most famous Chinese
theologian at that time. 23 Zhao’s Jidujiao Zhexue (Christian Philosophy) was
20 Jian Youwen, “Foreword”, in Harry Ward, Gemingde Jidujiao [A Revolutionary

Christianity], Jian Youwen trans. (Shanghai: Zhonghua Jidu jiao wen she, 1926), p.1.
21 See Jian, “Foreword”, in Ward, Gemingde Jidujiao, p.7.
22 See Wu Chang-shing, “Idea and Practice of Religious Education and Social Change in
China: A Study of Timothy Tingfang Lew (1891-1947)”, unpublished Ph.D. thesis,
Chinese University of Hong Kong, June 2001 (in Chinese with English Abstract). For Liu
Tingfang’s translation and introduction of Ward’s theology, see Liu Tingfang, “Jidujiaode
shehui fuyin” (The Christian Social Gospel), Ta Kung Po (Dec 14, 1933), p.14.
23 For the influence of western theology and philosophy on Zhao, see Winfried Glüer,
Christliche Theologie in China: T. C. Chao, 1918-1956. (Gütersloher, 1979), Chapter
Three. Chinese version: ZhaoZichen de shenxue sixiang, Deng Xiaoming trans. (Hong
Kong: Chinese Christian Literature Council, 1998).
89
basically a response to challenges made against the Christian faith by
contemporary Chinese intellectuals from the perspective of scientism, especially
scientific positivism. Although the book was written in the form of a dialogue and
many of the sources of its arguments were not well documented, it was quite
apparent that he had made extensive use of western theologies. Zhao
acknowledged particularly his indebtedness to Borden Parker Bowne, William
James and Henri Bergson, among others.24 Some years later, Zhao made some
critical reflections on his previous works after he had been exposed to and
apparently influenced by Karl Barth’s work. Apart from writing what was
probably the first Chinese monograph on Karl Barth,25 many other later works by
Zhao, such as Jidujiao de Lunli (Ethics of Christianity), were also influenced by
Barthian thought, highlighting God-centered ethics, God’s transcendence,
Christian ethics as being distinct from other types of ethical thought, the Word of
God as being distinct from other cultures without confusion or compromise, etc.26
However, it is noteworthy that the evolution of Zhao’s thought was not only due
to the influence of Barth, but was also derived from his experience in prison
during the Japanese invasion of China.27
The Revival of Chinese Theology in the 1980/90s

From 1949, theologians in Hong Kong and Taiwan parted company with their
counterparts in Mainland China in their approach toward theological construction.
However, a revival of Chinese theology emerged almost simultaneously in the
Mainland, Hong Kong and Taiwan during the period between the 1980s and
1990s. This revival can be seen clearly from both the quality and quantity of
theological journals founded during this period.28 While the revival in Mainland
24 Zhao, “Preface”, Jidujiao Zhexue [Christian Philosophy] (Suzhou: Zhonghua Jidujiao

wenshe, 1925), p.5.
25 The book was recently reprinted as a chapter in: Andres Tang & Lai Pan-chiu eds., Bate
yu Hanyu shenxue [Karl Barth and Sino-Christian Theology] (Hong Kong: Logos &
Pneuma, 2008), pp.3-40.
26 Zhao, Jidujiaode Lunli [Christian Ethics] (Shanghai: The Association Press of China,
1948), especially pp.3-5. See further: Zi Zhu, “The Transformation of a Chinese
Theologian: T. C. Chaos Journey from Humanism to Theocentrism”, Chinese Theological
Review 1991, pp.77-102.
27 Wu Liming (Ng Lee-ming), Jidujiao yu Zhongguo Shehui Bianqian [Christianity and
Social Change in China] (Hong Kong: Christian Literature Council, 1981), pp.47-55.
28 Since the latter half of the 1970s, numerous academic journals (including multi-authored
books in lieu of journals) focusing on the study of Christianity published mainly in the
Chinese language have emerged. Notable examples include: Jidujiao Wenhua Pinglun
(Christian Culture Review, 1990-), Zongjiao Wenhua (Religion & Culture, 1995-), Jidu
Zhongjiao Janjiu (Study of Christianity, 1999-) and Jidujiao Wenhua Xuekan (Journal for
the Study of Christian Culture, 1999-) in Mainland China; also: Theology and Life, 1977),
CGST Journal (1986-), Logos & Pneuma (1994-), Jian Dao: A Journal of Bible &
90
China appeared to be more dramatic, the revival in Hong Kong and Taiwan was
more gradual.
The Chinese churches in Hong Kong and Taiwan in the 1950/60s were
basically still pre-occupied with indigenous theology and, probably because of
the efforts and influence of contemporary Neo-Confucianism, this approach to
theological indigenization enjoyed some support until recent years. However,
generally speaking, because of the rise of the awareness of the local identity, the
dominant position of indigenous theology has gradually been replaced by
contextual theology since the 1970s. Indigenous theology has even been subject
to severe criticism in recent years. 29 The contextual theologies proposed by
theologians in Hong Kong and Taiwan have been inspired by the Asian
theological movement to a significant extent. Unlike indigenous theology,
contextual theology emphasizes theological reflections and construction in the
here-and-now socio-cultural context in close association with the fight for
equality or liberation by the local people.30 For example, Homeland Theology and
Chut-hau-thi (Chu-tou-tian) Theology in Taiwan emphasize the Taiwanese
identity and the self-determination of the people. This type of theology often
assumes the irrelevancy between Asian realities and western theologies and
highlights the need for Asian theology to be independent of western theology in
order to develop a theology that meets local needs. According to this approach to
theology, western theological literature could only serve as an ambiguous “other”
for the purpose of comparison and critique instead of adoption.
The development of theology in Hong Kong followed a slightly different
trend from that in Taiwan, given differences in the political and social contexts of
the two places.31 In the 1980s, issues surrounding the return of Hong Kong to
Chinese sovereignty gave rise to contextual theology related to the reunification,
among which the theology of reconciliation, proposed by Yang Mugu (Arnold M.
K. Yeung, 1945-2002), is worth special attention. Yang abandoned the indigenous
approach and turned to contextual theology instead, although he was highly
critical of Asian theologies that were based largely on Latin American liberation
theology. His theology of reconciliation differed from them both in its motif and
Theology (1994-) and Hill Road (1996-) in Hong Kong and Taiwan Journal of Theology
(1979-) in Taiwan.
29 For more recent critical reflections of indigenous theology by Chinese theologians, see
Daniel Yeung ed., Hanyu Shenxue Chuyi [Preliminary Studies on Chinese Theology]
(Hong Kong: Institute for Sin-Christian Studies, 2000). The methodological approach of
indigenous theology in China is basically similar to the “translation model” described by
Stephen B. Bevans. For criticism of this model see Stephen B. Stephens, Models of
Contextual Theology (Maryknoll: Orbis, 1992), pp.30-46, esp.35-37.
30 This model is similar to the “praxis model” suggested by Stephen B. Bevans. See Stephen
B. Bevans, Models of Contextual Theology, pp.63-80.
31 See Carver T. Yu, “Xianggang Shenxue Fazhan Sishinian” (Theological Developments in
Hong Kong - The Last 40 Years), CGST Journal 25 (1998), pp.101-129.
91
methodology. Similar to most Asian theologies, Yang integrated contextual
analysis with biblical studies. However, he parted company with most of the
Asian theologies by massively citing western theological works, ranging from
classical theologians such as Ireneaus, Tertullian and Augustine to modern ones
including Friedrich Schleiermacher, Albrecht Ritschl, Karl Barth, Frederick D.
Maurice and Reinhold Niebuhr.32
The political reforms in Mainland China, starting from the very end of the
1970s, created a relatively more liberal environment for theological constructions.
By the 1980s, while theologians within the institutional church were actively
engaged in theological construction, theological activities outside the Church
were also thriving with dazzling variety. Many intellectuals, notably Liu Xiaofeng,
attempted to translate works of western philosophies/theologies and introduce
them to Chinese readers, and some among them were focused on the study,
translation and construction of Christian theology. Their approach to theology
was different from both the dominant models within the institutional church and
the indigenous approach still popular in the theological communities in Hong
Kong and Taiwan. Their theological endeavors even sparked off a controversy
involving theologians from Mainland China, Hong Kong and Taiwan.33
Since the 1980s, theology produced by the institutional church in China has
been focused on the affirmation of humanity, the present world and human history.
Chen Zemin, in one of his papers, summarizes the concerns and highlights of
contemporary Chinese theology as follows. In terms of the doctrine of God,
agape is emphasized as the essential nature, rather than just one of the attributes,
of God, expressed in His work of creation, providence, redemption and sancti-
fication. The immanence of God is also stressed, affirming that all good things
come from God and therefore Christians should learn to appreciate all good things
including those outside the Church, because they too are borne from God’s love.34
In Christology, the tenor is on the notion of the “Cosmic Christ”. The doctrines of
incarnation and reconciliation should be interpreted in the light of the Cosmic
Christ. The overall emphasis lies in the doctrine that Christ is God incarnate and
that human beings may seek redemption and renewal in him. The vicarious and
exemplary death of Christ perfectly manifested the love of God. The corres-
ponding pneumatology is basically consistent with the doctrine of the Cosmic
Christ, affirming that the Holy Spirit, the spirit of Almighty God, is in all and
through all in human history. Rather than being limited to the visible Church only,
32 Arnold Yeung (Yang Mugu), Fuhe Shenxue yu Jiaohui Gengxin [Theology of

Reconciliation and Church Renewal] (Hong Kong: The Seed, 1987).
33 See Institute of Sino-Christian Studies ed., Wenhua Jidutu: Xianxiang yu Lunzheng
[Cultural Christian: Phenomenon and Argument] (Hong Kong: Institute of
Sino-Christian Studies, 1997).
34 Chen Zemin, “Christ and Culture in China: A Sino-American Dialogue”, Chinese
Theological Review 8 (1993), p.85.
92
it is a universal life-giving spirit.35 As to the theory on human nature, the emphasis
is on the doctrine of the image of God rather than original sin. It upholds that the
image of God, despite being corrupted in the fall, has not been totally lost in
humanity. Concerning Christian living, glorifying God and serving fellow human
beings is to be upheld as the guiding principle; and devotional life should be
integrated with Christian love and justice. The doctrines of sola fides and sola
gratia are important, but the danger of upholding faith at the expense of works
should also be avoided.36 It is apparent that this theology is designed for the
institutional church in Mainland China in response to its socio-political
environment, in an attempt to assert God’s work for all humanity beyond the
Church, explaining the value of non-Christians and groups other than the Church
(not least the Communist government and its members). It also calls on Christians
to take part actively in social development.
Central to this theological discourse is the concept of the Cosmic Christ, an
idea to which Ding Guangxu (Bishop K. H. Ting) attaches special importance.37
Ding has mentioned more than once the Cosmic Christ as the central concept of
Chinese theology, and his view has been echoed by more than a few Christian
intellectuals.38 According to his article “The Cosmic Christ” (Yuzhou de Jidu), the
concept of the Cosmic Christ asserts the unfolding of historical events as part of
the process of Christ’s creation and redemption, which is in continuity with
creation. Christ has redeemed not only Christians, but also all humanity and the
entire universe. In Ding’s words, “Christ is guiding the entire creation towards the
goal of unity of all in God. Within this redemptive work of Christ, all human
movements fighting for progress, liberation, democracy and universal love are
bonded together.”39 Chinese Christians will come to appreciate that the lordship,
care and providence of Christ extend over the entire universe with love as their
essence. These concepts will help Christians understand the “truth, goodness and
beauty outside the Church,” especially the honorable virtues of certain
Communist officials.40
The concept of the Cosmic Christ is indeed based on Biblical foundations,
and Ding also points out the specific Chinese context in which this concept
originates.41 However, it should be noted that this concept is in a number of ways
similar to foreign theological schools cited by Ding. In his article “The Cosmic
35 Chen, “Christ and Culture in China: A Sino-American Dialogue”, pp.85-86.

36 Chen, “Christ and Culture in China: A Sino-American Dialogue”, pp.86-87.
37 Ding Guangxun, “Yuzhou de Jidu” (The Cosmic Christ), in Chen Zemin, ed., Jinling
Shenxue Wenxuan: 1952-1992 [Jinling Collection of Theological Essays: 1952-1992]
(Nanjing: Jinling Xiehe Shenxueyuan, 1992), pp.22-31.
38 Ding Guangxun, “Preface”, Jinling Shenxue Wenxuan, p.4.
39 Ding Guangxun, “Yuzhoude Jidu”, p.27.
40 Ding Guangxun, “Yuzhoude Jidu”, pp.22-25.
41 Ding Guangxun, “Yuzhoude Jidu”, p.22.
93
Christ,” Ding quotes Alfred Norton Whitehead’s Process and Reality, which
rejects the idea of God as a Caesar-like ruler, unsympathetic moralist or
emotionless prime mover.42 On closer scrutiny of Ding’s interpretations in “The
Cosmic Christ”, views of Whitehead can readily be rediscovered. For example,
Ding says that God should be defined in the light of Christ’s love. God is not a
tyrant but a loving person who sympathizes and identifies with human
sufferings.43
In fact, Ding has written specific articles to introduce the tenets of liberation
theology, the theology of Pierre Teilhard de Chardin and process theology and has
affirmed their values. 44 Ding basically appreciates these theologies and his
exposition of the concept of the Cosmic Christ bears close resemblance to these
theologies. For example, Ding is especially concerned with the Cosmic Christ in
de Chardin’s thought and the latter’s attempt to integrate creation, redemption and
sanctification into a continuum. This is not to say that Ding adopted these
theologies without reservation, for he has also made critical reflections on these
ideas in the context of the Chinese Church. For example, he points out that China
has already been liberated, so for her the more important issue is reconciliation,
not liberation.45
Since the 1980s, Nanjing Theological Review (Jinling Shenxuezhi) has been
publishing articles that introduce foreign theologies mainly through translation.
Although some of them were devoted to the translation of non-western
theologies,46 the bulk of them have remained focused on western theologians such
as Paul Tillich, John Macquarrie,47 Reinhold Niebuhr,48 Karl Rahner,49 Rudolf
42 Ding Guangxun, “Yuzhoude Jidu”, p.29; also Ding Guangxun, “Zhongguo Jidutu
Zhenyang Kandai Shengjing” (How Chinese Christians treat the Bible), Jinling Shenxue
Wenxuan, p.10.
43 Ding Guangxun, “Yuzhoude Jidu”, pp.28-29.
44 K. H. Ting, “Inspirations from Liberation Theology, de Chardin’s Theology and Process
Theology”, Chinese Theological Review 2 (1986), pp.46-70.
45 K. H. Ting, “Inspirations from Liberation Theology, de Chardin’s Theology and Process
Theology,” pp.52, 68-70. For a similar but more in-depth critique of Liberation Theology,
see Huang Guangyao, “Jiefang Shenxue Duhougan” (After reading Liberation Theology),
Nanjing Theological Review [Jinling Shenxuezhi] (New Series), 3 (1985.12), pp.50-54.
46 E.g. Muwen, “Feizhou Shenxue” (African Theology), Nanjing Theological Review (New
Series) 5 (1986.12), pp.73-74; also, Zhang Jinglong, “Jieshao Jiwei Yazhou Shenxuejia”
(Introducing several Asian theologians) (Parts I & II), Nanjing Theological Review (New
Series), 13 (1991.3) pp. 21-31; 14-15; (1991.9) pp.81-86.
47 Zhang Jinglong, “Tilixi Maikaorui lun Rende Cunzai” (Paul Tillich and John Macquarrie
on human existence), Nanjing Theological Review (New Series) 9(1988.11), pp.26-33, 41.
48 Zhang Jinglong, “Ranhou Niboer Qirenji Sixiang Yibi” (A glimpse at Reinhold Niebuhr:
the man and his thought), Nanjing Theological Review (New Series) 10(1989.6),
pp.27-43.
49 Shi Yongshang, “Yinming Jidutu - Rannuo de Chaozai shenxue” (The anonymous
Christian - Karl Rahner’s Transcendent Theology), Nanjing Theological Review (New
94
Bultmann,50 Martin Buber51and Søren Kierkegaard,52 etc. While some of these
translations were done in accordance with the governing principle of the
institutional church,53 the majority of them were apparently not. These alternative
theological discourses broke, deliberately or not, the monopoly of the theological
discourse approved by the official church. 54 An even more significant work
among these was Liu’s article entitled “shangdi jiushi shangdi - jinian kaer bate
shishi ershi zhounian” (Let God be God — commemorating the 20th anniversary
of the death of Karl Barth), formerly published in a magazine called Dushu Zazhi
(Reading Books Magazine) under the pseudonym of Mo-Mo. While the title of the
article is about Karl Barth’s theology, the following passage from this article
seems to suggest that the article has its own contemporary political implications:
The practices of deifying secular authorities, idolizing historical politicians and

mystifying secular regimes are not only western, but are also eastern. They are not only to be
found in the past. They could still be found today… Issues pondered by Karl Barth are not just
concerned with certain times or certain people; they are concerned with all times and all
people… If Chinese are first and foremost human beings, then these issues are of course
concerned with Chinese people, too.55
The political implications, or rather explications, of this passage are too apparent
to miss. As such, Chinese theologians, whether those within the institutional
church or those who fall under the category of “cultural Christians”, do not fail to
relate their theologies with concerns for the contemporary Chinese context while
drawing inspiration from various western theological traditions. The approach to
Series) 19 (1992.12), pp.53-58.

50 Chen Yilu, “Buteman ji qi Feishenhuahua” (Rudolf Bultmann and his demythologization),
Nanjing Theological Review (New Series) 16 (1992.6), pp.35-39.
51 Zhang Xianyong (Richard Zhang), “Yiwei Duihuazhe de Jiaozong - Jinian Madding Bubo
Shishi Ershiwu Zhounian” (In the steps of a dialogue maker – in commemoration of the
25th anniversary of the death of Martin Buber), Nanjing Theological Review (New Series)
13 (1991.3), pp. 47-55.
52 Chen,Yilu, “Nage Dandu de Geren: Qikeguo” (That Lonely Individual: Søren
Kierkegaard), Nanjing Theological Review (New Series) 14-15 (1991.9), pp. 86-91,28.
53 E.g. Qiao Siluowo (Joe Slavo), “Shehuizhuyi he Zongjia Jiazhiguan shang you
Gongtongdian” (There are common features in socialism and religious values) Ding
Guangxun trans., Nanjing Theological Review (New Series) 20 (1994.6), pp.22-25.
54 For details see Ye Jinghua (Francis Yip), Xunzhen Qiuquan: Zhongguo Shenxue yu
Zhengjiao Chujing Chutan [Seeking the Truth and Keeping the Integrity: A Preliminary
Study of Chinese Theology and Church-State Context] (Hong Kong: CCSCRC, 1997),
pp.133f.
55 Mo-mo, “Shangdi Jiushi Shangdi - jinian kaer bate shishi ershi zhounian” (God is God —
Commemorating the 20th Anniversary of the Death of Karl Barth), Nanjing Theological
Review (New Series), 10 (1989.6), pp. 43-47.
95
constructing Chinese theology adopted by Liu Xiaofeng and many other cultural
Christians, though significantly different from Chinese Christians in the 1920/30s,
especially with regard to their assessment of indigenous theology, is quite similar
in their dual-emphasis on original theological construction and translation of
western theology.
The brief review above shows that the development of Chinese theology has
been closely related to the translation and transmission of western theological
literature. Indeed, translation has played a positive role in contributing to the
development of Chinese theology. The two most active periods of Chinese
theological innovations coincide with massive translations of foreign theological
works as well as rich productions of original Chinese theologies. The construction
of original Chinese theology and the translation of western theology should thus
be seen as complementary rather than mutually exclusive.
Chinese theology to date has not been based solely on the translation of
western theology. Generally speaking, Chinese theologians are neither indiscri-
minate towards nor prejudiced against western theology. Most of them tend to
select, translate and adopt western theology by taking off from their personal
situation, reflecting upon issues in the contemporary Chinese situation and
identifying applicable resources in western theology. With these resources to hand,
Chinese theologians have also attempted to construct theology with their own
Chinese cultural resources and religious experience to respond to challenges from
traditional culture as well as from the contemporary social context.
Prospect of Bilateral Translation and Transmission

In the past, the relationship between Chinese and western theologies was
one-sided or unilateral, involving the translation of western theologies into
Chinese but not vice versa. Chinese theology has yet to make any visible impact
on western theology, as in the case of liberation theology in Latin America. It is
true that some western language periodicals are now regularly publishing
translations of Chinese theology. 56 They, however, are largely aimed at
introducing the present situation or history of Chinese Christianity, rather than
seeking resources for enriching or improving western theology. The foremost
criterion for selection is concerned mainly with whether the theological work can
reflect the Chinese situation rather than its inherent theological merits. Eventually,
there is translation, but not significant transmission. At present, there are no
grounds to reprove such a situation, but, admittedly, it leaves a lot to be desired.
Ecumenism or the communion of saints should be realized in the exchange of
56 For example Chinese Theological Review published in the United States, China Study
Journal in the United Kingdom, and the book series published by Evangelisches
Missionwerk in Deutschland u. China InfoStelle in Germany.
96
theological reflections rather than upheld as a mystical doctrine. The ecumenical
spirit is manifested in mutual and two-way communication rather than unilateral
translation or sole dependence on one party. It is my dream that in the future
Christians from all corners of the world can have theological dialogue and
exchange on equal footings with one another, including the case that western
theologians may find inspiration from the Chinese theological writings. Perhaps it
might sound overly complacent as well as impractical to make such a proposal in
the presence of some of the most brilliant western theologians. Nonetheless, I am
convinced that my dream for the future of Chinese theology is not totally utopian.
There are several reasons for my dream - if not hope.
First of all, because of the distinctive characteristics of Chinese culture, it is
quite possible for Chinese theologians to develop markedly different theologies
from the West, which might furnish new insights into traditional issues. With
regard to the linguistic aspect, John McIntyre’s study of recent process
Christology suggests that even those who reject the substantialist approach to
thinking are ready to accept the authority, principle or spirit of the Chalcedonian
definition, even if they have problems with its wording. This reflects the
far-reaching impact of Chalcedon Christology, which might have to do with the
structure of western languages, especially the substantialist bias in Indo-European
languages.57 According to the famous Sinologist Jacques Gernet, the Chinese
language is very distinctive for its syntax and thus way of thinking, which has no
such bias.58 This may create difficulties in translation, but it also gives rise to the
possibility of re-interpreting the traditional doctrine in a novel way. Take
Chalcedonian Christology, for example, again, one may tend to render humanity
and divinity mutually exclusive, if adopting the framework of Aristotelian logic.
But in the Chinese language and way of thinking, there is no reason why humanity
and divinity might not be considered two complementary models characterizing
Jesus Christ.59 Another interesting case is about the sexist language in western
57 John McIntyre, The Shape of Christology (Edinburgh: T & T Clark, 19982), p.336.
58 According to Gernet, “Of all the languages in the world, Chinese has the peculiar,
distinctive feature of possessing no grammatical categories systematically differentiated
by morphology: there appears to be nothing to distinguish a verb from an adjective, an
adverb from a complement, a subject from an attribute. The fact is that, in Chinese, these
categories only exist by implicit and arbitrary reference to other languages which do
possess them. Furthermore, there was no word to denote existence in Chinese, nothing to
convey the concept of being or essence, which in Greek is so conveniently expressed by
the noun ousia or the neuter to on. Consequently, the notion of being, in the sense of an
eternal and constant reality, above and beyond that which is phenomenal, was perhaps
more difficult to conceive for a Chinese.” See Jacques Gernet, China and the Christian
Impact: A Conflict of Cultures, Janet Loyd trans. (Cambridge: Cambridge U. P., 1986),
pp.238-247, esp. p.241.
59 For details see Lai Pan-chiu, “A Mahayana Reading of Chalcedon Christology: A Chinese
Response to John Keenan”, Buddhist-Christian Studies 24 (2004), pp.209-228.
97
theology. While many contemporary western theologians attempt to overcome the
sexist bias in the Christian doctrine of God, some pre-modern Chinese
theologians, notably Yang Tinyun (1562-1627), had already employed a
non-sexist term da-fu-mu (Great-Parent; more literally: Great-Father-Mother) to
refer to God. 60With regard to the philosophical aspect, the Chinese emphasis on
harmony, especially that with nature, may also contribute to the development of
ecological theology worldwide. 61
Secondly, there are Chinese theologians who have the ability to interpret the
significance of Chinese culture for Christian theology to western theologians.
Since the 1990s, there has been a growing number of Chinese scholars from Hong
Kong, Taiwan and the Mainland teaching theology in domestic or overseas
institutions after earning doctoral degrees from famous western universities. They
are both well-versed in Chinese culture and western theology and sometimes
publish their theological writings in western languages. Although these are not
numerous in volume, they are rightfully an integral part of western theology.62
Unlike the indigenous or contextual theologians in the previous generation, they
do not entirely disregard western theology as irrelevant. Rather, they attempt to
reflect critically on western theologies and to relate them creatively to the
contemporary Chinese context.63 Even when they seek to engage in dialogue with
contemporary Neo-Confucians, they do so by citing western theologians rather
than quoting directly from the Bible, as did indigenous theologians in the past.64
In other words, Chinese theologians of the new generation have both the
ecumenical vision and local concern as well as the language capabilities and
theological training to engage in disciplined academic exchanges with western
theologians. The rise of contemporary Chinese theologians reflects the maturing
60 For details see Nicholas Standaert, Yang Tingyun, Confucian and Christian in Late Ming
China (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1988).
61 For details see Pan-chiu, Lai, “Christian Ecological Theology in Dialogue with
Confucianism”, Ching Feng vol.43, nos.3-4 (Sept.-Dec. 1998), pp.309-344.
62 To name a few of them: Pan-chiu, Lai, Towards a Trinitarian Theology of Religions: A
Study of Paul Tillich's Thought (Kampen: Kok Pharos, 1994); Siu-kwong, Tang, God's
History in the Theology of Jürgen Moltmann (Bern: Peter Lang, 1996); Wing-kong, Lo,
Das Werk des Menschen und die Gnade Gottes in Karl Barths Sakrammentstheologie
(Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 1994); Benedict Kwok Hung-biu, Von der historisch zur
trinitätsthelogisch begründeten Christologie Wolfhart Pannenberg (Ammersbek bei
Hamburg: Verlag an der Lottbek, 1997).
63 Lai Pan-chiu, Benedict Kwok & Kung Lap-yan, Kebu, penengbo, houhuoshi yu dandai
huaren chujing [Cobb, Pannenberg, Hauerwas and Contemporary Chinese Context]
(Hong Kong: Lutheran Theological Seminary, 1999).
64 For example: Keith Ka-fu Chan, “Karl Barth's Christological Anthropology and
Christian-Confucian Dialogue”, Ching Feng 42/1-2 (March-June 1999), pp.1-33;
Kin-ming Au, “Chu Hsi and Paul Tillich: A Comparison of their Views of Human
Condition”, Ching Feng 41 (Sep-Dec 1998), pp.363-384.
98
of Chinese theologians. Their relationship with western theology is neither one of
dumb infantile reliance, nor of rebellious adolescent independence and isolation.
Rather they seek to establish a relationship of mutual respect and
inter-dependence in partnership.
Thirdly, there is growing concern among western theologians that expressions
in Indo-European languages are not requisite and a small number of western
theologians have adopted a more open attitude to other religions and cultures. For
example, in recent discussions on ecological theology, Jürgen Moltmann, while
ultimately resorting to the Judeo-Christian tradition for resources, at least admits that
Chinese Taoism has its own ecological wisdom worthy of attention and appreciation
by Christian theologians, and he himself is definitely inspired.65 When the Chinese
translation of his God in Creation: An Ecological Doctrine of Creation was
published, he visited Hong Kong and I had the chance to ask him in person his views
on Chinese theologians using resources in Taoist philosophy for the development of
a Christian ecological theology. His response indicates that he is basically open to or
even supportive of the idea. In the English-speaking theological community, Robert
Neville and John Berthrong, leading figures of Boston Confucianism, combine
Christian and Confucian traditions in their theological works. This more or less
shows that western theologians are capable of appreciating the significance of
Chinese philosophy for Christian theology. 66 In other words, it is not entirely
inconceivable that western theology might draw inspiration from Chinese theology,
an “emerging” member of ecumenical theology, just as liberation theology in Latin
America could have an impact on western theology.
Concluding Remarks
In order to make their encounter not just faithful but also fruitful, both Chinese
and western theologians may need to have not just a local concern but also a
global vision. Chinese theologians should be ready to interpret the significance of
Chinese culture for theological development in the West. Similarly, western
theologians should also pay more attention to developments in Chinese theology,
adopting input from Chinese resources with openness rather than just translating
them. My challenge to my Chinese colleagues is: “Don’t just ask what western
theology can do for you; ask also what you can do for western theology.” My urge
to my western friends is: “Don’t just ask what you can do for Chinese theology;
ask also what Chinese theology can do for you, and what together we can do for
the ecumenicity of the Christian tradition.”
65 See Moltmann, “Preface to the Chinese Translation”, Chuangzaode Shangdi [Gott in der
Schöpfung] (Hong Kong: Institute for Sino-Christian Studies, 1999), pp.xvii-xix.
66 See Robert Cummings Neville, Boston Confucianism (Albany: SUNY, 2000); Behind the
Mask of God (Albany: SUNY, 1991); The Tao and the Daimon (Albany: SUNY, 1982);
and John H. Berthrong, Concerning Creativity: A Comparison of Chu Hsi, Whitehead and
Neville (Albany: SUNY, 1998).
99
The Value of Theology in Humanities:
Possible Approaches to Sino-Christian Theology
YANG Huilin
(Translated by Faith Leong)
Speaking from the perspective of a non-believer, the legitimacy of Christianity

in China’s context remains an unresolved issue. One key issue in the study of
Christianity is whether – in the introduction, delineation and presentation of its
theological thinking, its history of propagation and its tangible social-cultural
influence on China – Christianity would lose its significance apart from any
religious confession, pre-existing religious bearing and it being a representation
of a foreign culture. In other words, does Christianity still hold any value apart
from the zeal of faith and zeal of evangelisation while being discussed in a
completely secular discourse context removed from its cultural medium?
To answer this question, it may be necessary to draw upon three categories
of discussion on the significance of Christianity in humanities, namely to
explore theological hermeneutics through “reason”; to search for the meaning of
theological ethics through the “will”; and to develop the hopes of humanity
expressed in theological aesthetics though “affection”.
This choice is not because “reason”, “will” and “affection” represent three
basic dimensions of humanities, nor because one aims to arrive at a synthesis of
truth, goodness and beauty using the Christian value system. It is simply that
these three theological approaches address the following issues. Underlying a
so-called theological hermeneutics is a confession of one’s limits of under-
standing, reasoning and truth. It calls for a renewed probe into the question of
the verification of meaning. Theological ethics strives to practice claims of
goodness even as one realizes the partial, relative and contradictory nature of
human values. Theological aesthetic goes beyond its enculturation objective and
its assessment of beauty into a conversation with human’s ultimate experience
and self-redemption. Basic to all three approaches is the “interpretation” of
meaning. Furthermore, confidence in theological hermeneutics is a prerequisite
to prevent a recurrence of “ideological distortion”.1
1 Paul Ricoeur, Hermeneutics and the Human Sciences: Essays on Language, Action and
Interpretation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981), p.63.
101
The Theological Dimension of “Hermeneutics”
The term “hermeneutics” is believed to originate from the messenger Hermes in
Greek mythology. Hermes does not send messages between two equal entities.
Instead, lord god sends him to speak a divine message to the public. This seems
to hint at the special relationship between hermeneutics and the “divine word”.
Theological hermeneutics originating from biblical hermeneutics of Judaism and
early Christianity holds the same view: the Bible is considered a divine text, and
the task of an exegete is to illuminate the will of God for humanity in the Bible.
Thus, the term “hermeneutics” inherently presupposes a theological dimension.
However, to understand “interpretation” in this light, one encounters a basic
dilemma. On the one hand, the mystery in the divine word needs to be
interpreted. On the other hand, interpretation necessarily involves “misreading”.
In fact, the underlying problem of hermeneutics, which we now face, already
manifested in that kind of ancient mythology and theological discourse context.
It may be possible to solve the above difficulties in interpreting human speech
through many expedient methods, but further questions remain in expedient
methods to interpret “divine speech”.2 Thus, it is in the theological dimension
that hermeneutics is pushed towards an ultimate resolution.
If one traces the history of hermeneutics to early biblical hermeneutics, one
notices two main tendencies.
In Judaism, the literatures of rabbinic schools, Qumran community and
Philo of Alexandra reveal four methods of early hermeneutic activity: literalist
interpretation, Midrashic interpretation, Pesher interpretation (a form of ancient
Syriac biblical commentary) 3 and allegorical interpretation. 4 Many Christian
exegetes see the four methods implying multiple ways of interpretation.
Although these four methods were all employed in Christian biblical hermen-
eutics of the Medieval Ages from Clement, Origen, through to the “multiple
senses” of Thomas Aquinas, the allegorical tradition remains the most popular.5
Similarly, Augustine does not approve of literalistic or historical interpret-
ations. Rather, the thrust of biblical hermeneutics Augustine represents is
understood as based on Plato’s dualism, namely, “the ontological priority of the
2 For views on “divine speech” and “human speech”, see Karl Barth, The Word of God
and the Word of Man, Douglas Horton trans. (London: Hodder and Staughton, 1928).
3 Pontificia Commissio Biblica, Jiaohuinei de Shengjing Quanshi (The Interpretation of
the Bible in the Church) Xian Jiayi trans. (Hong Kong: Studium Biblicum Franciscanum,
1995), p.32.
4 Werner G. Jeanrond, Theological Hermeneutics: Development and Significance
(London: Macmillan, 1991), pp.16-17.
5 Cf. my Zhuiwen Shangdi: Xinyang yu Lixing de Biannan (Argue with God: Debate of
Faith and Reason) (Beijing: Beijing Education, 1999), pp. 9-14,190-193.
102
unchangeable eternal to the changeable and material”. 6 From this stems a basic
hermeneutical principle:
What is of primary importance is not so much our knowledge of the material sign that
enables us to interpret the eternal reality, but rather it is our knowledge of the eternal reality
that enables us to interpret the material sign… The central problem of hermeneutics is much
more basic. It is the problem of understanding the transcendent referent.7
Moreover, there are seven stages in understanding the “transcendent referent”:

“the fear of God”, “piety”, “charity”, “fortitude”, “mercy”, “purification” and
“wisdom”.8
We thus see that the issues of hermeneutics belong inherently to issues of
faith.
Post-modern times reveal further difficulties to this kind of hermeneutics
based on the ontology of “revelation”. This results in a need to re-interpret it.
Yet the hermeneutics based on “proof” as an epistemology emphasis, though
supported by the Reformation and appears more connected to modern thinking,
is also challenged by the epistemology of experientialism9 and also requires re-
interpretation. It was Friedrich Schleiermacher (1768-1834), who recast the
theological dimension of hermeneutics, made prominent by hermeneutical
activity, into a hermeneutical theory of greater universal significance. As such,
the possible contributions of theological hermeneutics to humanities become
more influential in secular scholarship.
The “hermeneutical theory” of Schleiermacher stemming from his “Pietistic
theology” is commonly categorised under “historical hermeneutics”.10 Whether
this is an apt categorization shall not be discussed here. The fact is,
Schleiermacher is called “the father of modern hermeneutics” because his theory
of hermeneutics is not restricted to exegesis but applies broadly to universal
human interpretation. As a result, hermeneutics is redefined as an “art of
interpretation”.11 In other words, not only are divine texts interpreted, all objects
that require interpretation, even the act of interpretation itself, are believed to
consist inevitably of a series of interpretation and misreading.
6 Francis Schüssler Fiorenza, “Systematic Theology: Task and Method”, in Francis

Schüssler Fiorenza & John P. Galvin eds., Systematic Theology (Minneapolis: Fortress,
1991), volume I, p.13.
7 Francis Schüssler Fiorenza, “Systematic Theology”, pp.13-14.
8 Augustine, On Christian Doctrine, book 2.7.9-11, Francis Schüssler Fiorenza,
“Systematic Theology”, p.14.
9 Cf. my Zhuiwen Shangdi, pp.175-178.
10 Miikka Ruokanen, Hermeneutics as an Ecumenical Method in the Theology of Gerhard
Ebeling (Helsinki: Luther-Agricola Society, 1982), p.24.
11 Schleiermacher, Hermeneutics: The Handwritten Manuscripts, Heinz Kimmerle ed.,
James Duke and Jack Forstman trans. (Missoula: Scholar, 1977).
103
He first identifies two basic dimensions of the interpretative process that are
close to Kant’s interpretative method: the subjective / psychological and
objective / grammatical dimensions. The former seeks to take hold of an object
entirely; the latter finds “the particular sense of a certain discourse in the
language… with the help of the language”. 12 Later Western researchers
strengthen further the modern hermeneutical implications of Schleiermacher’s
distinction:
Schleiermacher considered this linguistic nature of human communication in more detail.

All understanding presupposes language; in language we think and through language we
communicate. There is no understanding without language, and therefore hermeneutics and
rhetoric, however distinct, cannot be separated… As every text-production is the result of a
particular or personal application of conventional linguistic rules, every act of text-reception
is based on an individual application of conventional modes of understanding texts… He sees
text as an individual universal where a network of individually applied conventions and rules
work together in order to create a new and meaningful whole.13
An interpretive activity determined by the two above dimensions necessarily

involves two basic hermeneutical issues: first, the openness of meaning; and
second, the circular nature of interpretation.
Schleiermacher makes a rather advanced “interpretation” of the openness of
meaning in his manuscripts on interpretation: the essence of interpretation lies in
“the historical and divinatory, objective and subjective reconstruction of a given
statement”. 14 To humans who search for meaning through interpretative
activities, this kind of reconstruction implies an ever closing up, but not an
eventual grasp, on the interpreted object; this means that “meaning” is not the
meaning itself, but merely an interpreted meaning.
Corresponding to Schleiermacher’s dimensions of the “interpretive
process”, the “historical/objective” factor in a “reconstruction of meaning” are
none other than the extension of the “objective/grammatical dimension” that
place emphasis on “regularity” in the generation of meaning. While the
“divinatory/subjective” factor stems from his “subjective/psychological dimen-
sion”, which emphasizes “selectivity” in the generation of meaning. This latter
category is clearly more significant because it describes “the necessarily
courageous risk taken by an interpreter who approaches a text… that no
approach will ever exhaust the individuality of the text”.
12 Kurt Mueller-Vollmer, The Hermeneutics Reader: Texts of the German Tradition from
Enlightenment to the Present (London: Blackwell, 1986), p.94. Werner G. Jeanrond,
Theological Hermeneutics, pp.45-6.
13 Werner G. Jeanrond, Theological Hermeneutics, pp.45-6.
14 Kurt Mueller-Vollmer, The Hermeneutics Reader, p.46.
104
Understanding is a never-ending task and challenge… On the one hand that divination
must not be understood as an individualistic escape from given semantic facts, and on the
other hand that no (objective) knowledge of the text’s linguistic composition can ever replace
the interpreter’s obligation to grasp the text’s overall sense, although such a grasp will at best
lead only to an approximate reconstruction.15
The analysis of the “hermeneutical circle” is an ancient business.16 Firstly, one

requires a certain kind of pre-understanding to enter a text. Without pre-
understanding and questions, there will not be understanding and answers, and
thus no meaning can be attained. Secondly, one requires the parts to understand
the whole, and it is through the understanding of the whole, that one can
accurately understand the parts. Consequently, Schleiermacher points out two
interrelated methods, namely, the “divinatory” and the “comparative”, which
function simultaneously in this cycle. In his concrete analysis, the “divinatory”
and the “comparative” modes are representations and extensions of the two
above dimensions. Some researchers simply distinguish two methods: the
former as a divinatory sense of the “text”; and the latter as a discernment and
understanding of its context and its grammatical dimension. 17 Though
Schleiermacher’s “textual comparison” is understood also to deal with a later
issue of “intertextuality”, his emphasis is on the following aspect:
[T]he explanation of words and contents is not in itself interpretation but provides only
aspects of interpretation, and hermeneutics only begins with the determination of the sense,
though with the help of these aspects.18
Following this line of argument, psychological divination becomes the ultimate

determinative factor to grapple with meaning in a hermeneutical circle.
From the description above, we see Schleiermacher promoting an
“interpretation” that derives from “biblical interpretation” as a universal kind of
interpretative activity. He first demarcates the complementary subjective and
objective dimensions. He next replaces meaning itself with “reconstructed
meaning”. Subsequently, he takes charge of the “reconstructed meaning” by
“divination” of the interpreter, and to some extent guide understanding within a
hermeneutical circle through the “sensitivity” of “divination”. In the process, the
Kantian objective of “the bonding of the object and subject” is clearly reflected.
15 For the two above citations, see Werner G. Jeanrond, Theological Hermeneutics, p.47.
16 Hans-Georg Gadamer, Truth and Method, Garrett Barden and John Cumming trans.
(New York: Crossroad, 1975), p.154. Bultmann also mentions Aristotle’s views on the
“hermeneutic spiral” and “pre-understanding”. See Rudolf Bultmann, The Presence of
Eternity (Westport: Greenwood, 1975), p.111.
17 Werner G. Jeanrond, Theological Hermeneutics, p.48.
18 Werner G. Jeanrond, Theological Hermeneutics, p.48 n.188 and p.103.
105
Along this line of logic, he sets a far-reaching goal for “understanding” and
“interpretation”, which is to “understand the text… better than its author did”.19
When such thoughts of Schleiermacher pertain specifically to literature and
text, one sees the direct effect of Schleiermacher contribution to “Athenaeum”
and his influence on the early theories of Romanticism that is espoused by
Schlegel brothers and others. Of which, one proposition is:
Romantic poetry is progressive… still in the state of becoming… never be perfected.

It can be exhausted by no theory… It alone is infinite, just as it alone is free…20
This statement in fact does not exceed Kant and Heidegger’s definition on the
“infinite nature” and “freedom” of aesthetics. It also indirectly encompasses
Foucault’s idea of “the disappearance or death of the author”,21 Gadamer and
Jauss’s “horizon of expectation” and the “fusion of horizons”, 22 Iser’s
“indeterminacy” and “gaps or blanks”, 23 Hirsch’s debate on “meaning” and
“significance”,24 Dufrenne’s concept that “an author’s original meaning is but a
determinable X”,25 and so on. In a restricted sense of text and literature, these
are but emanations of German classical aesthetics, and do not represent the
import of modern day hermeneutics. A more basic reading of the significance of
Schleiermacher’s theory lies in relating his idea of interpretation back to his
religious perspective. When the same principles of hermeneutics are applied on
theological interpretation, theological interpretation has to relinquish its
privileged status. This magnifies the revolutionary implications of modern
hermeneutics and the value of humanities.
19 Kurt Mueller-Vollmer, The Hermeneutics Reader, p.83; Werner G. Jeanrond,

Theological Hermeneutics, p.47.
20 Friedrich Schlegel, Lucinde and the Fragments, Peter Firchow trans. (Minneapolis:
University of Minnesota Press, 1971), p.175.
21 Michel Foucault, “What is an Author?”, in David Lodge and Nigel Wood eds., Modern
Criticism and Theory (New York: Pearson Education, 2000), p.175.
22 Hans Robert Jauss, Towards an Aesthetic of Reception (Minneapolis: University of
Minnesota Press, 1982), p.20. Peter V. Zima, The Philosophy of Modern Literary
Theory (London: Athlone, 1999), pp.58-59. Karl Mannheim (1853-1947) is considered
the first in the fields of philosophy and cultural sociology to invite discussions on “the
horizon of expectation” in terms of describing the historical context of interpreting texts
and literature in real contexts. (The “horizon of expectation” supports the “sum total of
values, norms, and interests” of a certain social group’s worldview.) See Peter V. Zima,
The Philosophy of Modern Literary Theory, pp.59-61 and p.220, n. 7.
23 Wolfgang Iser, “The Reading Process: a Phenomenological Approach” in Modern
Criticism and Theory, pp.190-93.
24 E. D. Hirsch, Jr., “Faulty Perspectives” in Modern Criticism and Theory, p.230.
25 Mikel Dufrenne, Meixue yu Zhexue (Esthétique et philosophie); Sun Fei trans. (Beijing:
Zhongguo Shehui Kexue, 1985), p.65.
106
Though Schleiermacher did not specifically engage in the study of
theological interpretation, he maintained,
Incidentally, the question arises whether on account of the Holy Spirit the Scriptures
must be treated in a special way. This question cannot be answered by a dogmatic decision
about inspiration, because such a decision itself depends on interpretation.26
Similarly, in the Brief Outline of Theology as a Field of Study published in 1810,

he set forth that theological interpretation should be in accordance with the
principles of universal hermeneutics.27 Worthy of note, though he denies the
special privileges of theological interpretation, he nevertheless does not speak
more against it. This clearly has to do with his pietistic religious attitude. This is
to say, his suspicion of the “authority of biblical hermeneutics” and
“authoritative biblical hermeneutics” in the church tradition may have been
redirected against the act of human understanding that is limited by the logic of
language itself. This is inline with his description in A Dialogue on the
Celebration of Christmas, “To me all forms have become stiff, and all
discoursing too tedious and cold.”28
If one can use Schleiermacher’s perspective of religion to make up for
“indeterminacy” and “gaps”, we may say that Schleiermacher desires to desert
the restriction of speech logic and open up an alternative way: namely to
relinquish theological meaning and share the experience and feel of beauty.
After a few gentlemen, who are keen thinkers and debaters but who lacked
artistry and feelings,29 offered their great discourses, Schleiermacher conveyed
his ideal through a character who had been silent until then—an ideal that
perhaps can be called “theological hermeneutics”:
Ladies… would have sung to you, with all piety of your discourses dwelling in them
far more inwardly; or how charmingly, from hearts full of love and joy, they might have
chatted with you, saying what would have otherwise pleased and enlivened you in a better
way than they can have been by these solemn speeches of yours!... The unspeakable subject
demands and even produces in me an unspeakable joy…30
26 Kurt Mueller-Vollmer, The Hermeneutics Reader, p.80; Werner G. Jeanrond,

27 F. D. E. Schleiermacher, Shilaimahe: Zongjiao yu Jingqian [Schleiermacher: Religion
and Feeling] (Hong Kong: Chinese Christian Literature Council, 1991), p.10 (Here after
cited as: Shleiermacher, Religion and Feeling, p.10); also, Werner G. Jeanrond,
28 Schleiermacher, Christmas Eve: A Dialogue on the Celebration of Christmas, W. Hastie
trans.; (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1890.) p.73; Schleiermacher, Religion and Feeling,
p.516.
29 Cf. Schleiermacher, Religion and Feeling, pp.465-478.
30 Schleiermacher, Christmas Eve, p.73; Schleiermacher, Religion and Feeling, p.516.
107
In his works On Religion and The Christian Faith, Schleiermacher speaks
constantly of religion in terms of “a pious feeling” and “a feeling of absolute
dependence”31 et cetera to explicate the essence of religion, and “poetic” and
“passion”32 to describe the contents of the Bible, so much so N. Z. Zia (Xie
Fuya) points out the synonymous meanings of “religion” and “piety” in the
German language.33 In a similar way, “religious” and “pious” are quite similar
in English. Even though this experiential-expressive model is later criticised by
George Lindbeck, 34 it has already left a deep impact on contemporary Christian
thinkers, such as “Tillich, Bultmann, Macquarrie, Kaufman of Protestantism…,
as well as Bernard Lonergan,… Hans Küng, David Tracy, etc., who all support
the experiential-expressive perspective to religion”.35
With regard to the interpretative limits of linguistic-logic, one sees the
exasperation of the language medium in face of the absolute “holy word” as
Schleiermacher’s “universal principles of hermeneutics” is applied onto the field
of theological interpretation.
In face of such a unique interpretative object that does not allow differing
meanings, the concept of the “fusion of horizons” in the poetic romanticism and
literary hermeneutics becomes ineffective. Theological hermeneutics needs to
make a fundamental choice between the definitive meaning of the “divine word”
and the logic that underlies an interpretive activity. Schleiermacher’s turn
towards the experience of feelings is an attempt to escape the “bonds of
language”.
Schleiermacher, speaking of interpretation in terms of subjective selection,
meaning reconstruction and intuitive feeling, erodes the truth perspective of
traditional churches. He breaks new ground for modern hermeneutics, but he
himself wanders off this path to allow the fulfilment of the “divine word”
through pious feelings. He may likely have realised that the pursuit of
interpretation this way leads ultimately to ever-receding meaning. He thus uses
feeling and poetic experience as a point of departure, carrying considerable
shade of romanticism, but at the same time differentiates from it. Romanticism
does not concern with the certainty of meaning. It instead advocates poetic
expression and the indeterminacy of meaning in the reading process.
Schleiermacher, however, makes “interpretation” appeal to a universal religious
experience, in order to prevent “interpretation” from destroying the foundations
31 Schleiermacher, Religion and Feeling, p.59, 309.

32 Schleiermacher, Religion and Feeling, pp.55-56.
33 Xie Fuya, “Introduction”, in Schleiermacher, Religion and Feeling, p.11.
34 George A. Lindbeck, The Nature of Doctrine: Religion and Theology in a Postliberal
Age (London: SPCK, 1984), pp.30-42.
35 Jiang Pisheng (Kang Phee Seng), “Duihua, Zhenli yu Zongjiao Yuyan” (Dialogue, Truth
and Religious Language) in Jidujiao Wenhua Xuekan (Journal for the Study of Christian
Culture) vol. 1 (Beijing: Dongfong, April 1999), p.115 and ftn.1.
108
of faith. From this, we again see that “hermeneutics” escapes real malice in the
theological dimension, and the difficulty that theological hermeneutics poses
cannot be explained in the same way as can literature and texts.
Consequently, another problem arises. Even if theological hermeneutics
breaks away from the authority of the church and the bonds of language, and
practice a new kind of religious experience, can there be an identical and
universal “religious experience”? How would one then distinguish such an
experience? Here lies the brunt of George Lindbeck’s criticism of the
“experiential-expressive” model.36 Logically, a universal “religious experience”
is similar to Kant’s “common sense” based on the “free play of our cognitive
powers”. 37 It can be assumed, but cannot be proven. In terms of theological
significance, Schleiermacher’s “piety” seems to return to Augustine’s seven
steps of “understanding the transcendent referent”. In this, “real understanding”
becomes “spiritual” and “moral purification”.38
Yet there has to be a way to explain theology, even if the explanation is one
based on religious faith.
The Nature of “Theological Hermeneutics”

Theology is practically an interpretation of the Bible, creeds, religious traditions
and experiences.39 At a basic level, all theological schools of thought embody
the nature of hermeneutics. Christian theology after Schleiermacher can
generally be classified in terms of George Lindbeck’s “experiential-expressive”
and “cultural-linguistic” distinction. The difference between the two models lies
in the difference between “experience” and “language”.
The former is akin to “piety” in Schleiermacher’s thinking. Religious
experience is seen as the basic component of religious faith. Creeds are but the
linguistic expression of this “experience”. Accordingly, the equivalence of
religions derives from the universality of experience (a different explanation is
of course necessary for the “linguistic” model).40 One natural implication is a
theology that inherits Gadamer’s language of hermeneutics. The “radical
plurality of language” exposes the “radical ambiguity of history”. 41 The
interpretation of the nature of theology following the “experiential-expressive”
model may become a radical one. Tracy forthrightly uses “hermeneutics” to
define “theology” in a manner akin to Gadamer, who expresses that
36 Jiang Pisheng, “Dialgoue, Truth and Religious Language”, pp.115-116.

37 Immanuel Kant, Critique of Judgement, Werner S. Pluhar trans. (Indianapolis &
Cambridge: Hackett, 1987), pp.87-90.
38 Francis Schüssler Fiorenza, “Systematic Theology”, pp.13-14.
39 Francis Schüssler Fiorenza, “Systematic Theology”, p.43.
40 Francis Schüssler Fiorenza, “Systematic Theology”, p.43.
41 See David Tracy, Plurality and Ambiguity: Hermeneutics, Religion, Hope (London:
SCM, 1987), chs. 3 and 4.
109
interpretative reading is a participation in history.42 Tracy defines “systematic
theology primarily as hermeneutical and proposes that the task of Christian
systematic theology is the interpretive retrieval of the meaning and truth claims
of the Christian classic”43 Correspondingly, Ott applies the “holistic nature of
interpretation” to the interpretation of the Bible, its theological content and
contemporary missions. He states similarly that the “essence of theology is
hermeneutics”, but he qualifies that the central component of theology is made
up of these three aspects. These aspects form a “theological hermeneutical
circle”, and render the “hermeneutical circle” a “detailed interpretation” of these
three “consecutive circles”.44 The double meaning of “circle” and “circularity”
was also a foremost question Paul Tillich dealt with in Systematic Theology.
What Ott appropriated was mainly his “methodological consequence”,45 namely,
the interdependency of every aspect of theological interpretation. So, Ott
actually recourses to a position of faith and confirms the “meaning-content
experienced in religious faith” through the “experiential nature of thinking” and
the “objectification tendency of speech”.46
The latter “cultural-linguistic” model carries with it a similar affinity to the
nature of hermeneutics. As its proponent George Lindbeck suggests, the general
significance of linguistic symbols and the explanation of dogma lie not in the
“external word” but in “heavily ritualized” and “comprehensive interpretive
schemes”. “Religion… comprises a vocabulary of discursive and non-discursive
symbols together with a distinctive logic or grammar in terms of which this
vocabulary can be meaningfully deployed”, which in turn also “molds” or
“shapes” religious experience.47 In comparison with the former “experiential-
expressive” model, Lindbeck “internalizes” the external categories of language
and creed into religion itself. In terms of Schleiermacher’s “hermeneutics”, this
“internalization” in effect severs the connection between text and world, and
text and the interpretative process. 48 This is comparable to Karl Barth’s
interpretative paradigm of “sola Scriptura” or “solus Christus”.49
42 Hans-Georg Gadamer, Zhenli yu Fangfa (Wahrheit und Methode), Hong Handing trans.
(Shanghai: Shanghai Yiwen, 1992), p.210.
43 David Tracy, The Analogical Imagination (New York: Crossroad, 1981), pp.99-153;
Francis Schüssler Fiorenza, Systematic Theology vol. I, pp.45-46.
44 Heinrich Ott, “Shenme shi Xitong Shenxue” (What is Systematic Theology?), in Liu,
Xiaofeng ed., Heidegger and Theology (Hong Kong: Institute of Sino-Christian Studies,
1998), pp.197-202; original: “Was ist systematische Theologie?”, in Zeitschrift für
Theologie und Kirche, Beiheft 2 (1961), pp.19-46.
45 Paul Tillich, Systematic Theology, vol. 1 (Digswell Place: James Nisbet, 1968), p.14.
46 Ott, “What is Systematic Theology?”, pp. 229-230.
47 George A. Lindbeck, The Nature of Doctrine, pp.32-34.
48 “The greatest contribution...of Lindbeck should be in his affirmation of the religious
tradition and his steadfast belief in the self-instructing nature of tradition… However, he
reverts religion back into a linguistic-symbolic system, and as such promotes religious
110
Karl Barth emphasizes, “Word ought to be exposed in the words”. He
suggests that Bible is to be read as an “enigma” of “substance” and not an
“enigma” of “document”. 50 Therefore, to a certain extent, there is also an
“internalization” and “construction” of “language”. However, Barth does not
view such method as “exclusive” to the Christian faith. For example in his
introduction to the second edition of the commentary on Romans, he posits
clearly, “My ‘Biblicist’ method… is applicable also to the study of Lao-Tse and
Geothe.”51 To illustrate the correspondence of Barth’s paradigm and Lindbeck’s
“cultural-linguistic model”, and to understand Barth’s pursuit of “real
substance” in interpretation, which is not done in a “closed” perspective of
interpretation, we analyze his three separate introductions the Romans
commentary in 1918, 1921 and 1922. In the course of a short four-year period,
there appears subtle changes to what he means by “interpreted meaning”.
In the introduction of the first edition, he defines the acts of interpretation
within the “doctrine of Inspiration”. He almost cites Mannheim’s view on the
subject of “fusion of horizons” verbatim: “The understanding of history is an
uninterrupted conversation between the wisdom of yesterday and the wisdom of
to-morrow.”52 Three years later in an introduction to the second edition, Barth
continues to engage in “conversation” between two “horizons of expectations”.
Barth expresses, “… till I have almost forgotten that I am not its author; till I
know the author so well that I allow him to speak in my name and am even able
to speak in his name myself.” He is concerned that “the Word ought to be
exposed in the words” and to this aim he labours greatly.53 A year later in an
introduction to the third edition, the original “conversation” is re-explained as
the interpreter allowing the author’s voice to be heard, “The question is whether
or no [sic] he is to place himself in a relation to his author of utter loyalty. Is he
to read him, determined to follow him to the very last word.”54 Compared to
Foucault’s “the author-function will disappear”, “What difference does it make
truth as merely a truth within an inner coherent system (like the truth of mathematical
symbols), and does not tell us what objective reality is.” Jiang Pisheng, “Dialgoue, Truth
and Religious Language”, p.125.
49 Daniel D. Williams, Jindai Shenxue Sichao (What Present-day Theologians are
Thinking?); Zhou Tianhe trans. (Hong Kong: Chinese Christian Literature Council,
1990), p.43. Barth himself simply expresses, “The attitude that I have adopted towards
the text has been called ‘Biblicist’.” Karl Barth, The Epistle to the Romans, Edwyn C.
Hoskyns trans. (London: Oxford University Press, 1968), p.11.
50 Karl Barth, The Epistle to the Romans, p.8.
52 Karl Barth, The Epistle to the Romans, p.1. For Mannheim’s concept of “fusion of
horizons”, see n.22 above.
111
who is speaking?”, and other like sayings, 55 Barth recedes in an entirely
opposite direction from “conversation” to the “text” and then to the “author”.
Bearing this in mind, the “ontological” tendency of Lindbeck’s view of
“language” and the “substantial” tendency of Barth’s view of “language” show
us two possible divergences of the “cultural-linguistic model”. First, when
language is removed from “experiential expression”, its significance does not
necessarily remain adequate within its “systematic inner coherence” (for
instance, Barth’s starting point). Second, when a linguistic system involves
dialogue partners, then the pursuit of “substance” will tilt the dialogue towards
the side of equilibrium (for instance, Barth’s terminus). Actually, such a result is
inevitable in Lindbeck’s “system” because when religious language is seen as a
“ritualistic interpretive scheme”, the self-unifying nature of the system becomes
the legitimate basis for symbolic truth. Outside Lindbeck’s system, one observes
the applicability of Barth’s words, “The more successfully the good and the
right assume concrete form, the more they become evil and wrong— summum
jus, summa injuria… Is there anywhere legality which is not fundamentally
illegal?” 56 Barth’s later concern is not with “human interpretation”,
“misreading” and the “reconstruction of meaning” that Schleiermacher was
concern with, but the self-revelation of God’s word because “the testimony of
the Bible… and the autonomy of our own world of thought is an impossible
hermeneutical programme”57, that “revelation is not a predicate of history, but
history is a predicate of revelation”. 58 Consequently, Barth’s hermeneutics is
seen as “a hermeneutics of revelation and not a hermeneutics of signification”.59
Interestingly, Barth, like Schleiermacher, also uses “intuitive certainty” to
elucidate “genuine understanding and interpretation”. 60 We notice that while
Schleiermacher frees “interpretation” from the chains of “language” and
practices it in religious experience, Karl Barth similarly uses a “word event”61 to
break away from the captivity of language. While the extreme case of
hermeneutical language ultimately would posit that “there is nothing outside the
55 Michel Foucault, “What is an Author?” in Modern Criticism and Theory, pp.186-87.

57 Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics, G. W. Bromiley and T. F. Torrance eds. (Edinburgh: T.
& T. Clark, 1965-1975), 2:721; Werner G. Jeanrond, Theological Hermeneutics, p.132.
58 Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics, 2:58; Werner G. Jeanrond, Theological Hermeneutics,
p.129.
59 Eberhard Jüngel, Gottes Sein ist im Werden: Verantwortliche Rede vom Sein Gottes bei
Karl Barth (Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1976), p.27. Werner G. Jeanrond, Theological
Hermeneutics, pp.135-36.
Ebeling, pp.199-200.
112
text”,62 Barth asserts using a contrary (or analogous) logic that, apart from faith,
interpretation has no sure footing.63 He occasionally takes interest in irrefutable
rhetorical sentences:
Is there any way of penetrating the heart of a document – of any document! – except on
the assumption that its spirit will speak to our spirit through the actual written words?
I answer by asking quite simply whether, if the Epistle is to be treated seriously at all, it is
reasonable to approach it with any other assumption than that God is God.64
Though these rhetorical assertions may not necessarily withstand further

threshing, Barth makes his point: “belief” acts as a precursor to “interpretation”.
Pursuing further the “experiential-expressive” and “cultural-linguistic”
paths, one perhaps reaches a paradox. On the one hand, if one does not, like
Schleiermacher, break away from the restriction of language and disrupt
linguistic interpretative activity, and simply to hold onto a yet proven “universal
religious experience”; nor does one first subject thinking to experience and then
later weed out “oddities” to fulfill its universal nature65 (like Ott), one would
perhaps not be able to escape the subversion of meaning (as Tracy hints). On the
other hand, if one assumes Ott’s way of reducing religion to “a system of self-
contained symbols”, one may have to take Karl Barth’s alternative of changing
the object of “interpretation” – an alternative which would require religious faith
to maintain meaning.
Apart from regressing into religious experience and faith itself, would
theological hermeneutics be able to face the challenges of modern hermeneutics?
In other words, how could theological hermeneutics ultimately provide a
solution to the pursuit of meaning amidst the tension present in the “language”
medium? In what sense can theological hermeneutics find its solution to the
problem of theological meaning? In any case, since the “divine word” is
“expressed in human language” one must “accept the various limitations of this
language”, and can thus “exploit the ambiguity in language in an extreme
manner”.66
62 “There is no outside-text… beyond and behind what one believes can be circumscribed
as Rousseau’s text, there has never been anything but writing.” Jacques Derrida, Of
Grammatology Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak trans. (Baltimore and London: The John
Hopkins University Press, 1974), pp.158-59.
63 Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics, 2:506-512; Werner G. Jeanrond, Theological
Hermeneutics, p.131.
64 Karl Barth, The Epistle to the Romans, p.11, 18.
65 Ott maintains the way “to overcome metaphysics in the field of theology” is “to
explicate all thoughts as basically objective in essence and then separate the oddities in
religion from these thoughts”. Ott, “What is Systematic Theology?”, p.229.
66 Pontificia Commissio Biblica, The Interpretation of the Bible in the Church, p.ix.
113
In fact, this question already received attention in theological hermeneutics
during the time of Karl Barth. Bonhoeffer, Bultmann and Paul Tillich were
major representatives discussing the question. The hermeneutical thoughts of
Tracy, Ott, Lindbeck, Eberling and others also attempted to explicate the
problem in their time. Perhaps, what we need is to find a thread and a paradigm
different from that of philosophical or theological hermeneutics. From there, we
may understand the unique possibilities of theology afresh.
We need to take note that Bonhoeffer, Bultmann and Paul Tillich
developed their theology in relation to the doubt and lost of faith in Christian
philosophy, caused by the unprecedented disaster of the Second World War. On
the one hand, this situation might have resulted ultimately in the effacement of
the traditional “meaning”; on the other hand, the “protection of meaning”
became a basic problem. Karl Barth’s later explanation of “solus Christus” had
nothing in common with these considerations of reality of his contemporaries.
Although Barth employed a more rigid model, yet his absolute renouncement of
the “analogy of being”,67 and the assertion of various propositions such as “let
God be God” and “the Wholly Other”,68
certainly did not act so as “to secure the existence of a godhead… but to emphasise the
radical difference between the divine essence, the Godness of God, and all ungodly
essences”.69
His strong rejection of the Nazi position had a casual relation with this
theological attitude. Bonhoeffer, Bultmann and Tillich (and also Schleiermacher)
differ from him in that they do not “get out of the circle (of understanding)
but… come into it”.70
C. The “Hermeneutical Circle” and the Identification of Meaning

Heidegger wants to go into the hermeneutical circle “in the right way” because
“this circle of understanding is not an orbit in which any random kind of
knowledge may move; it is the expression of the existential fore-structure of the
Dasein itself. It is not to be reduced to the level of a vicious circle… In this
67 About Barth’s strong renouncement of the analogy of being between God and man and
that of creation, relationship and operation, etc., see article by Heinrich Ott, “Cong
Shenxue yu Zhexue de Xiangyu de Beijing Kan Haideger Sixiang de Jiben Tezheng”
(Der Weg Martin Heideggers und der Weg der Theologie), in Liu Xiaofeng ed.,
Heidegger and Theology, p.180.
68 Cf. Liu, Xiaofeng, Zouxiang Shizijiasheng de Zhen (Towards the Truth of the Cross)
(Shanghai: Sanlian, 1995), pp.48-62.
69 Werner G. Jeanrond, Theological Hermeneutics: Development and Significance, p.134.
70 Martin Heidegger, Being and Time, John Macquarrie and Edward Robinson trans.
(London: SCM, 1962), p.195.
114
circle is hidden a positive possibility of the most primordial kind of knowing.”71
Gadamer is motivated by a “positive possibility”. He believes “that this circle
possesses an ontologically positive significance”. Concerning the reading that
follows a “vicious circle”, Gadamer observes only the nature of “arbitrariness”
and “fancies”, but he does not touch on Heidegger’s corresponding category of
“popular conceptions”. 72 In Heidegger’s view, if “arbitrariness” determines a
certain “pre-understanding”, or if “pre-understanding” is confused with “popular
conceptions”, then the “hermeneutical circle” becomes a “vicious circle”. One
has to enter the hermeneutical circle “in the right way” to realize the “positive
possibility” of interpretation. The right way is to understand that “our first, last,
and constant task is never to allow our fore-having, fore-sight, and fore-
conception to be presented to us by fancies and popular conceptions”.73 Having
precluded “arbitrary fancies” and “popular conceptions” which result in a
vicious hermeneutical circle, and having scrutinized the “the existential fore-
structure of Dasein itself”, the resulting kind of “pre-understanding” is what
Karl-Otto Apel calls the “logos of hermeneutics”.74 The “fore-structure” in the
“hermeneutical circle” expressed here clearly refers to a substantive deter-
minacy of “Being”. Gadamer, perhaps having focussed too much on the
“horizon of expectation” and “fusion”, did not study “limited Being” (whether
in a religious or irreligious sense),75 and thus did not work with the problem of
“popular conceptions”. Later conceptions of literary and textual “interpretation”
further misunderstood Gadamer’s interpolation, and conveniently dwelt on
language’s “plurality of meaning”, the “allusive nature of expression”,
“multiplicity of meaning” and the “reasonable conflicting nature of interpret-
ation”. These ideas missed the original intent that the constant goal of
hermeneutics is to seek meaning. They also disregarded the “power structure” of
language’s ability to impart feelings of shock and sadness.76 They may even
71 Heidegger, Being and Time, p.195. See Gadamer, Truth and Method, pp.235-36; Miikka
Ruokanen, Hermeneutics as an Ecumenical Method in the Theology of Gerhard Ebeling,
p.135.
72 Gadamer, Truth and Method, pp.236-39.
73 Heidegger, Being and Time, p.195; Gadamer, Truth and Method, pp.235-36.
Ebeling, p.135. Miikka Ruokanen believes that the “hermeneutical logos” refers to a
linguistic criterion in which pre-understanding forms the act of interpretation, though
this may be questionable.
75 Pi Luo, “Haidegeer he Guanyu Youxianxing de Sixiang” (Heidegger and Finite
Thinking), Chen Xiuzhai trans., in Liu Xiaofeng ed., Heidegger and Theology, pp.109,
129, 132-133, 136.
76 Foucault: “My problem is essentially the definition of the implicit systems in which we
find ourselves prisoners; what I would like to grasp is the system of limits and exclusion
which we practice without knowing it; I would like to make the cultural unconscious
apparent.” See Michel Foucault, Rituals of Exclusion. Cited from Judith Butler,
115
bring about an absolute break down of “reading activity”. This kind of
“interpretation” actually becomes a “popular conception”, which results in a
“vicious circle”.
Entering the “hermeneutical circle” does not mean replacing “meaning”
with “interpretation”. Paul Tillich discusses the “theological circle” in relation
to this.77 He admits there remains “an a priori of experience and valuation” in
theological hermeneutics and that “this is a circle which no religious philo-
sopher can escape”. This restriction caused by a priori and circularity in
theological hermeneutics makes one aware that it is not viable to recognize
theology as an empirical-inductive science (experiential theology), a meta-
physical-deductive science (conceptual theology), nor even a composite of the
two. The reason follows:
If an inductive approach is employed, one must ask… what characteristic of reality or

experience is the empirical basis of this theology. Whatever the answer may be, an a priori of
experience and valuation is implied. The same is true of a deductive approach, as developed
in classical idealism. The ultimate principles in idealist theology… like all metaphysical
ultimates… are religious ultimates at the same time.
Like Heidegger, Tillich immediately points out, speaking of the circularity of

the interpretive a priori of “Being”: “It is by no means a vicious one. Every
understanding of spiritual things (Geisteswissenschaft) is circular.”78 Tillich’s
affirmation of the “hermeneutical circle” results in his perspective towards
history that resembles Gadamer’s “effective history”:79
Tradition… does not report “naked facts,” which itself is a questionable concept; but it
does bring to mind significant events through a symbolic transformation of the facts… (But)
in these forms of tradition it is virtually impossible to separate the historical occurrence from
“Subjection, Resistance, Resignification”, in Walter Brogan & James Risser eds.,

American Continental Philosophy (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2000), p.336.
77 Paul Tillich, Systematic Theology, vol.1 (Digswell Place: James Nisbet, 1968),
pp.11-14.
78 Paul Tillich, Systematic Theology, pp.12-14.
79 Gadamer, Truth and Method, p.351. Truth and Method was published in 1960. Tillich’s
Systematic Theology, vol. 3, which discussed a similar question, was published in 1963
after Gadamer’s volume; whilst Bultmann already spoke on the difference between
Historie (or Historicity) and Geschichte (or Historicality) latest January and February
1955 at The University of Edinburgh. The contents of his speech were later included in
The Presence of Eternity. In relation, Bultmann proposed the concept of “existential
encounter with history” earlier in 1954. Rudolf Bultmann, The Presence of Eternity
(Westport: Greenwood, 1975), pp.1-11, p.119. See also Alister E. McGrath ed., The
Blackwell Encyclopaedia of Modern Christian Thought, (Oxford: Blackwell, 1993),
p.60.
116
its symbolic interpretation… All history-writing is dependent both on actual occurrences and
on their reception by a concrete historical consciousness. There is no history without factual
occurrences, and there is no history without the reception and interpretation of factual
occurrences by historical consciousness.80
In a short span of about more than ten lines or so, Tillich employs five times the
idea of “entering the theological circle”. He naturally does not put emphasis on
the “expectation” of “the Being”. This kind of “entering” involves “concrete
commitment”, “theological self-interpretation” and a ceasing to speak of oneself
“as a scientific theologian in the ordinary sense of ‘scientific’”. 81 His only
concern is, “Every theologian is committed and alienated; he is always in faith
and in doubt…” 82 Thus, his analysis of the “theological circle” is like
Heidegger’s “hermeneutical circle” whose “expectation of horizon” does not
expand infinitely. He regulates “Being” through the lens of existential
significance.
The various approaches of “non-religious interpretation of Christianity or
Christian faith”,83 the “demythologization” of the biblical message84 and three
kinds of “correlations” between man and God 85 are, respectively, how
Bonhoeffer, Bultmann and Tillich choose to “enter” the “hermeneutical circle”.
Bonhoeffer explains the “non-religious interpretation” as the result of being
“driven back to the beginnings of… understanding” due to the difficult situation
of reality. 86 This difficult situation even resulted in his imprisonment and
execution, but it also brought about two areas of advancement in his theological
thought over and above the common theological interpretation: first, the
question of the “form” and “essence” of religious faith; second, the secular
religion of the “presence of God” and the “significance” of the “eternal
absence”. 87 These two aspects form the basic directions of a “non-religious
interpretation”.
80 Paul Tillich, Systematic Theology vol. 3, pp.321-22.

81 Paul Tillich, Systematic Theology vol. 3, pp.12-13.
82 Paul Tillich, Systematic Theology vol. 3, p.13.
83 Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Letters & Papers from Prison, Eberhard Bethge ed. (London:
Macmillan, 1972), pp.344, 285-86.
84 Bultmann, Jesus Christ and Methodology (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1958),
p.18. Werner G. Jeanrond, Theological Hermeneutics: Development and Significance,
p.142.
85 Tillich, Systematic Theology vol.1, pp.84-85.
86 Bonhoeffer, Letters & Papers from Prison, p.299.
87 About “meaning as an eternal absence”, see Emmanuel Levinas, Essays van Emmanuel
Levinas (Baarn: Ten Have, 1984), p.46. Derrida alternatively points out, “What opens
meaning and language is writing as the disappearance of natural presence”. “Writing” is
“the represented in its pure state, without the represented”. It is “constitutive… of
117
The unique circumstances of German Christians after the Nazi came into
power showed Bonhoeffer that the institutional church and traditional faith
could not engage and respond to suffering in reality. He, thus, believes that one
has to “speak of God in a non-religious way” in order to escape from the
religious perspective of “popular conceptions”:
Religious people speak of God when human knowledge (perhaps simply because they
are too lazy to think) has come to an end, or when human resources fail – in fact it is always
the dues ex machina that they bring on to the scene, either for the apparent solution of
insoluble problems, or as strength in human failure.
The religious ideals with “form” removed and “essence” remaining should then
“speak of God not on the boundaries but at the centre, not in weaknesses but in
strength”.88
To understand Christianity in terms of its “essence”, it necessarily means a
continuous interpretation of religious experience and the object of faith, to
which Schleiermacher and Barth regress. To Bonhoeffer, this is what it means to
“enter the hermeneutical circle”, and yet at the same time to explicate meaning
from that “circle”; Bonhoeffer employs the concept of the “absence of God” to
the interpretive relationship formed between “meaning” and the “interpreter”.
The purported “absence of God” closely relates to the “the world’s coming
of age”. A world that has not yet come of age seems to have God everywhere.
When believers speak of God in a common way, their “horizon of expectation”
is often directed actually at a kind of god who is expectantly listening to pleas
for help. This “horizon of expectation” fuses with the “historical Christianity”
and leads to the marginalization of God. Thus according to Bonhoeffer, “The
world that has come of age is more godless, and perhaps for that every reason
nearer to God, than the world before its coming of age.”89 The “absence of God”
in a “world that has come of age” – this proposition renders instantaneously
ineffective existing religious experience and modes of religious faith. In this
sense, the only possible way of explanation is,
The God who is with us is the God who forsakes us… The God who lets us live in the
world without the working hypothesis of God is the God before whom we stand continually.
Before God and with God we live without God.90
speech, of signified meaning” and constituted “presence”, “paradoxically, by being

added to it”. Derrida, Of Grammatology, pp.159, 312-313.
88 Bonhoeffer, Letters & Papers from Prison, pp.281-82.
118
This “world without the working hypothesis of God” cannot but remind us of
Heidegger, who decided that the “first, last, and constant task” in interpretation
is to do away with “fore-having, fore-sight, and fore-conception… presented to
us by fancies and popular conceptions”. 91 Bonhoeffer’s “non-religious
interpretation” of Christianity seems to hint that with the exclusion of religious
“pre-understanding” made up of “popular conceptions”, one would attain the
“primordial kind of knowing” that is “hidden” in the “hermeneutical circle”.
Bultmann’s “demythologization” is considered as a kind of existential
interpretation of the Bible. He first raises the issue in “The Problem of
Hermeneutics” and “Is Exegesis without Presuppositions92 Possible?”: “Since
the Scriptures are about God’s revelation, how then do humans have a pre-
understanding of God’s revelation?” 93 Besides, “If… every interpretation is
guided by a pre-understanding, the question arises whether it is possible to gain
objective historical knowledge at all?”94 These two questions carry and yet undo
each other. The answer to the former question cannot be found in biblical
“myths”, since to interpret the biblical revelation, one has to explain the
existence of human beings; as a result, the inquiry of God is embodied within
the inquiry of the meaning of life. Consequently, “demythologization”, which
turns the question of “revelation” to “human self-understanding”95is faced with
the latter question of how one is to avoid the “relativity” that comes about due to
a different “pre-understanding”? This is the main topic of Bultmann’s The
Presence of Eternity.
Since the “interpretation of the revelation of the Bible” now means the
“interpretation of the existence of human beings”, Bultmann construes the
“meaning of history” using the “present moment” and suggests, among other
important propositions, that “meaning in history lies always in the present”96 and
“every moment is the now of responsibility, of decision”. 97 Accordingly, he
posits, “Genuine historical knowledge demands a very personal aliveness of the
understanding subject… Only the historian who is excited by his participation in
history,… will… be able to understand history. In this sense the most subjective
91 Martin Heidegger, Being and Time, p.195; Gadamer, Truth and Method, pp.235-36.
92 Bultmann uses “presupposition” here and not “pre-understanding”, but elsewhere he
calls “a particular understanding” of a matter which “is presupposed… a pre-
understanding”. Bultmann, The Presence of Eternity, p.113. As such, the two terms will
be used interchangeably.
93 Rudolf Bultmann, “The Problem of Hermeneutics” and “Is Exegesis without
Presuppositions Possible?”, in New Testament Mythology and Other Basic Writings,
Shubert M. Ogden ed. (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1984). See Francis Schüssler Fiorenza,
“Systematic Theology”, p.15, n. 33.
94 Bultmann, The Presence of Eternity, p.115.
119
interpretation of history is at the same time the most objective.” 98 It is not
impossible to read these propositions as concordant to Gadamer’s “effective
history”. However, Gadamer believes that Bultmann’s “existential interpret-
ation” only “interpreted Heidegger’s concept of the inauthenticity of There-
being in a theological way.”99 Bultmann would in turn have difficulty agreeing
with his successor because he enters into this kind of “pre-understanding”
exactly to prevent the “disappearance of truth”.100 He constantly emphasizes that
“all science” require “freedom from presuppositions, for an unprejudiced
approach” to happen.101 In contrast to Bonhoeffer, Bultmann’s issue is no longer
ridding “pre-understanding” of “popular conceptions”; but how to “enter the
hermeneutical circle” and at the same time surmount the limitations of “pre-
understanding”.
According to Bultmann’s discussion, “pre-understanding” includes two
different levels: first, the distinct “perspective or viewpoint” of the interpreter;
second, the interpreter’s “existential encounter with history”. 102 The former
identified level simply “destroyed… the conception of the relation between
historian and history as the relation between subject and object” and
demonstrates that “the historian cannot see history from a neutral stand-point
outside history”.103 Yet the latter’s emphasis on “encounter” does not merely
reflect the “fusion of horizons” of Gadamer and others; instead, its main point is
to interpret “existential” “self-knowledge” as “the knowledge of one’s situation
and of the problems, the tasks, and the possibilities which are contained within
it”, 104 as well as the “distress”, “repentance”, “doubt” and “despair” 105 that
humanity cannot overcome. It follows that “pre-understanding” is not necessary
to understand history “in its empirical course but as the sphere of life within
which the human being moves, within which human life gains and develops its
possibilities”.106 It renders all human “works of culture, in social and political
orders as well as in philosophy, religion, world-views… and in art and poetry”
the manifestations of history, of which the common essence is humanity’s
“virtue of the soul”, which is the “objectifications of the soul”. In this way, “the
distance between the interpreted object and the interpreting subject vanishes”.107

99 For Gadamer’s critique of Bultmann, see Hans-Georg Gadamer, Truth and Method,
pp.475-77.
104 Bultmann, The Presence of Eternity, p.144-145.
120
Of special note, even though Bultmann may put forward like Kant and
Schleiermacher that “the interpreter shares in general human nature”, 108 his
“existential encounter” refers not to “common sense” or “universality of
experience” but to common problems in the existential context.
Paul Tillich’s perspective of theological hermeneutics mentioned earlier
responds directly to Heidegger’s “entering into the hermeneutical circle”; yet it
presents more similarities to Bonhoeffer and Bultmann’s thoughts. As reflected,
“Tillich was from the beginning intent on relating theological thought to non-
theological reflection and seemingly non-religious spheres of culture”, and his
“method of correlation” promotes “an ‘answering’ theology responding to the
questions raised by the situation of its time”.109 So, not only are “the God of
Abraham, Isaac and Jacob and the God of the philosophers… the same God”, it
allows one to escape “the ontological anxiety of the void of absolute
meaninglessness” and to draw out the possibility of “correlation”.110
Like Bonhoeffer and Bultmann, Tillich affirms the relation between
“religious symbols and that which is symbolized by them” and “concepts
denoting the human and those denoting the divine”.111 In so doing, he promotes
the plurality of “method” and not the plurality of “meaning”. The use of
“plurality of meaning” to construe the “hermeneutical activity”, and conversely
enriching the “plurality of meaning” through further “hermeneutical activity”,
we see the 20th century moving increasingly away from the tragic import of the
“war of the gods”, but what remain of hermeneutics are simply cursory
sentiments of the literati. To the contrary, a plurality of “method” demonstrates
the necessity of “meaning”. It warns against the subversion of “meaning” by
“interpretation”, and protects “meaning” in a modern context that tends towards
skepticism. This is an important caveat for related studies in humanities.
Additionally, the thread constituted by Tillich, Bonhoeffer and Bultmann
illustrates the following: theological interpretation has to enter the “hermen-
eutical circle” and the modern discourse context. To merely take recourse in
religious experience or religious faith itself is questionable at least in terms of
logic. Neither can it face up to the challenges of modern hermeneutics. Perhaps,
it is only through entry into the hermeneutical circle that theological interpret-
ation is resurrected. As Tillich expresses, one “can elicit an understanding of the
significance of the Christian faith even from those who stand entirely outside
it”.112

109 McGrath ed., The Blackwell Encyclopedia of Modern Christian Thought, p.638.
110 McGrath ed., The Blackwell Encyclopedia of Modern Christian Thought, p.640.
111 Paul Tillich, Systematic Theology vol. 1, p.84.
112 Daniel D. Williams, What Present-Day Theologians are Thinking (New York: Harper &
Brothers, 1952),p. 71.
121
Conclusion
In the 20th century, we indeed see the marginalization of the position of
Christianity in the area of secular life; yet in various thoughts of humanities
involving “value judgments”, theological perspective assumes an increasingly
prominent and irreplaceable significance because the pursuit of “value” in
secular arena leads eventually to relativity of all “values”. Through the
deconstruction of “grand narrative” brought about by post-modern criticisms,
Christian theology receives more room for exploration. To a certain extent, this
room reveals a similar deep structure of humanities and theology.
The attempt to introduce a perspective of theological hermeneutics for the
study of humanities rests not only on the fact that theological hermeneutics is
the source of activities in textual interpretation; more fundamentally, the
absence of theological hermeneutics leaves the questions of “power discourse”,
“openness of text” and other basic hermeneutical problems unsettled. Through
standard hermeneutical analysis, we are aware that our “pre-understanding”
determines our interpretative activity; that a “definite meaning” is but a certain
result of a “truth structure”. We are also aware that the “openness of text” and
“over-interpretation” lead ultimately to the dissolution of meaning. The extreme
application of reception theory and reader-response criticism renders any
communication impossible, since “a thousand readers, a thousand Hamlets”
becomes the accepted norm of reading. In terms of philosophical hermeneutics,
this interpretation simply subverts the “myth of history and language”, but it is
hardly helpful in re-constructing meaning.
In theology, the particular nature of hermeneutics and object of
interpretation requires one to maintain the tension between “truth” and “method”,
and to work with the erosion of definite meaning that arises from a varying
discourse context. One needs to find an anchorage so as not to escape into
“blanks”; one necessarily affirms the realness of the “enigma”, while
acknowledging the limitations of human beings, of language and of
interpretation itself. This, ought to be the character of humanities.
122
Sino-Christian Theology:
The Unfolding of “Dao” in the Chinese Language Context
ZHANG Qingxiong
(Translated by Fredrik Fällman)
This article discusses the reform of Sino-Christian theology 1 from the

characteristics of language. First I want to establish my view of language:
1) Language cannot separate itself from the forms of life; language is itself a
form of life. As there are many forms of life, there is also a manifold of
languages. If one wants to understand a language, one must integrate with the
corresponding form of life.
2) The language that is integrated with our form of life is the only language that
we can understand. The language of science, the language of philosophy, the
language of theology, mathematics and even the formalized artificial languages
in the end have their foundation in the everyday language interrelated with our
everyday life.
3) Language is not only a means for our description of the world and for
explaining ourselves, but is also the frame for our understanding of the world
and for organising our thoughts.
My question is then: if the above view of language is correct, what kind of
proposal for constructing Sino-Christian theology can we then draw forth from it?
My conclusion is: language itself is actually “dao”. The Holy Word
(shengyan) lives in the human word (renyan), and the Holy Spirit lives in the
lives of human beings. There is no such Holy Word or Holy Spirit that is
separated from our life. Even if there were, it could still not use our language to
express itself, and we would not understand it. What is not related to our life is
totally meaningless to us. God cares for people, “dao” (the Word) is with God,
and it is also in our lives. If we want to understand the Holy Word we must
integrate it into our lives. Because of the diverse forms of life, we should
develop a Sino-Christian theology that conforms with the characteristics of the
Chinese language and with the Chinese context; applying to it a narrative
blending of the history of the Chinese, their reality and hopes, expounding and
promoting Sino-Christian theology. “Dao” and “the Holy Spirit” are not only
1 I have chosen to use the term “Sino-Christian theology” throughout this article for the
Chinese term “hanyu shenxue”. There are other possible renderings, such as “Sino-
theology” or more literally “theology in Chinese language”, but Sino-Christian theology
is in line with the terminology used at the Institute for Sino-Christian Studies at Tao
Fong Shan in Hong Kong. - Transl. note.
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unfolding in the lives of Hebrews and Greek, but also in the context integrated
with Chinese lives.
Starting from Translation

In the past linguists often considered language as a tool for describing the world.
The world is all the events that have happened, and we use language to describe
them. Language is a picture of facts. In contemporary linguistic philosophy, this
view of language is seen as one-sided, since language naturally does not only
describe the world, but is also the medium for our interchange of thoughts. In his
latter philosophy, Wittgenstein criticised his own early view and theory of
language as picture, which proves that language is not only of descriptive use
but also for orders, apologies, greetings and a number of other uses. Wittgen-
stein also demonstrated that the use of language is connected with its rules, and
that the rules of language are formed in and abided by in language activities.
Language activities are one part of the form of life, and only if we take part in
language activity and its related form of life can we really learn the rules of a
language and understand that kind of language.
Contemporary language philosophers have also taken this kind of
viewpoint a step further: when we are using a language, abiding by specified
language rules, language does not merely describe things, but is also organising
the thoughts we want to express. So-called objective facts are actually facts that
we have systematically bestowed with meaning through the concept and
structure of language. Because of the diverse forms of life and languages, even
if it is “the same” fact, through explanations in different languages it can also
produce differences in understanding among people.
The question is then: if the view of language presented above is correct,
what consequences will it have on theology? A crucial issue is: with the Bible
being translated into different languages, will it produce different under-
standings of the Bible from people?
Some theologians promote a Bible translation and understanding that is
separated from the translation and understanding of other texts, since the Bible
was written with the aid of the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit will help the
believers to achieve a common interpretation and understanding, and the
translation of “The Septuagint” is one example of that. I believe that the Holy
Spirit can help us, but I do not believe that the Holy Spirit’s help to us is like
magic. From my own experience of reading the Bible, the Holy Spirit’s help for
a person to understand appears in the natural process when man integrates his
own life experiences and very seriously reads the Bible, reflects upon its
meaning and teachings, looks ahead and lets it guide his own behaviour. I think
that we as ordinary persons should use the common sense bestowed on man to
talk about this issue. Actually, there has never been any Bible translation with an
identical content. The translation of “The Septuagint” is simply a myth. Even the
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Bible itself has been compiled out of a historical process, and actually there has
been no final conclusion on what texts are part of canon or are not part of canon.
There are for example seven more books in the Catholic Bible than in the
Protestant. I do not understand Hebrew, but when comparing an English
translation of the Hebrew Bible used by Jews with an English translation of the
Christian Old Testament, I find rather many differences. There are even some
translations of names that involve key issues of doctrine. Martin Luther’s
translation to German and the German Bible translation in modern language
have differences, and the reason for this is the change of the language. The Bible
translation made by the Jewish theologians Franz Rosenzweig and Martin Buber
have differences with Martin Luther’s Bible, but these are not only because of
language changes, but also because of the question of theological understanding.
Chinese Bible translation is even more diversified. Until today there have
been over one hundred translations that we have evidence for, including to
classical Chinese (wenyan), vernacular (baihua) and several dialects. There are
two peculiarities worth noting about the process of these translations: (1) they
were first translated by foreigners, before the Chinese translated themselves; (2)
the classical Chinese version was popular before the vernacular version became
popular.
First, almost only foreign missionaries did the translation work. Chinese
were at most allowed to make some language polishing. From Robert
Morrison’s first Chinese translation (started in 1807, published in full in
Malacca in 1823) to “The Mandarin Union Version” in 1919, as far as we know,
they were translated by foreigners according to their understanding of the
original text, and of Chinese. This situation did not change until the last decades.
Presently Chinese themselves undertake most of the new translations of the
Bible. The development of the Chinese language and of biblical archaeology has
made biblical scholars feel the strong necessity for a new translation of the Bible,
and now it is only Chinese Bible scholars themselves who are qualified for this
work. Among foreign scholars today, it is very rare to find someone who is
simultaneously fluent in Chinese, Hebrew and Greek. Among Chinese scholars
the level of foreign languages is normally higher than the Chinese level of
foreign scholars. This is a historical leap. Lu Chen-chung (Lü Zhenzhong) made
a start being the first individual Chinese to translate the whole Bible. In 1946 he
translated The New Testament and in 1970 The Old Testament. With the trans-
lation of Today’s Chinese Bible by Moses Hsu (Xu Mushi), Chow Lien Hwa
(Zhou Lianhua), I-Jin Loh (Luo Weiren) and others, a new breakthrough was
made. They completed The New Testament in 1975 and The Old Testament in
1979. The style is graceful and smooth, and it has become used and loved
among ordinary readers of modern Chinese. The work with The New Chinese
Version, based on and revised from the Union Version, was undertaken by Paul
Yung (Rong Baoluo) and more than 30 Chinese Bible scholars. In 1976 they
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published The New Testament, and in 1992 the whole Old Testament was
finished. The whole new Bible translation came out also in 1992. The changes in
that version are not many, but they are crucial at many points.
The efforts of Western missionaries to translate the Bible into Chinese
cannot be said to have been careless. They used three styles to translate the
Bible, High Wenli, Easy Wenli and Mandarin (vernacular). The most popular in
the beginning, “The Two Ma Translations” (Robert Morrison’s translation and
Joshua Marshman’s translation), were written in Classical Chinese (High Wenli),
e.g.: Morrison translated John 1:1 as “In the beginning there was the Word and
this Word was with God. And the Word was God.” Marshman translated it as
“At first there was the Word. God was with the Word. The Word was God.”2 To
adapt to the common reader’s language habits the Western missionaries
afterwards used both Easy Wenli and vernacular to translate the Bible. The
Union Version of the Bible, one of the great achievements of their work should,
according to the original plan, have had translations in three styles, High Wenli,
Easy Wenli and Mandarin (vernacular). Thus comes the saying “only one Bible,
but three translations” (shengjing weiyi, yibenze san). Later the High and Easy
Wenli translations were merged to a “Wenli Union Version” (wenli hehe yiben).
It was finalised and published together with the “Mandarin Version” in 1919. At
that very moment the May Fourth movement was promoting the vernacular, and
on one hand the “Mandarin Union Version” (guanhua hehe yiben) added fuel to
the flames for the development of the vernacular. On the other hand the firm
establishment of the position of the vernacular also made the “Mandarin Union
Version” come to the fore among the many Bible translations. After 1979 it has
been re-printed many times in Shanghai and Nanjing. An edition with horizontal
lines and simplified characters was printed 1989 in Nanjing, and until 1994 it
was printed in over 10 million copies.
Just as Chinese Buddhist Studies started with the translation of Buddhist
scriptures, Chinese theology followed the translation of the Bible and Western
theological works. When Buddhism entered China, translation work was
primarily done by monks from India and the Western Regions3. Only later it
became a primary task for Chinese to perform. Kumrajva (344-413),
Paramrtha (499-569) and Xuanzang (602-664) are known as the three great
Buddhist translators. Xuanzang was comparatively late, and it is difficult to say
if he surpassed the other two in either number or quality of translation, but
Xuanzang started the Consciousness-only school4 in China. The other two did
2 These are my translations from classical Chinese. Morrison’s original Chinese text was
“dang shi yi you yan er qi yan xie shenΖyou qi yan wei shen”, and Marshman’s "yuan
shi wei yan Ǆshen tong yan Ǆyan ji shen” - Transl. note.
3 “Western Regions” is a translation of “Xiyu”, referring to Central Asia. - Transl. note.
4 This school is also known as the Dharma-character (fa xiang) school and is closely
related to the Yogcra school. - Transl. note.
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not start any Buddhist school of thought in China. If you should look for a
reason, I believe that while Xuanzang brought in the mentality of his Chinese
mother tongue when translating Sanskrit texts, the former two transformed the
understanding of Buddhist scriptures from their mother tongue Sanskrit into
Chinese. Translation should be faithful to the original text, but it must also be an
analytical, constructive and creative work. Xuanzang’s Buddhist translations,
with the inside information of a native Chinese speaker’s mind, were bound to
merge more and easier into Chinese culture and the experiences of Chinese life.
In this way, Buddhist schools with Chinese characteristics were more easily
formed. This is actually a fact. When Xuanzang interpreted and translated the
ten great treatises of the Conciousness-only school, and created the Treatise on
the Theory of Consciousness-only (Vijñaptimtratsiddhi), he brought in his
own understanding of China and with that established the Consciousness-only
school.
The development of Buddhism in China can be divided into three stages: (1)
mission, (2) determination of teachings (panjiao), (3) establishment. Buddhist
mission in China was a process of a foreign culture rooting in China, step by
step being understood by the Chinese. It originated with monks from India and
the Western Regions spreading the teaching and translating the scriptures.
Gradually Chinese monks took a greater part and finally the main role.
Following the translation of different kinds of Buddhist scriptures into
Chinese, different Buddhist schools of Indian origin set their foot in China. The
Chinese noted their differences and started to inquire what scriptures were more
accurate or appropriate, what schools were more orthodox or outstanding. On
the premise that all Buddhist scriptures should be acknowledged as Buddhist
teachings, they perhaps also wanted to list and arrange the many scriptures and
distinguish which were of more or lesser urgency for their study and practice.
According to Tang Biographies of Eminent Monks (Tang Gao Seng Zhuan) the
Tang Taizong Emperor asked the recluse Sun Simiao: “Which is the greatest of
Buddhist sutras?” Sun answered: “The Avatamsaka Sutra is most respected
among the many sutras.” The Emperor asked again: “Is it not preposterous that
the 600 volumes of the Mahprajñpramitstra that Master Xuanzang
translated cannot be compared with the 60 volumes of the Avatamsaka Sutra?”
Sun answered: “Avatamsaka Sutra expounds the karmic causation of all things
boundlessly in the phenomenal world and is equally mild and unfettered as the
supreme treasure scriptures. It includes all the doctrines of Buddhism, and
regardless of which doctrine it can evolve thousands of needle sharp scriptures.
However, Mahprajñpramitstra is but one doctrine in the world of the
Avatamsaka Sutra.” After the Tang Taizong Emperor heard Sun Simiao’s words
he consequently believed in and held on to the Avatamsaka Sutra. It does not
matter if the Taizong Emperor really heard these words from Sun Simiao, since
it shows us the doubtless determination of teachings (panjiao) by the disciples of
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the Avatamsaka Sutra. To determine teachings is not just to listen to what other
people say, but also to show one’s own resolution. One’s resolution should come
from one’s own life experience and understanding of the Buddhist scriptures.
Chinese people’s own determination of scriptures decided what Indian Buddhist
schools should be admitted and carried forward in China. Not all Buddhist
schools that entered China could take root and develop, but merely a few were
disseminated.
Following the progressive merging of Buddhism into Chinese people’s life,
the Chinese also started to recognize the essence of Buddhism directly from
their own human experience. At this time, the form of expression of thought was
not to quote from authoritative and ancient works, but to start directly from
one’s life experiences and to use one’s own language to expound Buddhist
theory. It was only at this time one can really talk about the birth of Chinese
Buddhist studies. The Platform Sutra of the Sixth Patriarch (liu zu tan jng)
emerged under such circumstances. In Buddhism, to make a “sutra” from a text
expounding the most basic position and view in human life, and to add proof
and further expounding to this basic standpoint and view is called “abhidharma”.
Prior to the The Platform Sutra of the Sixth Patriarch there were only
“abhidharma” Buddhist works written by Chinese, no “sutras”. The naming of
The Platform Sutra of the Sixth Patriarch clearly shows the Chinese awareness
that their Buddhist Studies has a unique origin.
I believe that Christianity in China also developed similarly to Buddhism,
with the three stages of mission, determination of teachings and establishment.
At present it is still in the mission and determination of teachings stage, and has
not yet entered the establishment stage. We cannot yet strictly talk of any
Chinese theology. Naturally there are differences between these two missions.
When Buddhism entered China, China had a great wide open mind, and often
took the initiative of inviting monks from India or the Western regions to come
to China and do mission. When Christianity entered China in modern times it
followed in the company of invading powers. The majority attitude to Buddhism
at the time of entering was based on successively positive preconditions, but the
authority holders and the cultural sphere in modern China had an essentially
refusal attitude towards Christianity. There was a fear that Christianity would
cause turmoil in the state system and with popular feelings. This mentality is
perhaps related to the decreasing self-confidence of one’s own national power
and ability to digest foreign culture. With the strengthening of Chinese national
power in recent years, Chinese scholars have also adopted an increasingly open
attitude towards foreign culture.
We have previously discussed how translation into Chinese of the Bible
was primarily done by Western missionaries, but how this task of Bible
translation is now taken over by Chinese. What must be added is, that
Westerners also did the translation and introduction of Western theology, and
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even the ideological trends and social concepts of Western philosophy, for
example socialism, was first translated and introduced by Western missionaries.
To prove this fact you only have to skip through the pages of Review of the
Times (Wanguo Gongbao). It is said that Kang Youwei was enlightened about
New Learning from the occasional reading of Review of the Times and other
journals published by Western missionaries that he could find on the Fourth
Avenue 5 in Shanghai. This was before he went to Beijing to take the civil
service exam. The energy with which Chinese scholars now translate Western
theological and philosophical works is quite comparable to the fervour with
which Buddhist scripture was translated in the Tang dynasty. The Western
theological and philosophical works that you can find in Chinese bookstores is
not second to what is displayed on the shelves in European and American
bookstores. This is because China is now translating and publishing these kinds
of works from antiquity until present all at once, while in the Western
bookstores one can only find the currently most popular books. Chinese
Buddhism takes pride in that the Buddhist canon in Chinese translation is more
complete than the original texts kept in India. With such a continued
development, the Christian theological book series in China will be more and
more complete, and there will emerge a Christian canon in the same manner as
with the Buddhist canon.
In the Chinese mainland, scholars of Christianity and theologians have just
entered the stage of determination of teachings. Some like existentialist theology,
and translate and introduce more Western existentialist theology; others like
post-modernist theology and then translate and introduce post-modernist
theology; yet others like neo-orthodox theology and evangelical theology and
translate and promote more of neo-orthodox and evangelical theology. They also
argue between them, and criticize their opponents for being too conservative,
too liberal or even go so far as to claim that they deviate from Christianity.
However, this determination of teachings is somewhat distant from
establishing one’s own theology, since it is still criticizing theology established
by others. Only when Chinese Christian scholars realise that the theological
doctrine already existing in the West is not enough to answer the questions that
Chinese face themselves, that it is not enough to explain the life experiences of
Chinese people, and make efforts to establish their own system of theological
narratives and concepts, only then can Chinese theology in its true sense appear.
Only when the needs of one’s own life and one’s search for the ultimate
meaning is satisfied. Naturally, Chinese theology must not only be limited to
answer the specific questions of China, but Chinese theology should also answer
the new questions of the whole world and of the whole of humanity. For
Chinese theology to be Chinese, it must primarily depend on what Chinese
5 Si malu or Fourth Avenue was the premier book selling district in Shanghai, and still is
today. The road is now known as Fuzhou Road. - Transl. note.
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people can experience in their lives, to look from their own angle and use their
own language to express the basic questions of human life and of the world, and
to believe that this expression accords with the “dao” that is with God.
Human Word and Divine Word

The beginning of the Gospel of John says: “In the beginning was the Word [dao],
and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” (John 1:1) What is this
dao? Dao is word, it is language. Some people say that dao is not our word, but
God’s word. I want to say that dao is God’s word, but it is also our word. God’s
word is embodied in our word, and God’s spirit lives in our word, and it is only
us that often do not hear or see it. This is what the Gospel of John is telling us,
“The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world. He was
in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not
know him.” We don’t know that light, that life and that dao, but that doesn’t
indicate that light, life and dao are not in this world. In Christianity God, dao
(word), spirit and life are united. Jesus said to his disciples: “The words that I
have spoken to you are spirit and life.” (John 6:63)
We live in the world and we also live in language. Language is with us, and
in our life and through our language we comprehend God’s dao. Our life
depends on two kinds of language, one kind is the language of genes expressing
biological life, and the other is language in the form of the sound and script
expressing cultural life. Genes decide our biological life, and the genetic code
innately decides whether what grows out of the embryo should be a human or a
dog, male or female, a healthy person or a handicapped person. Genes also
decide whether if one should have the ability to understand and use the language
of sound and script. What differentiates humans from other animals is that
human life is not merely decided by the genetic code, but also by the human
ability to study and create culture through the language of sound and script. In
this respect humans are rather free and can accept any kind of culture, adopt any
form of living, and receive any kind of knowledge and technical training,
forming any kind of cultural life for a human being. Listening to Jesus shapes
the cultural life of a Christian. Listening to Buddha shapes the cultural life of a
Buddhist, and listening to Confucius shapes the cultural life of a Confucian
believer. Whether a person becomes a worker, a farmer, a soldier, a teacher, a
doctor, an engineer or something else is related to what specialised technical
training he receives. A person can choose a life with strict adherence to moral
rules, or he can choose an unrestrained life. All these patterns of morality,
religion and knowledge are cultural forms learnt and inherited through language.
The language of the genetic code coexists with natural biological life, as
well as the human language of sound and script coexists with human cultural life,
and this is of course good. But what relation does this have with the dao that
coexists with God? It seems that the former is a natural phenomenon and the
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latter is a human phenomenon, and thus they are not the word of God. I will not
argue here if the world is a natural existence or a creation by God. I approve of
Kant’s view, that to deal with this issue we go beyond the limits of human
reason. What I want to point out is that once we accept that God created the
world, just like the Bible says, “Then God said… And it was so.” the genetic
discoveries of modern science coincidentally even stronger confirm the Bible
story of God creating the world. We can say that the language of the genetic
code originates from God’s word. We can also say that as big as the laws ruling
the celestial bodies, and as small as the laws ruling the atom, in the end it all
comes from God’s word. The scientists of the Renaissance believed that the
language of nature was God’s beauty written in mathematical language, and
glowing with enthusiasm they consequently sought to express the laws of nature
in mathematical formula. Thereby one could even better appreciate God’s
perfection. However, the unity of the laws of nature and the continuity of the
genetic evolution of all living things is not logically sufficient to prove God’s
existence, but it does greatly increase the belief in this: the dao unfolding in the
world, pervading all things and making nature comply with laws and causes the
continuous evolution of all living things.
Some people argue that conformity with laws cannot confirm that God
exists, and that only miracles can confirm the existence of God. I believe that
from a logical point of view, neither laws nor miracles are enough to confirm the
existence of God. The world is so big that we can never fully verify that all
phenomena in nature comply with the laws. Even if the phenomena of nature
would all comply with the laws, we could claim that natural phenomena are
originally like this. This is the standpoint of naturalism. On the other hand, we
could of course also claim that natural phenomena are chaotic by nature, and
that God gave them order, made them follow laws. In nature we can see both
uniform and chaotic conditions at the same time, but we believe that natural
phenomena in the final analysis are ordered. This is a basic belief of modern
natural science. We insist on this standpoint: whenever we can confirm the
relation between the chaotic states of various physical phenomena, we can find
its laws. No matter how complicated they are, the outcome is in principle similar
to the planets revolving around the Sun, some seemingly not adhering to the
laws (set by universal gravity), but after finding new planets influencing them
the validity of the laws are confirmed even further. What we see is often
common phenomena, but occasionally we see unusual ones that are enough to
make us surprised and call them miraculous. But isn’t finding the factors behind
the abnormity of miraculous natural phenomena merely evidence that they in
fact do adhere to the laws of nature? As miracles are natural phenomena and
inherently follow rules, we can use natural phenomena to change existing
natural conditions, but we cannot change the laws of nature as such. This is the
only thing that humans are not able to do.
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Some people believe that God’s greatness shows in his creation of a united,
orderly and regulated world. Others believe that God’s greatness shows in his
ability to perform miracles. The former argue that except for that the united,
orderly and regulated world is a miracle itself, there can be no other miracles
altering the laws of nature. The latter argue that God is omnipotent, and that he
created the world by his own will, and that he can also change his creation by
his own will. This is a big debate in theology, and I have read many articles
where Western philosophers discuss this topic. However, the impression I get is
that so far there has been no conclusion on a theoretical ground determining
which is right or wrong. Maybe there will not be one in the future either, since
this issue cannot be answered merely based on logical deduction.
Nevertheless, this issue relates to the human attitude to life. When a person
has a certain faith, it is not because this faith has been fully verified by theory or
empirically, but because he himself has had an experience, has inherited a living
practice or what he has gained knowledge of has made him inclined to have this
faith. On a similar note, a person who has grown up with modern natural science
education has difficulty in believing that the laws of nature can be changed since
what he has learnt, and his life experiences, has given him more evidence and
reason to prove that the laws of nature do not change. A person who has not
received modern natural science education or one who is without higher
education will perhaps more easily support the idea that the laws of nature can
change by miracle.
In China today, the attitude to miracles is a watershed between Church
Christians and scholars of Christianity, or Church Christians and “Cultural
Christians”. I have made a rough poll in the universities and in the Academy of
Social Sciences in Shanghai, and found that over 90% of scholars do not believe
that miracles going against the laws of nature exist. However, over 80% of
Church Christians believe that such miracles exist. I estimate that the situation is
similar over the whole Chinese mainland. Scholars of Christianity often have a
supportive and sympathetic attitude to Christian culture, but hold a sceptical
view on the Bible and other texts with descriptions of miracles. There are
scholars who see Church believers’ faith in miracles as superstition, and want to
enlighten them and “deconstruct myths”. Most scholars keep an academically
neutral attitude, and declare that they do research for its own sake, and do not
want to take part in or interfere with church activities. The attitude of Church
Christians is the opposite. Among them there are some who think that it is
positive for scholars in universities to do research on Christian culture, and that
this is positive for the development of Christianity. Some even believe that this
is a path to Christian faith, and because of this put the laurel of “Cultural
Christian” on their heads. Others have a negative attitude towards this kind of
“academic research”, and argue that this research is only superficial and does
not reach the core. They argue that it does not enter Christian life, that they are
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way off mark, even harmful, since they may substitute essential things for
superficial ones and lead Christianity astray.
In articles discussing Cultural Christians, I have seen that theologians from
Hong Kong and Macao describe the characteristic difference between mainland
scholars studying Christianity and Church believers as of reading the Bible or
not, or going to church services or not. I believe that this distinction is
superficial. In reality, it is not so that mainland scholars studying Christianity
don’t read the Bible, and they do have different understandings on the miracle
stories in the Bible. It is not so that they don’t go to church; they even have
various views on the meaning of prayer. When it comes to the issue of miracles,
it has already become a significant issue in the Sino-theological context.
Living in Dao and Unfolding Dao

The death of Jesus on the cross and his resurrection is the greatest miracle. If
you don’t believe in this miracle can you still call yourself a Christian? Is
theology that doesn’t recognise the cross event still Christian theology? Can
Sino-Christian theology avoid the cross event? Are we as scholars studying
Christianity qualified to talk about Christian theology? To talk about Sino-
Christian culture still seems excusable, but isn’t to talk about Sino-Christian
theology to meddle in others’ affairs?
Those who have studied Christian theology know that it includes revealed
theology as well as philosophical theology. Miracles are one form of God’s
revelation. In the Old Testament we can see that God reveals himself through
extraordinary images in nature and through events happening between people.
God uses these images and events as a pretext to show himself as the Creator of
all things under Heaven and Earth, as the ruler of human destiny, and also to
admonish the people of Israel: if they obey the commandments and abide by the
covenant they shall be bestowed love and favours; if they do not obey the
commandments and do not abide by the covenant they will suffer calamities. In
the New Testament we can see that Jesus while preaching also performed many
miracles, made blind to see, lame to walk, lepers to heal, deaf to hear and dead
to resurrect. Finally, he takes revelation to its peak by showing the greatest
miracle, dying on the cross and rising again from the dead.
By means of the discourse of philosophy, philosophical theology talks
about God’s existence, relations between God and people, the unity of the world,
the goal and meaning of human existence, the possibility of and the road to
salvation. To my knowledge, philosophical theology will always feel a weakness
and a lack in ability and plausibility when trying to explain the cross event of
Jesus Christ out of human common sense, experience and rationality. In the
Middle Ages philosophy was seen as the handmaid of theology, and
philosophical theology had no independent position. Revealed truth was seen as
higher than rational truth, and philosophical theology must explain Christian
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doctrine stipulated by the Church only under the condition of confirming the
cross event as revealed truth. In modern times reason was elevated to the highest
position. When reason could take its own initiative and face the biblical
narrative it certainly attacked Christianity on a great scale. This was the effect of
the modern Enlightenment. Using functionalistic theory to illustrate the function
of religion in society will only dispel the social function of religion. As soon as
the believers accept the theory of functionalism they would clear out their
religious belief, and thus religion will loose its foundation of faith that can have
a social function. Using the theory of psychological comfort to explain the
gentle mentality of religious believers will make them fall back into despair and
depression. Opium has an anaesthetizing use, and when an opium smoker knows
this it will still have the anaesthetizing effect. Religion is opium, but as soon as a
believer believes that religion is opium, religion looses it anaesthetizing effect.
For most pious Christians the cross event of Jesus is a concretely existing event,
and this event has lead to the concrete change that has occurred in their lives.
Any functionalistic or psychological method of explaining religious phenomena
will weaken their feeling of reality, and will have a deconstructive effect on
religion.
Karl Barth has paid much attention to this point. According to Barth’s view,
revelation is God’s self-representation and the Holy Word is the activity of
God’s self-representation. The Holy Word is Logos and is objectively factual; it
is the foundation of Christian faith. When Barth explains revelation he always
puts the Holy Word (Logos) first, and firstly clarifies the objective factuality of
revelation. Only later does he discuss subjective possibilities of revelation. He
argues that on the objective foundation of the self-represented Holy Word,
separated from God, people cannot subjectively understand God’s revelation.
Barth writes:
God is thought and known when in His own freedom God makes Himself apprehen-
sible… God is always the One who has made Himself known to man in his own revelation,
and not the one man thinks out for himself and describes as God. There is a perfectly clear
division there already, epistemologically, between the true God and the false gods.
Knowledge of God is not a possibility which is open for discussion. God is the essence of all
reality, of that reality which reveals itself to us. Knowledge of god takes place where there is
actual experience that God speaks, that He so represents Himself to man that he cannot fail to
see and hear Him, where, in a situation which he has not brought about, in which he becomes
incomprehensible to himself, man sees himself faced with the fact that he lives with God and
God with him, because so it has pleased God. Knowledge of God takes place where divine
revelation takes place, illumination of man by God, transmission of human knowledge,
instruction of man by this incomparable Teacher [Jesus].6
6 English translation from Karl Barth, Dogmatics in Outline, G. T. Thomson trans.

(London: Harper and Row, 1959), pp.23-24; German original text in Karl Barth,
134
Barth’s neo-orthodox theology starts directly from revelation, and avoids the
predicaments of modernist theology based on human reason and this-worldliness,
when discussing revealed truth. However, Barth’s neo-orthodoxy gives people
the feeling that it is too far removed from peoples’ lives: this village pastor,
remote from the people, is just chattering and we don’t understand what he is
saying. The cross event of Jesus is a true event, and so are also peoples’
awareness of the meaning of existence developed in daily life, the yearning for
the transcendent, and the thorough change in approach to life, turning from
individually self-centred to centre on transcending reality. These two kinds of
real events are complementary, if one leaves the former on cannot know the
former and vice versa. In nature and in peoples’ lives all kinds of events occur.
Looking at these events as the inevitability of nature is very common. Looking
at them in a specific situation, in a specific context of peoples’ encounters, they
can have a peculiar effect and make people aware of the meaning of existence.
Every event, with regard to its unfolding of dao, can be seen as a latent event of
God’s actions and revelation. Among individuals and groups there are certain
specific events to serve as tools of holy actions and they stand out in a highly
special manner; these events are miracles. Miracles are not meant to break the
laws of nature, but to be symbols or signs of a thorough and fundamentally
important transformation. Just as any other event they can be seen as natural
events, and they can be explained with the laws of nature after an investigation
of the natural relation between cause and effect. Even so, for the individuals and
groups who accept the embedded meaning, they convey God’s grace, which is
an extraordinary real event.
Contemporary Christian theologian John Macquarrie has called under-
standing “the symbol of existence”. He explains as follows about the story of
Moses leading the people of Israel out of Egypt, walking on dry land in the sea
with the water forming walls on their sides:
The example chosen is the crossing of the Red Sea by the people of Israel, a miracle that
impressed itself so deeply upon the mind of the people that they always looked back to it as
God’s great providential act on their behalf and indeed as the very foundation of their
existence as a community. As is well known, the account7 as we now have it is put together
form various sources. Scholars differ over the details of how these sources are to be
disentangled, but the broad outlines are clear enough. According to the older version, we can
visualize an incident which can be understood as perfectly “natural” in the sense that it does
not involve any happenings that would contradict our ordinary experience of natural
Dogmatik im Grundriss (Zürich: EVZ, 1947), pp.26-27. Chinese translation in Bate

(Barth), Jiaoyixue Gangyao, Hu Zanyun trans. (Hong Kong: Jidujiao Fuqiao, 1963),
p.24. - Transl. note.
7 Exodus 14:5-31. - Transl. note.
135
phenomena. In this account, the Israelites were already encamped by the shore, and the
Egyptians were in pursuit. The combination of a strong wind with a low tide enabled the
Israelites to get across. The Egyptians tried to follow, but their chariots got stuck in the sand
and they were caught by the incoming tide. The later version transforms the story into a
“supernatural” event by introducing magical elements. Moses stretches his rod over the sea,
the waters divide and stand like walls on both sides. The Israelites go through, and the
Egyptians foolishly attempt to follow and are overwhelmed by the water as it falls back down
upon them.8
Through analysis of the origins of the Bible, and with methods of explaining
myths, Rudolf Bultmann and other contemporary Bible scholars have done away
with the elements of sorcery and myth that was squeezed into the Bible. If the
views of these Bible scholars are correct then we cannot understand God’s
performance of miracles as breaking the laws of nature. The laws of nature
cannot be broken, and natural phenomena are subject to inevitable objective
restrictions. Analyses of the Bible should adhere to science, not to sorcery. God
is a transcendent existence, and the cross event of Jesus is a transcendent event.
If Jesus’ death on the cross and his resurrection is understood as breaking the
laws of nature, then it is still a non-transcendental and naturalistic understanding
of a transcendent event. To understand the transcendent reality one must rely on
transcendent experience. This kind of experience happens in our lives, and
appears in our hearts. To discover miracles, one has to be good at seeing the
peculiar in the common, the great in the ordinary, and to see meaning and value
in the spontaneous. Of course, it is not easy to experience events with a hidden
transcendent meaning in our common circumstances, but in certain times of
crisis the implied transcendent meaning is more easily revealed and grasped, like
when the people of Israel were pursued by the Egyptian army, and were in the
moment of life and death.
If people believe in God only for the sake of personal gain and luck, then
they could just as well not believe in God but in “the Grand Immortals”, since it
is said that the immortals can make sorcery and miracles. The essence of
Christianity is not to achieve personal benefits from God, but to change oneself:
changing from self-centred to centre on the transcendent, making one’s
individual life enter eternal life. Paul says: “But if Christ is in you, though the
body is dead because of sin, the Spirit is life because of righteousness.”
(Romans 8:10)
A few hundred years after Indian Buddhism had entered China, and
thousands of Buddhist scriptures had been translated, the Indian monks could
still not clearly explain where Buddha actually was or where the Western
8 English original from John Macquarrie, Principles of Christian Theology (London:

SCM, 2003) pp.250-251. Chinese translation by He Guanghu, Jidujiao Shenxue Yuanli
(Hong Kong: Logos and Pneuma, 2005) p.330. - Transl. note.
136
Paradise actually was. Only when Chinese Buddhism arose was this issue given
an answer that was clear and could withstand examination. Du Shun, the founder
of the Huayan School (Avatamsaka), wrote the following gth (verse) to a
monk who sought to find the miracle of Buddha’s divine manifestation
everywhere but never found anything: “Travelling everywhere, always on the
run, rituals on Mount Wutai, only Mañjur is there, but Amithba is
everywhere”. That Buddha is in our hearts, and that the Western Paradise is in
our hearts, has become common knowledge in Chinese Buddhism. If Chinese
Buddhism has some characteristics or has made some contributions, I believe
that this is an important one. A few hundred years after Christianity entered
China, and merged with Chinese culture and lifestyle, Chinese people rather
easily accepted some of its common views and thoughts in its diverse expression
in the Chinese context. One day will come when you can ask what
characteristics Sino-Christian theology has, and what contribution it has made to
the whole of Christian theology, and I believe that it might be these two
sentences: We live in the body of Jesus, and Jesus lives in our hearts. In
philosophical language: We live in dao, and dao unfolds in the world and in our
hearts. 9
9 The sub-headings of this paper are added by the editors.
137
The Paradigm Shift: From Chinese Theology to
Sino-Christian Theology – A Case Study on Liu Xiaofeng
CHIN Ken-Pa
Christianity as a Barbarous “Foreigner”

“For Jews demand signs and Greeks look for wisdom, but we proclaim Christ
crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles, but to those
who are called, Jews and Greeks alike, Christ the power of God and the wisdom
of God. For the foolishness of God is wiser than human wisdom, and the
weakness of God is stronger than human strength.” (I Corinthians 1: 22-25) If St.
Paul had known, besides Jews and Greeks, the existence of the Chinese, the
paragraph might have been reformulated as such:
For Jews demand signs, Greeks look for wisdom, and the Chinese honor morality, but
we proclaim Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews, foolishness to Gentiles, and
savagery to the Chinese, but to those who are called, Jews, Greeks and the Chinese alike,
Christ the power of God, the wisdom of God, and the nobleness of God. For the foolishness
of God is wiser than human wisdom, the weakness of God is stronger than human strength,
and the savagery of God is nobler than human civilization.
Though it was first introduced into Chinese context one and a half century ago,
Christianity has not successfully settled down in Chinese culture and still
remains a “foreign religion” (yang jiao). It is intolerable for the Chinese that this
Western religion rejects any forms of adaptation: “indigenization”, “Sini-
fication”, “contextualization”, “inculturation”, or “integration”. This criticism
towards Christianity attempts to show how barbarous this foreign religion is. It
states that the very savagery (invasion, colonization, hegemony, and pride) of
Christianity consists in its lack of “morality” or virtues respected by the Chinese,
such as tolerance, amity, accommodation and receptiveness. Especially during
the times characterized by post-colonialism, “de-westerncentrism”, tolerance,
pluralism, and dialogue, the criticism against this “foreign religion” which
rejects to be acculturated and contextualized seems more reasonable and
acceptable. In another word, for the Chinese, a “foreign religion” should have
accepted Chinese moral regulation without qualification, and the main reason
that the mission of Christianity in China has not been as successful as Buddhism
consists in the very fact that it remains a “foreign religion”.
However, under powerful nationalist discourse, the attempts to domesticate
Christianity into a Chinese religion have never ceased. Nevertheless, few people
take it seriously whether these attempts conflict with the Christ crucified event,
139
and some even take it for granted that there is no conflict in being a Chinese and
a Christian at the same time.
In fact, if one takes this “foreigner” seriously and respects it as a foreigner,
there is no necessity at all to give up its image and identity as a foreigner. Those
who attempt to inculturate it into Chinese context care little about its otherness
and even try to dissimulate its authentic identity for the sake of evangelization.
Or rather, they probably do not really understand the otherness of this foreigner
as a foreigner.
Unlike all sorts of “Chinese theology” or “contextual theology”, “Sino-
Christian theology”, however, defends the foolishness, weakness, and savagery
of this foreigner, and thus makes itself a stumbling block of the current Chinese
academia, rightly blocking our way and letting Chinese thought oppose and
reject it. But, as is written in the Bible,
God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and God hath
chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty; And base
things of the world, and things which are despised, hath God chosen, yea, and things which
are not, to bring to nothing things that are: That no flesh should glory in his presence. (I
Corinthians 1: 27-29)
Defending the faith of being a “foreigner”, Sino-Christian theology is in line

with the theology of the Cross. Instead of starting from Christology and the
doctrine of Creation, Sino-Christian theology starts from “the truth of the Cross”,
which is foolishness to the peoples but the power of God. Nevertheless, some
so-called Chinese “theologians” want to correct the foolishness, the stumbling
block and the humiliation in order to make it conformable to the expectation of
the Confucian “Ren”, the Taoist “Tao”, and the Buddhist “perfection”. Isn’t their
ambition a kind of pride in thinking that they possess the God-like wisdom?
In modern Chinese thought, Christianity as a foreigner has long been
expected to be transformed into something native to China, but Sino-Christian
theology defends this crucified “foreigner”, even though it stands for foolishness,
stumbling block and humiliation.
Liu Zong-zhou, a renowned Neo-Confuciansim, said, “The propagation of
the Western religion in China is the enemy of the Way.” (xifang zhi jiao xingyu
zhongguoˈdao zhi zei ye) In contrast, Liu Xiaofeng, a Sino-Christian theology
speaker responds, “I am the enemy of the Way”.1 This statement with a clear-cut
stance spells out the radical significance of Sino-Christian theology in Chinese
context: as the enemy of “China”.2
1 Liu Xiaofeng, Hanyu Shenxue yu Lishi Zhexue [The Sino-Christian Theology and
Philosophy of History] (Hong Kong: Institute of Sino-Christian Studies, 2000), p.96.
2 Liu Xiaofeng’s works on Sino-Christian theology cited in this materials: The
Sino-Christian Theology and the Philosophy of History, Zhengjiu Yu Xiaoyao [Salvation
140
The “De-Heresy History” of the Divine Dynasty
Chinese culture, which is of long-standing, self-sufficient, and exclusive, treats
all foreign cultures with a superior air, assimilating and making them serve
China. Compared with the Chinese “Divine Dynasty”, all other cultures are
nothing but heresies or barbaric, namely, “Yi”. Coming from foreign countries,
Christianity is certainly “Yi”, whose doctrines are without exception heresy. So
an anti-Christian compilation appeared during the last years of the Ming
Dynasty was titled as Shengchao Poxieji (The Sacred Dynasty’s Collection of
Writings Exposing Heterodoxy). It was said that there was a “Si Yi Guan”
(four-Yi building) between the cities of Yi and Luo, in the west of which there
were “four-Yi” lanes, namely “Gui Zheng” (submission to the righteous), “Gui
De” (submission to the virtuous), “Mu Hua” (admiration for cultivation), and
“Mu Yi” (admiration for justice). For the Divine Dynasty, the fundamental
difference between Chinese culture and foreign cultures, Hua (China) and Yi, is
the distinction between civilization and savagery. Therefore, Western learning is
simple and not worth of attention. In another word, all cultures other than
Chinese culture are Yi, whose destiny is either “submission”, “admiration”, or
“returning to the virtuous life”.3
In past history, whether it is contextualization or adaptation theory,
Christianity should seek the recognition of heterogeneous cultures. Those critics
believe that Christianity has not adapted well to Chinese context. For some
theologians and believers, the reason that Christianity remains a minority in the
Chinese context lies exactly in the lack of recognition from the Chinese culture.
Because of its status as a foreigner, and also because of the number of believers,
contextualization or inculturation seems a necessary condition for the reception
of Christianity by the Chinese academia. Christianity should realize its identity
as “Yi”; it must take off the dress of “Yi” and put on Chinese clothing instead,
which is supposed to be the only appropriate one. Many critiques refer the
failure of Jing-jiao (literally the luminous religion; pejoratively called Chinese
Nestorianism) to its over-compromising attitude towards the classical Chinese
culture, whose power was under-estimated. Facing up to the hegemony of
Chinese culture, Jian-jiao had to take the strategy of “emphasizing and elabo-
rating the similarity while disguising and ignoring the difference”. The destiny
of Jian-jiao could not but being “the first crucified Chinese Christianity”.
The powerful exclusive discourse of the Divine Dynasty forces Christianity
to justify itself with a gesture of moralization in its process of Sinification,
which works out a compromised “Chinese theology” in the name of humility.
The pursuit of moralization becomes a burden to Chinese theology, and it also
and the Unfettered] (Shanghai: Sanlian, revised edition 2001), Zouxiang Shizijiashang
de Zhenli (Towards the Truth on the Cross; Hong Kong, Sanlian, 1990).
3 Zhou Zhenfu, Luoyang Jialanji Jiao She Jin Yi [A New Translation of Luoyang Jialanji]
(Beijing: Xueyuan, 2001).
141
obscures the core value or the fundamental value of Christian faith. Such an
endeavor not only degrades the theoretical depth it should have, but also distorts
the practice with the negative result of “hypocrisy” and “the mean person”.
From Xie Fu-ya to Lin Zhi-ping, cultural integration had always been the
subject of indigenization. Lin believes that Western missionaries should not
impose their cultural symbols on the Chinese. But following this same logic,
another question would emerge: “Could an ‘indigenous Christianity’ be imposed
on the Confucians, and would they accept it without any objection at all?”
Would the Chinese accept such kind of Christianity—having only ideas without
symbols—designed specifically for them?
Another approach of indigenization, the representative figures of which
were Jian Youwen, Zhao Zichen (T. C. Chao) and Wu Yaozong, took a
“denomination ecumenical movement” as its theme. The aim of “denomination
ecumenical movement” is to “save China”. This approach was finally developed
into “three-self patriotic movement” (Self-support, Self-govern, Self-propagate)
by Wu, who reduced Christianity merely to the “gospel of love alone” for the
sake of revolution, i.e. lowering its status as a salvific faith down to a governing
instrument to serve the nationalist movement. The rise of theological
indigenization, whose focus has always been the “similarities and differences”
between Christianity and traditional Chinese thought, is to make Christianity
settle down in Chinese context. However, does such kind of “comparison” have
a promising future?
As Hans Küng pointed out, “A contextual Chinese Christian theology does
not need to refer primarily to the classical authors. Rather what is an analysis of
the complexity if the present for the sake of survival in the future.”4 “The
question of indigenization” is not a question of actuality (modernity). Moreover,
taking Christianity and Chinese thought as the static objects of archaeology is to
ignore the real context of modern Chinese. In my opinion, it is only a
presupposition rather than a conclusion that the spread of Christianity in Chinese
context depends on Confucianism or the reconciliation with it.
The question of modernity was carried out in Chinese thought in the forms
of cultural nationalism (Confucianism, the quintessence of Chinese culture) and
state nationalism (KMT or the Communist Party), emphasizing their national
characteristics via the opposition of “China vs. West”, of “modernity vs.
tradition”. The real impasse of Christian faith in Chinese context is nationalism.
Interestingly enough, the response of Chinese Christianity to nationalism is
carried out in a nationalist manner, the result of which could be nothing but
intensifying and justifying nationalism. Chinese nationalism can accept science
as “applied techniques” but resists Christianity for its spiritual nature. For
cultural nationalists, Chinese culture is superior to Western culture; for state
4 Julia Ching & Hans Küng, Chirstianity and Chinese Religions, English translation of
Hans Küng’s chapters by Peter Beyer (Lonodn: SCM, 1989), p.254.
142
nationalists, Christianity is nothing but an instrument of the infiltration of
Western imperialism.
Nationalist discourse is dominant institutionally, intellectually and
spiritually in Chinese world. Christianity, as a kind of “spirit”, should also
submit to nationalism. Theological indigenization actually means modifying
Christianity from “the inside” of nationalism. Hence, nationalism not only keeps
Christianity outside, but also tries to dominate or transform it from the inside.
The effort to solve this aporia by means of indigenization which is essentially
driven by nationalist impetus is to “set the nationalist spear against its shield”.5
Sino-Christian Theology as the “Enemy of Tao”

In fact, in order to be recognized by the Chinese academia, Christianity has
accommodated itself to Chinese context with several garments, e.g. “Huaren”
theology, “Zhongguo” theology, “Huaxia” theology, “Zhonghua” theology (all
these names literally mean “Chinese theology”), contextual theology, indigenous
theology, acculturative theology and integrative theology, etc. Their method is to
reconcile, communicate and integrate Christianity with Chinese thought.
All the above theological approaches seek to find common ground between
Christianity and Chinese culture. The commonality here means not only the
affirmation of the resemblance (abolishing difference) but also the recognition
of Christianity by Chinese culture. In other words, Christianity has to reconcile
itself with Chinese culture to be accepted in Chinese society; this means that it
should first recognize the superiority of Chinese culture in the political and
cultural sense. Therefore, the various forms of Chinese theology are in their
essence different types of Sinicized theology, reconciling Christianity with
Chinese culture. On the one hand, it keeps the independent status of Christianity;
on the other hand, it tries to show that there is no essential conflict between
Christianity and Chinese culture.
As Wu Lei-chuan points out, “not only should Christianity play a role in the
future of China, the future of the national revival of China, but it should play an
eminent role with its special contributions. Christianity should take its respon-
sibility for the state and the nation, especially in such hard times as ours.”6
Therefore, in order to get the recognition of its identity, Christianity was eager to
dilute its foreign features and identify itself as Chinese Christianity,7 namely
standing in the Chinese nationalist position, defending the interests of China and
adopting the revival of the nation as its task. Even the kerygmatic work of the
5 Huang Ruicheng, “Minzu Zhuyi Yu Zhongguo Jidujiao De Xiandaixing” (Nationalism

and the Modernity of Chinese Christianity), in Logos & Pneuma 15 (2001), pp. 83-114.
6 Wu Lei-chuan, Jidujiao Yu Zhongguo Wenhua [Christianity and Chinese Culture]
(Shanghai: Qingnian Xiehui, 1940), p.150.
7 Likewise, Mao Zedong also accepted Marxism through indigenizing it as “Chinese
characteristic socialism.”
143
evangelicals was driven by a strong nationalist feeling. For them, “Christian-
ization of China” and “Sinification of Christianity” were indeed different sides
of the same coin. For the Chinese, believing in Christ had an additional value,
namely saving China. As Zhao Zichen overtly admits, “the spiritual heritage of
Chinese culture can make contribution to Christianity in its manner of
presenting religion.”8 The so-called “spiritual heritage” here indicates the ethical
orientation of Chinese culture.
The driving force of the aforementioned theological trends is a kind of
nationalist feeling than the apology for faith; or rather, they at best try to
persuade Chinese cultural circles to accept Christianity as a “legitimate religion”
(the “three-self patriotic” movement) by giving it a national identity or a
political apology for Christianity. And thus, being patriotic becomes the
legitimate license of Christianity. It also means that Christianity becomes one of
the branches of “Chinese religions”. In order to get a legitimate identity in
Chinese cultural context, Chinese Christian theology has to participate in the
construction of the national cultural enterprise. Behind the aforementioned
theological trends is the attempt to revive national culture. Therefore, consi-
dering the question of recognition, Chinese Christianity necessarily excludes the
otherness of Christian theology. The condition for “seeking for commonality” is
that Christianity has first to deny its differences with Chinese culture. Recently,
such kind of “Chinese theology” emerges again in the name of “religious
dialogue” and the “comparative study of religions”.9
Besides the nationalist feeling, there is also a “will to identify” in “Chinese
theology” for missionary purposes. Some people believe that Christianity should
be Sinicized in the light of the Confucian-Taoist idea, such as “yuzhou ji wuxin,
wuxin ji yuzhou” (The cosmos is my heart and my heart is the cosmic), to be
acceptable to the Chinese. There is an assumption that the Chinese reject
Christianity due to cultural differences. Sinification thus becomes the necessary
method to dispel the misgivings of the receivers. Likewise, it can also be
justified in the name of missionary work, for Sinification can dispel Chinese’s
resistance of the Gospel. Moreover, it is also said that the differences and the
conflicts between Chinese and Western cultures are merely a kind of misunder-
standing. Christianity and Confucianism can even be translated into one another,
8 Zhao Zichen, “Jidujiao Yu Zhongguo Wenhua” (Christianity and Chinese Culture), in

Zhang Xiping and Zhuo Xinping eds., Bense Zhi Tan [Explorations of Indigenization]
(Beijing: Zhongguo Guangbo Dianshi, 1999), p.1.
9 I once criticized that comparative religions or religious dialogue was indeed detrimental
and distorted to the essence of religion, for it essentially weakened the requirement and
the function of differentiation of “religion”. See: Chin Ken Pa, Xinyang de (Bu)
Kenagxing [The (Im)possibility of Faith] (Hong Kong: Wenzi Shiwu, 2004), Chapter 4.
See also Giovanni Filoramo, “Religious Pluralism and Crises of Identity”, Diogenes 199
(2003).
144
because they essentially sprung from the same origin. The work of Chinese
theology, therefore, is to build the unification or harmonization of Christian
doctrines with Chinese thought. Only in this way can the Gospel flourish and
bear fruits in the soil of Chinese culture.
In view of the success of Buddhism in China, some scholars believe that the
very reason for Chinese rejection of Christianity lies in the fact that it has not
integrated itself with Confucianism and Daoism as Buddhism did. And this is
the model for foreign religions to follow. In order to be a truly Chinese religion,
Christianity has to follow the example of Buddhism. In another word, the efforts
to interpret Christianity in terms of Buddhism-Taoism (e.g. Jing-jiao of the Tang
dynasty) and Confucianism (Catholicism of the Ming-Ching period) are actually
strategies to advocate the legitimacy of Christianity in Chinese context.
The emergence of the term “Sino-Christian theology” and the rise of the
Sino-Christian theology movement should be understood against such back-
ground as the negation of the aforementioned theological approaches. Although
it is a kind of “impossibility”, Sino-Christian theology is the deconstruction of
Chinese thought in response to the Word of God. According to Liu Xiaofeng, the
possibility of Sino-Christian theology lies in it impossibility or the decon-
struction of the original metaphoric order of Chinese sustained by the idea of
“Tian Tao” (the way of heaven’). Sino-Christian theology must deconstruct
Chinese thought in order to understand the Word of God, which is actually the
act of Chinese thought to understand God.10 As an impractical theology in
accordance with the Cross, Sino-Christian theology grounds itself on the
deconstructive act marked by the position of “defending the differences”.
The revolutionary significance of Sino-Christian theology should be
properly grasped from the perspective of “paradigm shift”.11 In some sense, the
old paradigm focusing on the relationship between “Christianity and Chinese
culture” has come to its end, or it becomes outdated in that it has not kept up
with the pace of contemporary thought. With a careful scrutiny, “Chinese
theology” working on the relationship between “Christianity and Chinese
culture” seems more and more inappropriate in that it puts the wrong question
from the very beginning. Chinese Christianity has not even grasped “theology”
properly. The main concern of Liu Xiaofeng’s Hanyu shenxue yu lishi zhexue
[The Sino-Christian Theology and Philosophy of History] is the “philosophy of
history”; in other words, its focus is the “possibility of Sino-Christian theology
10 Liu Xiaofeng, The Sino-Christian Theology and Philosophy of History, p.88

11 Shi Yuan-kang once discussed the topic of “paradigm shift” in Chinese culture, but it
was a pity that he did not go further enough in exploring the content of the paradigm
shift. But this topic is an appropriate point of view to understand the context from which
Sino-Christian theology arises. See: Shi Yuan-kang, Cong Zhonggui wen hua dao xian
dai xing: dian fan zhuan yi? [From Chinese Culture to Modernity: Paradigm Shift?]
(Beijing: Sanlian, 2000).
145
in the context of modernity”.12 Only in this way can one grasp theology in its
right perspective; only in this way can the proposal of “Sino-Christian theology”
be an integral part of Chinese thought, and can even further enter into the
context of Western thought.
Therefore, Sino-Christian theology is not another name for “Chinese
theology”, nor is it the same way of thinking as contextualization, indigenization,
inculturation, or “communication and transformation”. The basic themes of
Sino-Christian theology are as follow:
I. Faith is not the instrument of nationalism.
II. Faith should not be degraded to the instrument of morality.
III. Sino-Christian theology should go out of the dualistic metaphysical
framework of “Chinese culture as substance and Western learning for
application”.
IV. Sino-Christian theology should ground itself on the existentialism of
individual faith.
V. The issues of modernity are the contextual theses (problematique) of
Sino-Christian theology.
Regarding the relationship between “Sino-Christian theology and the philosophy
of history in the context of modernity”, Liu Xiaofeng says:
How can a developing Sino-Christian theology make the progress demanded by the
historical moment without rethinking itself from the perspective of modernity?… Doesn’t the
proposal of “indigenous theology” rise from the horizon of Christianity-China relationship
that is characteristic of the Chinese academia in the “May-Fourth days”? If Sino-Christian
theology, without proceeding from its authentic situation and changing the misinterpretation
of Christian theology in Chinese academia, still confines itself to such kind of problematic
13
understanding, it can hardly harvest significant fruits in the future.
It is clear that the “paradigm shift” in itself is a response to the change of

horizon. The outdated paradigm makes the discourse of Christian theology the
instrument of the revival of nationhood, and turns Christian theology into a
“Chinese” theology according to the meta-narrative or grand-discourse of the
nation. Every paradigm has its own language game. The old paradigm contains
the discourses such as “ethnocentrisms”, “respect for ethics”, and “Chinese
culture as substance and Western learning for application”(Substantially Chinese,
Practically Western, zhongti xiyong). As a new paradigm, Sino-Christian
theology goes out of the framework of nationalist discourse by emphasizing the
“existentialism of individual faith”, “modernity”, and “the forming of the divine
Word in Chinese”, so that it may serve as a useful resource to resolve the current
spiritual aporia not only for Chinese people but all mankind.

13 Liu Xiaofeng, The Sino-Christian Theology and Philosophy of History, p.4
146
Sino-Christian theology refuses to identify itself with Chinese culture. One
could find the reasons for such rejection in Liu Xiaofeng’s Zhengjiu Yu Xiaoyao
(Delivering and Dallying) and Zou xiang shi zi jia shang de zhen li (Towards the
Truth on the Cross). According to Liu, Chinese culture gives more weight on
secular values and lacks the critical thinking from the perspective of absolute
divine values, and thus it has no real query rising from individual existence. The
Sino-Christian theology proposed by Liu affirms “the existential dimension of
individual faith” and “the absoluteness of divine values” to resist any thinking
that conflicts with it. Therefore, the enemies of Sino-Christian theology include
not only Chinese thought, but also those Western thoughts that go against “the
existential dimension of individual faith” and “the absoluteness of divine
values”. But Chinese cultural tradition has not taken this question seriously. In
his The Sino-Christian Theology and Philosophy of History, Liu expresses his
critique and retrospection on this subject with greater clarity.
Liu asserts that “Through the Chinese interpretation of a history of thought
that is heterogeneous to itself, Sino-Christian theology will bring about a break
or transformation in its own tradition and will suffer in itself the tension of the
conflict.”14 As a radical hermeneutics that transforms Chinese language tho-
roughly, Sino-Christian theology defends the “foreigner” and the “Other”. In the
context of modernity, the slogan “the propagation of the Western religion in
China is the enemy of the Way” seems more significant. The Western religion
not only needs to preserve its identity as a foreign enemy but should also
intensify this identity. Nevertheless, it is more an interferer (the enemy/thief of
the Way) than a foreigner, whose task is to keep disturbing (stealing) China.
In other words, Sino-Christian theology, as a revolutionary paradigm, no
longer confines itself to the framework of “Chinese culture as substance and
Western learning for application” or the dualistic thought pattern of “substance/
application”, nor does it emphasize the ethical expectation that Christianity
should serve the nationalist discourse. In addition, taking the split of modernity
as its problematique, Sino-Christian theology tries to break through the
primordial context of Chinese thought by the discourse of individual faith, and
thus makes the theology in Chinese an integrative part of ecumenical theology.
The “Oneness of Substance/Application” (ti-yong bu-er) and the Spiritual

Condition of the Chinese
The introduction of “Western learning” into China did not meet any strong
resistance. China may be totally westernized and embraces Western science and
democracy without rejecting Confucianism. But why was Christianity rejected
as a “foreign religion”, and why was Christianity alone considered having
nothing to do with “Western learning”? The real problem lies in that modern
147
China, on the one hand, is open to the “Western Enlightenment”; and on the
other hand, Chinese academia tries to filter all the “foreign spirits” by its
traditional ontological model.
In his Quan Xue Pian (Guidance to Study), Zhang Zhidong (1837-1909)
points out that Chinese learning, referring to a “submissive ethics” with
“Sangang Wulun” (three cardinal guides and five constant virtues), was a kind of
immanent learning with heart-body as its subject matter, while Western learning
was a kind of external study of the material world, which could be adopted
according to the need of different situations insofar as Chinese learning remain
the unchangeable substance. In order to avoid the theoretical difficulty caused
by the dualistic division of the “Chinese/Western” substance, some attempt to
resolve the incompatibility between the “Chinese substance” (zhong ti) and
“Western application” (xi yong) by emphasizing “the Chinese origin of Western
learning” or by showing that there were already many traces of Western learning
in ancient Chinese thought. In this way, the thought pattern of “Chinese culture
as substance and Western learning for application” becomes coherent and perfect.
Lately, Li Zehou, a contemporary philosopher, proposes a new model called
“Western substance with Chinese application”, which refers to modern science
and technology and its application into Chinese situation. Although his using of
Western learning to correct Chinese learning has nothing to do with “wholesale
Westernization of China”, his project is still confined to the framework of “the
superiority of Chinese culture” (zhongxue weiyou) and “the oneness of substance
and application” (tiyong buer). He is essentially a Chinese traditionalist with a
Marxist background.
While facing Christian theology, the first thing for Chinese scholars is to
affirm that Chinese culture possesses its own spirit; moreover, it is an onto-
logical, and metaphysical spirit of the nation. Christianity is understood as a
kind of spirit as well, but a Western one, Christianity cannot take the place of the
innate spirit of China. The strategy of “Chinese culture as substance and Western
learning for application” actually grounds itself in the principle of “oneness of
the substance/application”. That is to say, Christian theology as a kind of spirit
must be absorbed into the Chinese national spirit in order that Western learning
could be applied without straying from the Chinese substance. In other words,
the precondition of accepting Christianity is the “Chinese substance”; otherwise,
the national spirit would be lost.
Although Chinese scholars have to admit the advantage of Western
technology and social system, they also believe that the Chinese would retain
the “Chinese soul” as long as the “Chinese substance” has been preserved.
Therefore, the acceptance of Western culture is conditional, and even those
proponents of “wholesale Westernization of China” do not really want to
duplicate Western culture mechanically. On the contrary, they believe that the
Chinese “spirit” is self-sufficient and reject Christianity as the “Western sub-
148
stance”. In this sense, the proponents of Westernization and the advocators of
national spirit are essentially the same in their attitude towards Christianity; that
is, they are all preoccupied with Chinese ethnocentrism in their insistence on
Chinese substance (national spirit).
Different versions of “Chinese theology” still deal with the relationship
between Christianity and Chinese culture within the framework of “Chinese sub-
stance/Western application”. As a kind of “spirit”, Christianity should give way
to the “Chinese” spirit when once they encounter each other; in other words, the
Chinese are human beings through being “Chinese”, and not the other way
round.
“Chinese culture as substance and Western culture for application”, which is
actually a prolongation of the so-called “the distinction between Chinese (Hua)
and foreign (Yi)”, usually represents a kind of nationalist characteristic in the
context of modern China. The national spirit of modern China consists of two
fundamental elements, namely the political recognition by the modern nation
state, and the ethicized “Tian Tao” (the way of the heaven) principle. And so
they keep asking these questions: “Is Christianity capable of reviving the
nation?” “Is Christianity based on Chinese ethics?” Both the “using of
Christianity to revive the nation” and the “interpreting of Christianity based on
Chinese ethics” are the theoretical results of “Chinese substance/Western
application”. The latter attempt is a strategy to use the spirit of Christianity to
intensify the inherent Chinese substance; that is, to unify the Christian spirit and
the irreplaceable Chinese soul. Although the discourse seems ridiculous that
“one more Christian means one less Chinese,” it shows the confidence of
nationalists in Chinese culture as self-sufficient substance.
Sino-Christian theology questions the “spiritual problems” of China such as
the “nationalized Christianity” (Liu Xiaofeng) and the “ethicized Christianity”
(Yang Huilin). Such kind of ethic-centric nationalism was and will be a heavy
burden to Chinese Christianity. The under-development of Chinese “theology” is
due to the above framework of thinking. Having criticized the spirit of the
Chinese, Sino-Christian theology, not surprisingly, is regarded as an attempt of
“total Westernization” or “anti-tradition”. However, these two critiques have
missed the point of Sino-Christian theology; this shows that they still think in
the framework of the “substance/application” and have not understood the
problematique of Sino-Christian theology yet.
Modern Chinese philosophy of history undertakes a nationalist task: the
revival of the nation. On the one hand, “the superiority of Chinese culture” is the
natural consequence of Chinese monism (the oneness of the substance and
application); on the other hand, it is also a reasonable response to the institu-
tional oppression of powerful Christian countries. China accepts Marxism,
which is also a foreign Western discourse, mainly because it is primarily a sort
of political discourse, supposed to take the responsibility of reviving the Chinese
149
nation. Moreover, it is also said that one can find in Marxism the ethics of the
“Confucian revolutionary spirit”.15
According to Liu Xiaofeng, the dominant and conventional idea that
Christian theology is a “Western” theology is in itself a misunderstanding, a
product of the political culture of the nation state in the process of modern-
ization. The real crisis of indigenous theology consists in its accepting the idea
uncritically that Christian theology is a kind of “Western” theology; and hence,
it rejects the language of Christian theology. This is probably the “rational craft”
of the national spirit in the name of indigenization.16
Liu questions, “Is it that according to the imperative category of Historical
Reason, thought is doomed to reject the lovely God, just because the idea of God
is not native and without historical and psychological foundation?” In his
Zhengjiu Yu Xiaoyao, Liu strongly contends that it is unreasonable to measure
the truth of faith according to the criterion of being native. The native nationality
is a seemingly sound excuse for refusing the possibility of conversion. Therefore,
Sino-Christian theology “has to oppose the authority of Historical Reason
adored by the historical-cultural psychology and anthropology.”17 Taking his
favorite Russian thinkers (Lev Shestov, Dostoevsky, and Merezkovskiy), Liu
believes that their attitude to Christianity could be the example for Chinese
academia, for they apparently rejected the idea that a religion must grow from
the native soil, and they also reject the idea of religion as morality or put
morality above religion.18
Therefore, “when laws of history become the absolute values, out of which,
there is no eternal truth, justice, and love; all values are nothing but the products
of historical situations, and the actions of history are themselves the absolute
values.”19 Setting historical laws against individual faith and insisting on a kind
of absolutism immanent in history, the “Tian Tao” principle of Chinese thought
accepts the idea of historical necessity and at the same time falls into a kind of
nihilism. Sino-Christian theology thus questions whether the “Tian Tao”
principle, which runs the risk of diminishing the individuals, could be sum-
marized and accepted in the form of the imperative of national metaphysics.
Liu emphasizes time and again that despite being a theology speaking
15 Gu Bin (Wolfgang Kubin) & Liu Xiaofeng, Jidujiao, Rujiao yu Xiandai Zhonggui
Geming Jingshen [Christianity, Confucianism, and Modern Chinese Revolution] (Hong
Kong: Institute of Sino-Christian Studies, 1999).
16 Liu Xiaofeng, The Sino-Christian Theology and Philosophy of History, pp.90-91
17 Liu Xiaofeng, Zhengjiu yu Xiaoyao [Delivering and Dallying] (Shanhai: Sanlian, 1988),
p.26
18 Liu Xiaofeng, Zouxiang Shizijiashang de Zhenli [Towards the Truth on the Cross] (Hong
Kong: Sanlian, 1990), pp. 4-5. Sino-Christian theology is talking about Christ who
bumps his bloody head against the iron wall of the “grand narrative”.
19 Liu Xiaofeng, Zhengjiu Yu Xiaoyao, p.56
150
“Chinese”, Sino-Christian theology is not a theology merely “belonging to” the
Chinese. Since it is foreign to the Chinese way of thinking, Sino-Christian
theology remains a “foreigner” or a theology of “foreign language”. Only
because it is a “foreigner” can Sino-Christian theology help Chinese thinking
break through the Chinese Semantics. In the incessant polemics with its Other,
Chinese thinking can keep correcting itself, and therefore, instead of merely
belonging to the Chinese, it may become common intellectual resources for the
whole humankind.
The Existential Hermeneutic of Individual Faith

Theological indigenization or contextualization interprets “God incarnate” as
God’s identifying with the world, and supports the enculturation of Christian
faith, with a consequence of “de-theologization”. For the Jews and the Greeks,
the Word made flesh is impossible. The incarnation of God is the act of His
kenosis (Philippians, 2:6-7), namely “being born in the likeness of human
beings” rather than “identifying with humankind”. God only identifies with
Himself and reveals Himself as God “through humanization”. The coming of
God into the world in the form of flesh is in itself an indication of “non-identity”,
because this event in any case presupposes the existence of “difference” or
“non-identity”; this means that God does not recognize any approaches of
salvation within the world. “The Word became flesh” is all the time a paradox,
for it is beyond human pre-understanding of God: a God as flesh, and at the
same time remains God is a “paralogy”.
“The Word became flesh” cannot be the methodological basis of
“indigenous hermeneutic”. Before using the concept of “anthropology”, it is
better for “indigenous hermeneutic” to keep itself within the confines of
theology. Taking incarnation as its biblical or theological evidence, indigenous
theology does not go deep enough into the New Testament theology to under-
stand the theological significance of incarnation, nor does it really clarify the
meaning of “being human” in biblical theology. Liu Xiaofeng reminds us that
“what Christian theology talks about is the God of Jesus Christ, not any other
God, gods or ultimate being.” One should also keep in mind the “basic fact of
human life and faith” that the conflict between religions is “regular and
irreconcilable”.20
Liu tries to break through the bondage of “Chinese-Western” opposition by
emphasizing the individual existential experience. Once Chinese thinking is con-
fined to this grammar, not only Christian theology cannot really take root China,
but more importantly, Chinese thinking is also incapable of breaking out of the
deadlock of nationalist grammar. Therefore, the strategy of being “the enemy of
the Way” is, “through an existential-hermeneutical Sino-Christian theology, to
151
break through the language system of national ideology, and separate the origin-
al existential experience accumulated in it from the grand national narrative.”21
Liu believes that the evangelical message of the Christ event is directly
related to the original existential experience of human beings. Theology is
related to the subject “I” of “I believe” or “I don’t believe”. In other words,
“Christian theology is the result of the encounter of the divine Word with the
individual existential experience, rather than the encounter of the divine Word
with national ideology.”22 Moreover, “the incarnation of God is to renew the
quality of the individual life rather than to establish the Church.”23 It is obvious
that “the individuality of faith is one of the marks of modernity”.24 We can see
that the “cultural Christians” coined by Liu could make sense in the proposal of
Sino-Christian theology.
Liu resists on breaking through the language system of national ideology by
a kind of individual-hermeneutic Christian theology, stepping out of the national
grand narrative, and moving towards the original individual existential
experience. Regarding the idea of Sino-Christian theology, Liu Xiaofeng says:
Sino-Christian theology tries to make Chinese thought a possible will towards God
through the impossible interpretation: stepping out of the ultimate reality of Confucian-
ism-Taoism, and unifying with the Word of the Christian God. The possible will of
impossibility is the concrete historical language of faith… Sino-Christian theology is the
revival of interpreting Chinese thought, as a particular national language, in the historical
discourse of faith, making Chinese thought become the discourse of Christian faith. 25
Liu’s “individual hermeneutic” Sino-Christian theology is rooted in a radical

hermeneutics; that is, taking the revelation theology (Christ event, Trinity)
concerned with the “I believe” as the weapon of his thought. He has a high
regard for those theologians of fideism and apparently shows a consistent
Barthian stance from his Zhengjiu Yu Xiaoyao to Zou xiang shi zi jia shang de
zhen li. Despite its differences from the conventional denominational theology,
Liu’s stance on fideism is stronger than that of those denominational believers
who advocate the reconciliation of Christianity and Chinese culture, so that his
position could even be called “decisionism”.26

26 Liu Xiaofeng appreciates those defenders of fideism, such as Pascal, Kierkegaard,
Shestov, Dostoevsky, and Barth, who declare Christian faith as their stance. See
Zhengjiu Yu Xiaoyao, p.7. In memory of the 2000th anniversary of the birth of Jesus, Liu
addressed again, “I believe there is no salvation outside Christ.” See: Liu Xiaofeng,
“Lang-man-de Fuyinshu zhong de Yeshu Jidu” (The Romantic Jesus Christ in the
152
Referring to the personal existential experience towards God, Liu explicates:
Christianity is essentially a kind of religious ethics rather than political ethics. Unlike
Judaism and Confucianism, Christianity is like Buddhism in that its religious ethics
fundamentally concerns the salvation of individual life rather than the moral order of the
community and the issues of social justice or equality. What Christianity provides is merely
the idea of the absolute value of individuals and the idea that God has arranged the natural
order of the world.27
Sino-Christian theology is by nature a theology of existentialist grammar.

Etymologically speaking, “theology” is a discourse about “God”. Sino-Christian
theology therefore points to “the forming of the divine Word (God) in Chinese”,
which refers not to the revival of national spirit with the help of divine Word but
the event that the “Word was made flesh”. “Flesh” or “person” indicates
existentiality, and the “forming” refers to the subjective existentiality of
individual believers. Hence, Sino-Christian theology is essentially a theology of
existentialism. 28 Liu’s proposal of Sino-Christian theology provides a new
horizon for Chinese thought. Without confining itself to a particular discipline
called “theology”, Sino-Christian theology is not even a specific discipline of
Chinese academia called “theology”, nor is it a grand enterprise of saving the
nation. Only in this way can Sino-Christian theology really reflect on the
question of the “split of modernity”. And only by resisting the temptation of
national spirit can Sino-Christian theology really pay attention to the question of
“individual decision”.
Because of the contingency of individual existence, individuals are in an
ontological status of privation, which is an ontological dualistic difference in the
becoming of Christian theology. There is no such dualistic difference in
Confucianism and Taoism, which maintain the “oneness of the substance and
application”. Liu points out that “the forming of the divine Word in Chinese” is
possible only if the individual speaking in Chinese accepts and speaks Christ,
and makes the Word of divine love concrete speeches in Chinese. There is no
personal encounter between individuals and “Tao”; only the “Word” of the
“divine Word” and persons can encounter each other. The encounter is the
“Word became flesh”, namely the encounter of the eternal infinite individual
and contingent finite individuals. Since the correlation of the divine Word and
Chinese culture lies not in the general ideology of the nation, but merely in the
forming of individual person, faith is a matter of the individual, and there is no
such question as “the Sinification of Christianity”.29
Gospel), Logos & Pneuma 12 (2000), pp.59-88.

29 Liu Xiaofeng, “Editor’s Preface”, Dao yu Yan: Huaxia Wenhua yu Jidu Wenhua Xiangyu
153
Theology is based on the Word of God. The basic proposition of
Sino-Christian theology is “the forming of the divine Word in Chinese”. Here,
the “Chinese” does not denote the ethic-centric nationalist grammar. Indigenous
theology goes to the wrong direction insofar as it has no clear idea of the
meaning of “being Chinese”, and it does not take the suitability of using the
language of faith to sustain the ghost of national culture seriously. “The forming
of the divine Word in Chinese” refers to the formation of a kind of
existentialism-oriented grammar of individual faith, which is the core of
Christian theology and a way of thinking absent in Chinese thought. Liu uses it
to break through the original semantics of Chinese thought. Therefore, Sino-
Christian theology rejects the previous project of Chinese theology.
Believing in Christ is after all a matter of individual confession. The subject
of believing is individual “persons” rather than “cultures”. In this sense, the
theological indigenization of Chinese Christianity deviates from the track of
Christian theology. The heart of Sino-Christian theology is certainly “theology”
rather than “Chinese”. The identity of Christian theology consists in its response
to the question: “Why God became man?”
The main concern of “cultural Christians”, which is a special phenomenon
of modernity, is “personal confession”. The justification of such stance is up to
the reading background of the individuals. Only by going out of the enquiry of
natural ontology can individuals get sufficient spiritual resources to reflect the
meaning of existence, so that they can freely make existential choices related to
their ultimate concern.
In some sense, Sino-Christian theology opposes the original “Chinese
semantics”, namely those “grand national narrative” inherited from the original
national language; in other words, the aim of Sino-Christian theology is to lead
the Chinese into the ontic-hermeneutic of the Christian God rather than to
intensify the “grand national narrative” as the tool of indigenization.30 Hence,
Sino-Christian theology does not generally refer to the theological writings in
Chinese; this general idea of Sino-Christian theology lacks a philosophical-
hermeneutical understanding of language per se. Sino-Christian theology,
however, is a deconstructive power towards the “grand national narrative” and a
turn to the meaning of individual existence. Liu Xiaofeng remarks:
The Christ event (the divine Word), which was, is and will be an unheard and incredible
information for the national ideology of mankind. It is in tension with every original national
ideology and its linguistic experience. Turning to face the Christ event, every language of
national ideology will entail a thorough split.31
[Tao & Word: Encounter of Chinese Culture and Christianity] (Shanghai: Sanlian,
1995).
154
Sino-Christian Theology as a Theology of Impossibility
The earliest contact between Christianity and Chinese culture can be traced back
to the ninth year of the “Zhenguan” regime of Tang Dynasty (635), which left
the earliest written record and scriptures; the introduction of Catholicism into
China did not start until Matteo Ricci’s arrival in China (1582), and since then,
Christianity began its process of sinification, together with several attendant
questions related to Chinese language, Chinese culture, and Chinese context:
“Whether Chinese is capable of being a bearer of Christian faith?” ,“Is language
merely an instrument or itself part of culture?”, “Why Western sciences can be
introduced into Chinese context smoothly?”, “Can Christianity be taken and
used as natural sciences?”32 Perhaps, the divine truth in its essence has nothing
to do with nationalist discourse, and it is impossible to develop a kind of
Christian theology out of Chinese language. But what does Christian faith mean
to Chinese language? This is the question for Sino-Christian theology.
In my view, Christianity is not only the “other” to Chinese culture but also
the “other” to all existing cultures—or rather—what Christian theology talks
about is a “foolish God”. For Christian theology, submitting to the strategy of
assimilation of Chinese culture (e.g. the Jews in Kaifeng city), especially to the
powerful discourse of Chinese language (love for country, love for church), may
avoid the conflicts with Chinese thinking and thus gives Chinese academia a
good impression. However, it also obscures the salvific grace of Christianity and
intensifies the authority of Chinese language.
The “West” as known and accepted by modern China is actually a “split
West”, the result of the Chinese schema of “substance/application”. On the one
hand, it may point to the “Enlightenment rationalism” embraced by the
proponents of Westernization; on the other hand, it implies “the Western
Christianity” rejected by nationalists.
For Liu, the mission of Sino-Christian theology is to enable the Christian
kerygmatic tradition to break through the domination of Confucianism-
Taoism-Buddhism in Chinese, so that Chinese thought could touch the base of
the philosophy of history of modernity. Lacking the knowledge of Christianity,
it is hardly possible for Chinese thinking to have a deep understanding of
Western thought after Nietzsche, not to mention touching the bottom of the
philosophy of history of modernity.33 What is the “the bottom of the philosophy
of history of modernity”? It is about the increase of the responsibility of
individual faith. The question is: “Before the collapse of the modern cosmology,
what kind of existential-hermeneutic can undertake the responsibility of
argument?”
32 Tan Lizhu, “Cong Jidujiao De Hanhua Shuchuqu” (The Sinification of Christianity and
Others), Dushu [Reading Books] 1997/6, pp. 89-94.
155
Besides the myth of the “superiority of Chinese culture”, the main targets of
Sino-Christian theology are scientific rationalism and the ethics of nationalist
state, which have occupied an eminent status in modern Chinese thought. The
new task of Sino-Christian theology is to rethink the “problematique” of the
philosophy of history of modernity in the spirit of Christianity, so that it can
grasp in greater depth the “theological-political” question of scientific ration-
alism and the ethics of nationalist state.34
Sino-Christian theology is not a kind of traditionalism under (Western)
nationalist discourse, nor is it a searching for “returning to tradition” in the
name of different forms of “post-ism”. Rightly speaking, Sino-Christian
theology is “a wicked foreigner who covets China; it confuses Chinese cultural
tradition, and tries to introduce an unparalleled change by talking about gods
and ghosts.” 35 For some traditional Confucianists, Christian theology is vicious
in its “destroying the way of Confucian Saints and their statues, ruining the
hierarchy and the worship of ancestors, disregarding our monarchs and teachers,
terminating our tradition and trying to sweep our ethical principles.” 36 Liu
Xiaofeng says:
If, as is said, Chinese itself cannot be detached from the ultimate reality of Confucianism
and Taoism, “Sino-Christian theology” is in itself a contradiction in terms and a kind of
impossibility… The very possibility of Sino-Christian theology just consists in this
impossibility; in other words, its possibility lies in the deconstruction of the original
metaphoric order of Chinese sustained by the idea of “Tian Tao”. Sino-Christian theology
must deconstruct Chinese thought in order to understand the Word of God, which is an action
of Chinese thought to understand God… 37
The construction of contemporary Sino-Christian theology tries to get out of the

framework of nationalism and pan-moralism. It will change from an old
paradigm of inculturation, indigenization, or communication, emerged since
Ming and Qing Dynasty, to a new paradigm of modernity, and thus be an
integrative part of Chinese academia, engaging in the reflection of the
post-traditional (post-May-Fourth) “problematique.”
The main concern of Sino-Christian theology is not whether there are any
resources, be it evident or potential, for Christian faith in Chinese cultural

35 Huang Zhen, “Shi Er Shen Gai Xu” (Preface to Twelve Deep Sighs) in poxieji, vol, 6. Cf.
Xia Guiqi ed., Sheng chao poxieji [Poxieji: An Anthology of Writings Exposing
Heterodoxy] (Hong Kong: Alliance Bible Seminary, 1996), p.294.
36 Su Ji-yu, “Xie Du Shi Ju” (Concrete Evidence of the Evil Poison), poxieji, vol. 3; cf. Xia
Guiqi ed., Sheng chao poxieji, p.180.
156
context, but rather, the point is whether a contingent individual shows his or her
will of openness to the Christ event. In its insistence on “the oneness of
substance and application” and “the superiority of Chinese culture”, Chinese
thought has been deficient in such posture of openness to the Divine. Although
Christian theology cannot arise out of Chinese context, Sino-Christian theology,
by its belief of “the forming of the divine Word in Chinese”, will inevitably
impact Chinese culture. Due to the absolute otherness of Christian theology,
Sino-Christian theology, rooting itself in the context of modernity, can make
more contribution than Buddhist scholarship to the expansion and renewal of
Chinese culture.
By its identity as Christian theology, Sino-Christian theology does not
simply mean that Christian faith is from the West; more importantly, it shows
that believing in Christ means to identify oneself as an “other”. This “other” is
not an Other of “dissidence” but an Other of “difference”. That is to say, “God is
God”. Facing the God as an “Other”, the construction of Christian theology can
only be self-critical, for the “Other” is by no means an object of
“communication and transformation” for us. Similarly, the Cross is not merely
the foolishness to Greeks and the stumbling block to Jews, but the foolishness
and the stumbling block to the Chinese as well.
Theological “contextualization” or “indigenization” is to seek common
ground between Christianity and Chinese culture, a strategy compelling the
foreigner to be naturalized or compromised. In Chinese context, Christian
theology is crucified by Chinese culture. Put in another way, Christianity is in
the first place a “stumbling block” in Chinese cultural context, and this is a fact
which we perhaps cannot or do not have to change. Isn’t Christian theology
talking about such an “Other”? For all cultures, including Jewish, Greek,
European-American, Latin-American culture, Jesus Christ is the “foreigner”, for
whom Christian theology apologizes.
Just because what Christian theology talks about is an “Other”, any effort to
accommodate or adapt this “Other” as something familiar to particular cultures
is to take it as “foolishness” as Paul said. Therefore, in view of the crucified
God, Christian theology can only keep reiterating this “stumbling block” when
it faces different cultural contexts. Sino-Christian theology should insist on the
openness to “difference” as the right attitude of faith.
Going out of the “grand narrative” inherited from the language of national
thought, refusing to be the mediator between Christianity and Chinese culture,
and working towards a real conversion, this is the first flag of deconstruction
that Sino-Christian theology raises in Chinese thought, which is also an
inception of a real spiritual action initiated by God’s entering into Chinese
thought. Hence, Sino-Christian theology is an event of impossibility for
contemporary Chinese thought. This Sino-Christian theology in accordance with
the theologia Crucis is still to be launched.
157
PART III
Rereading Tradition
Sino-Christian Theology, Bible, and Christian Tradition
LAI Pan-chiu
Introduction1
In the last two decades, a group of intellectuals in Mainland China have come to
the fore participating enthusiastically in Christian studies, especially in the
discussion of Christian theology. Since not all of them proclaim themselves to
be Christians, they are conventionally called “cultural Christians”. Many of
these “Cultural Christians” attempt to promote a “Sino-Christian theology”. The
main aim of this paper is to discuss the relation of Sino-Christian theology with
biblical studies and the Christian tradition.
Before embarking upon discussion of the main theme, it seems necessary
first to clarify the terms “Cultural Christians” (wenhua jidutu) and “Sino-
Christian theology” (hanyu shenxue). The term “Cultural Christians” is some
what ambiguous and controversial. It is ambiguous and even misleading because
it seems to imply that “cultural Christians” are “Christians” in a “cultural”
instead of “religious” sense. In other words, they are “non-religious” and thus
different from those who profess Christianity as their religion. The term
“cultural Christians” also seems to imply that other Christians are “un-cultural”,
which may mean un-civilized or barbaric in the Chinese context. Furthermore,
the demarcation between “cultural Christians” and, if there is such a term,
“religious Christians” is far from clear. Some people can be Christian in both
“cultural” and “religious” senses of the word. Even Liu Xiaofeng, probably the
best-known representative of “cultural Christians”, uses the term to refer to
intellectuals from Mainland China with personal faith in Christ, rather than a
person who simply is interested in studying Christianity as a cultural
phenomenon without any personal religious faith in Christ.2 According to this
definition, in terms of personal faith, “cultural Christians” are also “religious
Christians”; they are not “religious Christians” merely in the sense that they are
1 An earlier draft of this paper was first presented in Chinese at a conference entitled
“Sino-Christian Theology in Ten Years – Review and Retrospection: The Third Round-
table Symposium of Sino-Christian Theology”, held in Kunming, China, 18-25 Sep
2005. I would like to take this opportunity to express my gratitude to Prof. He Guanghu,
Renmin University of China, discussant of my paper, whose comments on an earlier
draft of the paper were very encouraging and helpful. I would like to thank also the
Faculty of Arts, Chinese University of Hong Kong, for financing the research work
being published here.
2 Liu Xiaofeng, “Xiandai Yujingzhong de Hanyu Jidu Shenxue” (Sino-Christian Theology
in the Modern Context), Logos & Pneuma 2 (Spring,1995), p.25
161
not officially registered members of any Christian church or regular
church-goers.
With regard to the term “Sino-Christian theology”, it should be clarified
that it means literally theology (shexue) in the han-language (hanyu), more
conventionally known as the Chinese language (zhongwen). The expression
“hanyu” is a more recent construction, reflecting the awareness that China is a
multi-ethnic country, in which there are many ethnic minority groups, although
they are overshadowed in both cultural and numerical senses by the tribe of han.
Thus, it is more accurate to call the official language of China “hanyu” rather
than “zhongwen”, which literally means the Chinese language or the language of
China because there are many languages being used by different ethnic groups
in China.
In the relevant literature, one can always find two types of definition of
Sino-Christian theology. Broadly speaking, “Sino-Christian theology” could
refer to any theology written in the Chinese (han) language, rendering it possible
to trace the history of Sino-Christian theology back several hundred years. In the
narrow sense of the term, Sino-Christian theology may designate specifically the
theological thinking of “cultural Christians” or the scholars from Mainland
China pursuing the academic studies of Christianity. In this sense, Sino-
Christian theology often considers itself as the philosophical expressions of
individual religious beliefs in the academic settings of the humanities and social
sciences in the universities in Mainland China. It also presents itself as an
alternative radically different from the “indigenous theology” advocated by the
Chinese churches and seminary-based dogmatic theology. 3 The following
discussion will be confined to Sino-Christian Theology in its narrow sense,4 and
the review and retrospection below will concentrate on a journal called Logos &
Pneuma: Chinese Journal of Theology (1994-), published by the Institute of
Sino-Christian Studies (ISCS) in Hong Kong, the major academic platform for
“cultural Christians” and chief promoter of Sino-Christian theology for some
years.
This paper consists of three main parts. The first part attempts to offer a
critical review of the relationship between Sino-Christian theology and biblical
studies, and thus draws attention to the fact that Sino-Christian theology has not
been well-recognized by the Chinese churches, due to its failure to integrate
itself with biblical studies. There are many possible factors contributing to such
a situation. As widely acknowledged, the field of biblical studies has not
received the academic status in Mainland China to which it is due for social,
3 Lai Pan-chiu, “Typology and Prospect of Sino-Christian Theology”, Ching Feng, n.s.,
6.2 (2005), pp.211-230.
4 Given the title of the said conference, it is rather clear that the conference expects a
review and retrospection of Sino-Christian theology in its narrow sense; otherwise, there
would be no need to confine it to “ten years”.
162
cultural, and political reasons. Moreover, with respect to the academic
background of individual scholars, very few of them have received adequate
training in biblical studies. More importantly, even those scholars occupied in
the studies of Sino-Christian theology might not have fully recognized the
academic character of biblical studies and its importance with respect to
theological thinking.
The second part of this paper argues that among the advocates of
Sino-Christian theology, there are a number of rather basic misunderstandings or
misconceptions with regard to biblical studies that should be to be rectified.
Moreover, as biblical scholarship in Mainland China is expected to be enhanced
in the foreseeable future, sooner or later Sino-Christian theology has to take
seriously its relationship with the Bible and biblical studies. If advocates of
Sino-Christian theology were to pay more attention to the academic, humanistic,
and intellectual characters of biblical studies, and look for a more interactive
relationship between Sino-Christian theology and biblical studies, it would be
conducive not only to the wider acceptance of Sino-Christian theology in
academia and in the Chinese Church, but also to its integration with the
Christian tradition.
The final part of this paper endeavors to suggest that in the long run,
Sino-Christian theology may better appropriate the rich Chinese cultural
resources, including the methodology of scriptural studies within the Chinese
tradition, such as the Buddhist method of doctrinal criticism. In doing so,
Sino-Christian theology may develop some rather distinctive approaches to
Scriptures and biblical interpretation, and thus make its unique contribution to
theological studies worldwide.
Retrospect on Sino-Christian Theology and Biblical Studies

In the present Chinese world, the principal force in biblical scholarship consists
of researchers from theological seminaries, especially those outside Mainland
China. The research strength of Mainland China scholars, one has to admit,
remains relatively weak in this area. To date, articles on biblical studies by
Mainland China scholars have been meager, and even fewer among them have
been able to master the methodology generally adopted by contemporary
biblical scholarship. To the present author’s knowledge, there are a few
academic books on Old Testament studies published in Mainland China, but the
most notable of them remains a book co-authored by a young scholar in
Mainland China and a senior scholar from Hong Kong.5 With regard to the
academic standard at the post-graduate level in Mainland China, taking New
Testament studies as an example, the author regards one particular Master’s
5 Li Chi-chang (Archie Lee) & You Bin, Shengming Yanshuo yu Shequn Rentong: Xibolai
Shengjing Wuxiaojuan Yanjiu [Discourse of Life and the Communitarian Identity:
Studies of the Megilloth of the Hebrew Bible] (Beijing: Zhongguo Shehui Kexue, 2003).
163
thesis on the “new view on Paul”6 to stand out from those of others in terms of
its demonstration of knowledge of the recent developments in international
scholarship. Nevertheless, compared with a Master’s thesis on the same subject
by a student from Hong Kong,7 the former still shows a considerable shortfall in
terms of both basic philological training and acquaintance with the latest
discussions in the current international academic world.
The under-development of biblical studies in Mainland China is not merely
due to its unfavorable external environment; it is exacerbated by the failure of
advocates of Sino-Christian theology to recognize properly the present academic
status of biblical studies. It seems that Sino-Christian theology still has not given
enough weight thematically and methodologically to the Bible or biblical studies,
let alone made it an indispensable component of Sino-Christian theology. Leung
Ka-lun (Laing Jialin), a church historian teaching at a theological seminary in
Hong Kong, once criticized the theology of cultural Christians, especially in
terms of the methodology which separates their theological thinking from
biblical studies:
Most of them are interested merely in Christian thought and its philosophical
implications, and the main subjects of their studies are those theologians in history who were
original in theological and philosophical thinking (especially modern theologians), so that
they do not follow the conventional approach (or tradition) of theological studies: exegesis ė
Eiblical theology ėhistorical theology ė systematic theology ė applied theology ė
practical theology; they rather deal with the thinking of those theologians separately without
taking biblical studies into account. For them, it is less important whether these thoughts are
orthodox or heterodox, and even whether they are conformable to the teaching of the Bible is
not a matter of their concern. Therefore the so-called Christian theological thought is actually
the thought of some historical figures who proclaimed themselves Christians. Normally it is
impossible to do such kind of theological research in theological seminaries.8
Though sharp in his wording and controversial in his presuppositions,9 Leung’s
6 Lu Hongjian, “Chonggu ‘yin xin chengyi’- ‘Baoluo xinguan’ Shuping” (Reappraisal of

“justification by faith” – an introduction to the “new perspective on Paul”), unpublished
Master thesis, Renmin University of China, 2005.
7 Liu Tsui Yuk, “A Critical Analysis on ‘All Israel will be saved’ in Romans 11: 25-32 in
the Light of Sociological Investigation”, unpublished M.Phil. thesis, the Chinese
University of Hong Kong, 2004.
8 Liang Jia-lin, “Youshi Women Qian de Zhai ma?”(Another debt that we owe?), in
Institute of Sino-Christian Studies ed., Wenhua Jidutu: Xianxiang yu Lunzheng [Cultural
Christian: Phenomenon and Argument] (Hong Kong: Institute of Sino-Christian Studies,
1997), p.108.
9 For instance, it is not necessary for Christian theology to follow the linear and
irreversible path suggested by Leung Ka-lun: exegesis biblical theology historical
theology systematic theology applied theology practical theology. It is also
164
observation of the separation between theological thinking and biblical studies
among the Cultural Christians is essentially accurate.
There is no doubt that Biblical Studies constitutes only a tiny proportion
of the publications of ISCS. Generally speaking, Cultural Christians seldom
quote the Bible in their theological writings, and even fewer devote themselves
to in-depth research into biblical studies. Their research and writings bear no
close relation to the Bible or biblical studies. Moreover, “Cultural Christians”
are not supposed to be religious believers, and Sino-Christian theology
presupposes no particular confessional stance with regard to the inspiration
and the authority of the Bible. All of these factors create the impression that
Sino-Christian theology is not very “biblical”, implying that it bears no
relation to the Bible, and thus stands out of line with the Christian Church. As
a result, the recognition of Sino-Christian theology among the Chinese
churches in China and abroad remains very problematic.
The question of whether Sino-Christian theology could be well-received
by Chinese churches is only of secondary importance; a more important
question is that if the bond of Sino-Christian theology with the Christian
tradition as a whole is based on its relationship with the Bible, and if
Sino-Christian theology does bear no relation whatsoever to the Bible, would
that necessarily entail the separation of Sino-Christian theology from the
Christian tradition as a whole? If this is the case, there arises not merely a
question of the recognition or popularity of Sino-Christian theology in the
Christian churches, but of the legitimacy of Sino-Christian theology, which
concerns the fundamental question of whether it is still a part of Christian
theology. The question is then: Is Sino-Christian theology a kind of theology
belonging to Christianity? In other words, is Sino-Christian theology to be
recognized as a Christian theology at all?
In view of the curriculum of Theological Studies as a whole, Biblical
Studies is merely a branch of the theological encyclopedia. Moreover,
Christian theology is not necessarily confined to, or identical with biblical
theology, being capable also of presenting itself in the form of philosophical
theology or apologetic theology. Accordingly, Sino-Christian theology as
apologetic theology can organize itself around the critiques raised by the
non-believers against the Christian faith instead of proceeding directly from
the inherent doctrines of Christianity. Apologetics may make reference to the
Bible indirectly, implicitly, and occasionally, rather than persuade its
opponents by quoting the Bible directly as an authoritative text or proof text.10
In the rather complicated academic environment of Mainland China, with its
possible to proceed from natural theology. Indeed, one can even understand the
relationship among exegesis, theology and practice in terms of a hermeneutical circle.
10 Lai Pan-chiu, “Typology and Prospect of Sino-Christian Theology”, pp.218-221.
165
millions of non-believers, it is quite understandable and even reasonable that
Sino-Christian theology makes very scarce reference to the Bible. So the
question of whether Sino-Christian theology is Christian is not to be
determined by the frequency of direct biblical quotation. Given the fact that
theological studies are increasingly specialized, even those professors of
systematic theology in theological seminaries may not copiously cite the Bible
in their works. In fact, a number of famous Western theologians, e.g. Paul
Tillich, do not quote the Bible very often either. However, one cannot argue
that Tillich’s theology must be inferior to that of Karl Barth simply because
Tillich quotes the Bible far less often than does Barth.
The question as to whether Sino-Christian theology is Christian cannot be
reduced to the question of whether it is biblical. From the very beginning,
Sino-Christian theology has professed to assume an ecumenical or non-
denominational stance, permitting it to make use of theological resources from
any denomination of Christianity. In fact, ISCS publishes books from various
branches of Christianity, including Catholic, Orthodox and Protestant.
Therefore, Sino-Christian theology is under no obligation to take the
Protestant stance of sola scriptura and to adopt the theological approach
suggested by Leung Ka-lun. Certainly, in terms of theological position and
methodology, one can confidently argue that even though Sino-Christian
theology is seemingly not very biblical at the present stage, it cannot be proved
that it is not Christian. However, the way Sino-Christian theology conceives of
the relationship between theology and biblical studies remains an inevitable
question. This is because even Catholicism and Orthodoxy, despite their
recognition of the importance of tradition and of upholding no principle of
sola scriputra, also attach great importance to the close relationship between
tradition and the Bible.
Perhaps we may turn to the fact that although biblical studies should have
been an important part of Sino-Christian theology, it remains the “weakest
link”, if not the “missing link”, in theological studies in Mainland China. This
assessment can be confirmed by a very simple review of the articles published
in Logos & Pneuma. In terms of quantity, the proportion of the articles on
biblical studies is slight: on average less than one paper per issue, which
usually consists of more than ten papers. As for the background of the authors
of articles related to biblical studies, the majority are scholars from theological
seminaries in Hong Kong and Taiwan, rather than scholars from the
universities of Mainland China. With regard to the main themes of the
publications, only “Genesis and modern political philosophy” in Logos &
Pneuma No. 15, published in Autumn 2000 (pp.9-82), seems closely related to
the Bible; even then, the articles published on this subject concentrate more on
political philosophy than on the interpretation of Genesis. Among the articles
related to biblical studies, other than some occasional and short book reviews
166
and reading notes,11 one can find only one paper giving a detailed linguistic
study of the Bible 12 and a survey of the development of Old Testament
studies. 13 However, the main concern of all these articles is still the
theological-philosophical ideas in the Bible, e.g. on suffering,14 the idea of
human being,15 social ethics,16 doctrine of God,17 Christology,18 and so on.
Without paying enough attention to the fine analysis of Scriptural texts, most
of these discussions focus on some rather general theological ideas. The only
one embracing an attentive interpretation of a Scriptural text is nevertheless a
translated article, which also focuses its attention on theological thinking - on
the question of “poverty and affluence”.19 So to sum up, Logos & Pneuma as a
whole provides very few articles offering in-depth exploration of Scriptural
texts or biblical criticism, and the standard of its research has been far from in
line with the international norm in biblical scholarship. With regard to other
theological journals published in Mainland China, such as Jidujiao Wenhua
11 Liu Yi-Huan, “Yice Xinyue Heheben Jichu Luyu zhi Wu” (Conjectures on Few Possible
Errors in the Union Version Chinese Translation of the New Testament), Logos &
Pneuma 6 (Spring 1997), pp.222-231; Zhou Xiao-Zhen, “Ping Lujia de Zhihui” (A
Review on The Wisdom of Luke), Logos & Pneuma 6 (Spring 1997), pp.232-243; Yang
Ke-Qin. “Bu Jiao Lujia de Zhihui Taixueshu” (Don’t let The Wisdom of Luke be too
academic), Logos & Pneuma 6 (Spring 1997), pp.244-257; Huang Genchun (=Wong
Kun-chun, Eric), “Ping Zhou Zhaozhen Fan Youerde jiu Yingdang Ting” (A Review on
Zhou Zhaozhen’s Whoever Has Ears Ought to Hear), Logos & Pneuma 18 (Spring
2003), pp.291-295; You Bin, “Shuide Shengjing? Hezhong Shenxue? - ping James Barr
Shengjing Shenxue de Gainian: Cong Jiuyue Guanzhi” (Whose Bible? What Kind of
Theology? —A Review on James Barr’s The Concept of Biblical Theology: From
thePerspective of Old Testament), Logos & Pneuma 19 (Autumn 2003), pp.281-286.
12 Liu Xiaofeng, “Baoluo Shuxin zhong de ‘Shenti’ yu Yichu tan” (A Semantic Exploration
of μ in the Pauline Letters), Logos & Pneuma 20 (Spring 2004), pp.149-167.
13 Mark Feng, “Jiuyue shenxue jinxi” (Old Testament Theology in Present and Past),
Logos & Pneuma 3 (Autumn 1995), pp.73-86.
14 Liu Xiaofeng, “Yueboji yu Gudai Zhihuiguan de Weiji” (Job and the Crisis of the
Ancient Concept of Wisdom), Logos & Pneuma 5 (Autumn 1996), pp.79-115.
15 Tan Lizhu, “Shengjing zhong de Youhuo Xushu yu Rende Zaishi Lijie” (Human Beings’
Worldly Understanding of the Narrative of Temptation in the Bible), Logos & Pneuma 8
(Spring 2004), pp.173-195.
16 Fang Zhirong (Mark Feng), “Jiuyue zhong de Guojia yu Shehui” (Nation and Society in
the Old Testament), Logos & Pneuma 1 (Summer 1994), pp.263-269.
17 Fang Zhirong (Mark Fang), “Tianzhu Shengsan Aoji - JiuYue Anshi, XinYue Qishi,
Xiangyishen Zongjiao Tishi” (The Trinitarian Mystery of the Lord – the Hint of the Old
Testament, the Revelation of the New Testament, and the Cue towards Monotheism),
Logos & Pneuma17 (Autumn 2002), pp.139-152.
18 Liu Xiaofeng, “Baoluo Shuxin zhong de ‘Shenti’ Yuyi Chutan” (A Semantic Exploration
of μ in the Pauline Letters), Logos & Pneuma 20 (Spring 2004), pp.149-167.
19 R. Brändle, “Jinqian yu Endian: Lun Gelinduohoushu ba jiu zhang” (Money and Grace -
On 2 Corinthians 8 & 9), Logos & Pneuma 8 (Spring 1998), pp.137-143.
167
Xuekan (Journal for the Studies of Christian Culture, 1999-) and Jidu
Zhongjiao Yanjiu (Study of Christianity, 1999-), the situation is quite similar.
The current under-development of biblical studies in Mainland China
might have been brought forth by several factors:
1. The political atmosphere:

In Mainland China, the Bible is usually regarded merely as a sacred object for
believers’ worship and devotion, so it is only supplied in churches and not
available in bookstores. In other words, it is an object of religious piety rather
than a subject of academic study. The political factor is well-exemplified by a
conference held in Kaifeng, Henan province, in September 2002. Co-sponsored
by Henan University and the Association of Chinese Comparative Literature,
while most of the papers presented at the conference pertained to biblical
Studies, the conference was held under the title “Hermeneutics of Classics and
Communication of Culture”. According to the editors of the conference volume,
the word “Bible” was dropped in the official title of the conference because it
was too politically sensitive. The conference organizers had even once planned
to publish a collection of the papers in a very remote province in order to avoid
attention from the government. Although the collection was finally published by
a renowned publisher in Beijing,20 the incident showed that biblical Studies
remains, in the minds of scholars at least, a rather sensitive discipline in
Mainland China.
2. Rigidity of the requirements of the discipline:

For most of the current scholars in Mainland China, Christian Studies or
Theological Studies is still a brand-new field to which they switch their studies
from other academic disciplines such as history, literature, and philosophy. It is
straightforward for those scholars to switch their studies from history to church
history, or from sociology or anthropology to empirical or field studies of
Chinese Christianity, for it requires no essential change in methodology. The
switch from philosophy to philosophical theology or systematic theology,
though different in their methodology and the required background training,
remains not so difficult. However, in pursuing biblical studies, those scholars
from other disciplines need almost to start afresh as beginners due to the rigidity
of requirements for the requisite training. With regard to New Testament studies,
one’s knowledge of the Greek language, Greek philosophy, and the history and
culture of the ancient Greco-Roman world could be of a little help. However, for
Old Testament studies, the case is more complicated in that it requires
proficiency in several ancient languages (including Hebrew), knowledge of the
20 Lu Long-guang & Liang Gong eds. Shengjing yu Wenxue Chanshi [The Bible and
Literary Interpretation] (Beijing: Renmin wenxue, 2003).
168
ancient myths, history, culture and society, etc., as well as understanding of
methodologies of modern biblical studies. It is not easy for academia in
Mainland China to overcome these hurdles by themselves and to reach the
international standard in biblical scholarship.
3. The ignorance of the academic character of biblical studies:

In its “Notes for Contributors”, Logos and Pneuma shows a rather interesting
attitude worthy of rumination:
(The journal) treasures the intellectual, cultural and academic character of the
contributions, and no articles of sermon, spirituality, and pure exegesis will be accepted. All
the results of academic studies of Christian theology from the perspective of different
disciplines (systematic--fundamental theology, biblical Scholarship, Church history, the
history of dogma, the history of Jewish thought), Christian human sciences (philosophy,
ethics, history, philology and aesthetics), Christian social sciences (politics, sociology,
psychology and anthropology), and religious dialogue are warmly welcomed.21
What puzzles the author most is why, on the one hand, the research products of
biblical scholarship are welcomed, while on the other, “pure exegesis” is
rejected. Though no clear definition of “pure exegesis” is given in the “Notes
for Contributors”, one can infer from the context that “pure exegesis”,
comparable to sermons or literature of spirituality, is supposed to be lacking in
“intellectual, academic, and cultural character”. The prevalent exegetical
practice of some Chinese churches might have given people such an
impression or prejudice that “pure exegesis” is something without “intellectual,
academic, and cultural character.” However, what is worthwhile questioning is
whether “pure exegesis” is really such.
Prospect of Sino-Christian Theology & Biblical Studies

Students of biblical studies may find that there are many academic books
attempting to interpret the Bible from the perspective of social sciences.22
Likewise, the aforementioned M.A. thesis of Liu Tsui-yuk also attempts to
interpret a passage from the Bible by using a sociological method. Some Asian
theologians even tend to express their theological thinking by means of
biblical interpretation. Taking Madang: Journal of Contextual Theology in
21 Logos & Pneuma, “Gaoyue ji Gaoli” (Notes to Contributors), Logos & Pneuma 1
(Summer 1994), pp.4-5.
22 Cf. Gerd Theissen, Sociology of Early Palestinian Christianity, John Bowden trans.
(Philadelphia: Fortress, 1978); Christian Origins in Sociological Perspective (London:
SCM, 1980); The Hebrew Bible: A Socio-literary Introduction (Philadelphia: Fortress,
1985); Philip F. Esler, The First Christians in Their Social Worlds: Socio-Scientific
Approaches to New Testament Interpretation (London: Routledge, 1994).
169
East Asia (Seoul: Sungkonghoe University Press, 2004-), a newly-started
journal of contextual theology in Korea, as an example, four of the five articles
in the first issue of the journal are clearly related to biblical exegesis.23
Owing to their contextual nature, there is no doubt that this kind of
biblical interpretation carried out by Asian theologians, who aim at making the
Bible relevant to the Asian context(s), might be “subjective” to a certain extent.
However, their “intellectual, academic and cultural character” is also rather
evident, which can be seen from the considerable references to the results of
the contemporary Western academic world, the analyses of the historical
context of biblical documents, the training in original languages involved, and
the background knowledge in history, archaeology, and even sociology.
Sometimes, this kind of contextual exegesis also encompasses the social and
cultural analysis of contemporary contexts.24
In a sense, one could say that exegesis is fairly intellectual in that even
the most basic exegesis indeed requires knowledge of the scriptural texts, the
history and culture involved. Moreover, probably no classical text in this
world other than the Bible has been studied by so many methods, and one
should not forget that hermeneutics, a prominent discipline of contemporary
humanities, has been conducted for a rather long time in the context of
biblical exegesis. Furthermore, the methodology of contemporary biblical
scholarship is quite similar to the methodology adopted by contemporary
international academia as the methodology of studying and interpreting texts
in general. Therefore, exegesis may also be seen to be quite academic. Finally,
without confining their studies to the Scriptures as ancient classics having a
far-reaching influence on human history, the exegetes may study the
Scriptures with the contemporary social or cultural problems in mind. For
instance, some scholars have attempted to reflect on the problem of the
encounter of faiths and cultures from exegetical perspectives. 25 The
“cross-textual reading” of the Scriptures advocated by Li Chi-chang (also
known as Archie C. C. Lee) illustrates clearly how one’s cultural context
might affect one’s reading of the Scriptures, and how biblical exegesis may
23 Kim Yong-Bock, “Power and Life in the Context of Globalization: A Biblical and
Theological Perspective”, Madang: Journal of Contextual Theology in East Asia 1.1
(June 2004), pp.2-25; Choi Young-Sil, “A Model of New Testament Hermeneutics: in
the Experience of Korean Women”, Madang 1.1 (June 2004), pp.69-84; Kim Micah
Eun-Kyu, “Life and Ecological Ideas in Genesis ch.1: A View from Taoism and
Buddhism”, Madang 1.1 (June 2004), pp.85-112; Yim Tao Soon, “Reading the Bible
from an Asian Perspective”, Madang 1.1 (June 2004), pp.25-48.
24 Archie C. C. Lee ed., The Asian Context and Biblical Hermeneutics (Hong Kong:
Christian Literature Council. 1996).
25 Heikki Räisänen, Marcion, Muhammad and the Mahatma: Exegetical Perspectives on
the Encounter of Cultures and Faiths (London: SCM, 1997).
170
play a vital role in cross-cultural dialogue.26 All these speak well for the
cultural character of exegesis.
As stated above, the line of demarcation between “pure exegesis” and
“biblical scholarship” is blurred, and it is too simplistic to make a sharp
division between “biblical scholarship” and “pure exegesis” in the measure of
the so-called “intellectual, academic, and cultural character”, because even the
most “pure exegesis” more or less measures up to the criterion. There is no
reason for Sino-Christian theology to preclude biblical exegesis from its
horizon. If one of the aims of ISCS is to improve the academic status and level
of Christian studies in Mainland China, it has to pay adequate attention to, or
even work energetically to promote biblical studies, including biblical exegesis.
Therefore, in order to show how to interpret Scripture with the tools of the
contemporary methodology in humanities and social sciences, and also to
show that exegesis can be highly “intellectual, academic, and cultural”, it is
advisable for ISCS to be more open to academic exegesis and to translate more
books on exegetical methodology and/or books on the biblical interpretations
and hermeneutics. If biblical studies were to attain its due academic status in
China, the academic status and the legitimacy of Sino-Christian theology
would be consolidated and strengthened.
Certainly, it is not realistic to expect that biblical scholarship in Mainland
China will be able to measure up to the international standard in a short time.
Nevertheless, the present author has always been cautiously optimistic about
the future of Christian studies in Chinese. In the foreseeable future, the
scholarship of Sino-Christian theology, not excepting biblical studies, is
expected to make considerable progress. This prudent optimism, rather than
being the product of the ignorance of the current difficulties and handicaps, is
derived from those hopeful signs noticed personally by the author.
To the knowledge of the author, some theological seminaries and
ecclesiastic institutions of Hong Kong, Taiwan, and overseas countries have
already sent a number of fellow workers to teach subjects related to biblical
studies in Mainland China, e.g. the Chinese Theological Seminary of Hong
Kong, the Lutheran Seminary of Hong Kong, Taiwan Theological Seminary,
as well as some other overseas institutions. In spite of being conducive to the
progress of the biblical scholarship of Mainland China, such teaching support
is rather loosely organized; the most systematic and substantial support of an
advanced international level being that from the Chinese University of Hong
Kong (CUHK), which will have a far-reaching influence on the development
of biblical scholarship in Mainland China.
The Divinity School of Chung Chi college of CUHK has hosted for a
26 Archie Lee, “Aijiangnanfu yu Aige zhi Xiangrong: Kuawenben Yuedu zhi Lizheng”
(Engaging Lamentations and the Lament for the South: A Cross-textual Reading),
Zongjiao yanjiu [Religion Studies] 1 (2003), pp.196-207.
171
number of years a lecture series called “Chuen King Lectures”, which has
been delivered by various world-renowned biblical scholars, including
Abraham Malherbe (1996), C. K. Barrett (1996), Gerd Theissen (2000), Jack
M. Sasson (2001), Morna D. Hooker (2001), and I. Howard Marshall (2006).
In addition, the professors of the Divinity School have organized a number of
academic conferences on biblical studies, e.g. the “Ethnic-Chinese biblical
Colloquium”, with participants from Mainland China and overseas held in
May 2004. Moreover, the School supported the aforementioned conference,
“Hermeneutics of Classics and Communication of Culture”, described as the
first academic conference related to biblical studies held in Mainland China in
the past several decades. The conference was followed by a second, “Biblical
Colloquium in Memory of the Centenary Anniversary of the Birth of Professor
Zhu Weizhi”, co-sponsored with Nankai University, held in July 2005. The
publication of the series of biblical studies edited by Lu Long-guang (also
known as Lo Lung-kwong) and Liang Gong27 will play a positive and import-
ant role in the development of the biblical scholarship in Mainland China.
More importantly, with the financial support from the United Board for
Christian Higher Education in Asia, several students from Mainland China
have already undertaken their doctoral studies on the Hebrew Bible at CUHK.
Their training, including methodologies of contemporary biblical criticism, as
well as Hebrew and other ancient languages, is no different from that of the
famous universities in the West. Among the teachers one can even find some
world-class scholars such as the late James Barr. Though many of these
students had not been adequately trained in the studies of the Hebrew Bible
before coming to CUHK, the education they have received in Hong Kong has
been in line with the international standard. It is expected that even though the
standard they achieve might not be the same as that attained at first rate
universities in Europe or USA, their research capacity will, without doubt, far
exceed that of many current Mainland China scholars. Their returning to the
Mainland after graduation may enhance significantly the overall standard of
biblical scholarship in Mainland China.
What merits special attention is that many of these doctoral students in
the Hebrew Bible program are not Christians, whose research is purely from
27 Lu Long-guang & Liang Gong eds., Shengjing Jiedu [An Interpretation of the Bible]
(Beijing: Religious Culture, 2003); Lu Long-guang & Liang Gong eds., Lüfashu - Xushi
Zhuzuo Jiedu [An Interpretation of the Torah & Narrative Books] (Beijing: Religious
Culture, 2003); Lu Long-guang & Liang Gong eds., Shigeshu - Zhihui Wenxue Jiedu
[An Interpretation of Biblical Poetry & Wisdom Literature] (Beijing: Religious Culture,
2003); Lu Long-guang & Liang Gong eds., Xianzhishu - Qishi Wenxue Jiedu [An
Interpretation of the Prophets & Apocalyptic Literature] (Beijing: Religious Culture,
2004); Lu Long-guang & Liang Gong eds., Sifuyinshu Jiedu [An Interpretation of Four
Gospels] (Beijing: Religious Culture, 2004).
172
an academic perspective and has no direct connection with their personal
religious belief. They are living testimony to the fact that biblical studies can
be a non-confessional academic field of research and not necessarily a
confessional discipline that may only be conducted by religious believers.
Scholars as such may pursue their research, from the viewpoint of academic
specialization, in literature, history, Western culture, and even West Asia
studies, as well as religious studies. It is believed that they may substantially
enhance the biblical scholarship of Mainland China in terms of both quality
and quantity. However, the significance of their studies to the construction of
Sino-Christian theology remains uncertain, for their research might have no
direct and necessary relationship with Christian theology.
Theology & Bible from a Chinese Perspective

As shown in the above review and investigation, how to conceive the
relationship between theology, Bible and biblical studies remains a vital
problem for Sino-Christian theology.
In the present Chinese academic world, there are two prevailing
approaches to linking theology with the Bible. The first approach, supported
by Leung Ka-lun and many teachers of theological seminaries, emphasizes the
authority and the priority of the Bible in theological thinking, and pursues a
one-way linear path from exegesis to theological tradition and then to
application. The weakness of this approach lies in its ignorance of the
dialectical relationship between the canon and the tradition: canon creates
tradition and vice versa, and both have their own fluidity;28 that is to say,
tradition involves negotiating identity with and within canon.29 The other
approach is known as “contextual interpretation”, which has been influenced
to a greater or lesser extent by the Asian theological movement, and which
adopts a method similar to that of the contextual biblical exegesis or
contextual theology prevalent in neighboring regions. Although it does not
first pursue an “objective” interpretation of Scripture and then apply it to a
concrete situation, it does take the here-and-now situation into account as a
constructive element of the interpretation so as to establish the possible
significance of a particular passage of the Bible to the current situation,
especially the political, economic and social contexts. However, contextual
exegesis, unlike the first approach, tends to be rather subjective or arbitrary,
and gives priority to its relevance to the present context rather than to its link
with the Christian tradition.
Both approaches make use of the established methodologies from regions
other than China. A more original approach formed within the Chinese
28 Delwim Brown, Boundaries of Our Habitations: Tradition and Theological

Construction (Albany: SUNY. 1994), p.29.
29 Delwim Brown, Boundaries of Our Habitations, pp.83-92.
173
academic world is that of “cross-textual reading”, proposed by Li Chi-chang
(Archie C. C. Lee). It is true that cross-textual reading is a method highlighting
the characteristics of the Chinese context; namely, a number of believers in
Chinese context would read the Scriptures in comparison or contrast to some
Chinese classics, and thus probably may interpret various passages of the
Bible in a way radically different from the conventional interpretation. One
can find precedents of this sort of cross-textual reading in the history of
Sino-Christian theology in the broad sense of the word.30 Furthermore, were
the method adopted by Sino-Christian theology, it might lead to a kind of
theology with distinctive Chinese characters. However, how does the
cross-textural reading distinguish itself from comparative literature? What is
its possible significance for theological methodology? Not even these issues
been adequately clarified by the proponents of cross-textual interpretation of
the Bible, let alone the relationship between cross-textual interpretation of the
Bible and the Christian tradition.
One of the characteristics of Sino-Christian theology is its use of
materials from traditional Chinese culture. Interestingly enough, if one invest-
igates the way in which Chinese culture conceives of the transmission of
tradition, one finds that Confucianism (especially the tradition of “xin-xue”,
literally speaking, “heart-mind learning”) and Buddhism (especially the Ch’an
school) emphasize the succession of “heart-mind” over that of “scripture”,
which is only the testimony to the former.31 Similarly, the Bible reads, “Do all
you can to preserve the unity of the spirit… There is one body and one
Spirit… one and the same hope… one Lord, one faith, one baptism, and one
God…” (Ephesians 4: 3-6; Jerusalem Bible). It is noteworthy that there is no
mention of “one Scripture”. In fact, the canon adopted by Roman Catholicism
is slightly different from that of Protestantism. Therefore, instead of adhering
to “one Scripture”, Sino-Christian theology could inherit the ecumenical
Christian tradition in terms of “one Spirit” or “one heart-mind”, which may
include not only the faith and hope belonging to the domain of Sprit or
heart-mind, but also the object or content of faith (one Lord, one God) the one
heart-mind attested to and the liturgy (one baptism) testifying the transmission
of the one heart-mind.
If the Christian identity of Sino-Christian theology is also largely
dependent on its relationship with the Christian tradition, a further question is
raised as to how to decide whether Sino-Christian theology is a continuation
30 Li Chi-chang (Archie Lee), “Kuawenben Yuedu Celue: Mingmo Zhongguo Jidutu

Zhuzuo Yanjiu” (A strategy of Cross-textual Reading: Studies on the Works of the
Christians of Late Ming Dynasty); Jiao Yuqin trans., Jidujiao Wenhua Xuekan [Journal
for the Studies of Christian Culture] 1 (2003), pp.165-187.
31 Lai Pan-chiu, “Inheriting the Chinese and Christian Traditions in Global Context: A
Confucian-Protestant Perspective”, Religion & Theology 10/1 (March 2003), pp.7-11.
174
rather than a disruption of the Christian tradition. According to the analysis
given by Christoph Schwöbel, there are three different ways to understand the
continuity of the tradition in the history of Christianity. The first model,
introduced by Irenaeus of Lyon, is to understand tradition as a “continuous
chain” of the original message which is preserved in the unbroken apostolic
succession from apostles to the present Pope. The second understanding of
tradition is the “consensus model”, which suggests that the Christian tradition
is preserved in one consensus of faith, e.g. the consensus fidelium suggested
by Vincent of Lérins, which means the faith held by all believers of all times.
The third model adopts the strategy of “return to the origin” of the tradition,
called by Reformers ad fonts, namely, returning to the Bible as the yardstick
for tradition.32
As many cultural Christians do not have strong connections with the
Christian churches and sometimes even consider themselves outside the
ecclesiastical polity, it is not easy for Sino-Christian theology to accept the
first model, which comes rather close to the stance of Roman Catholicism. In
fact, it is also difficult to demonstrate the concrete ecclesiastical (not to say
“apostolic”) succession of Sino-Christian theology in historical terms. As has
been noted, since Sino-Christian theology in its present stage of development
remains not very “biblical” in its appearance, the adoption of the third model
may not be helpful either. Therefore, the second model is perhaps a more
feasible approach to understand how the theological activities of Cultural
Christians can continue the Christian tradition. This is because despite having
no formal affiliation to a Christian church, they do share the faith of Christians.
As Schwöbel points out, the problem of the second model lies in its need for
the third model as a supplement, for what the consensus of believers of all
generations and all places signifies remains rather unclear.33 Certainly, the
stress on consensus in the second model and the emphasis on Scripture in the
third model do not conflict with each other.34 For Sino-Christian theology, the
virtue of the second model, nevertheless, might precisely lie in its seeming
limitation pointed out by Schwöbel. The distinctiveness of Sino-Christian
theology lies in its emphasis on the language it employs. Owing to the close
linkage between language and its living context, the consensus of the believers
in the Chinese context is not necessarily expressed in an unambiguous
universal language (comparable to Esperanto) and thus cannot be identical
with the language of the Scriptures or the ecumenical creeds. It, nevertheless,
32 Christoph Schwöbel, “Rationality, Tradition and Theology: Six Theses”, in Marcel Sarot
& Gijsbert van den Brink eds., Identity and Change in the Christian Tradition (Frankfurt
am Main: Peter Lang, 1999), pp.179-180.
33 Christoph Schwöbel, “Rationality, Tradition and Theology: Six Theses”, p.181.
Confucian-Protestant Perspective”, pp.11-16.
175
shall and can be re-interpreted or translated in the Chinese context. If the
mission of theology is to construct the future of the tradition by using the
inherited faith and resources,35 compared with the other two models, the
second model of understanding the continuation of tradition is eligible to
provide for Sino-Christian theology greater hermeneutic space, and more
possibilities of participating in and therefore enriching the Christian
tradition.36
Other than its contributions to the understanding of Scripture and the
transmission of the Christian tradition, the Chinese cultural resources may also
inspire some alternative paths in approaching the relationship between
theology and biblical studies. For instance, the Chinese Buddhist method of
doctrinal criticism, which attempts to criticize, rank and organize the scriptures
according to their different theological contents, may provide for biblical
theology a possible method for handling the question of theological diversity
within the canon.37 The method is similar to “content criticism” in biblical
studies, also called “theological criticism”, for the “content” refers to
theological content. Underlying this kind of theological criticism is the
presupposition that the ultimate authority does not lie in the Scriptural texts
but with the Holy Spirit, who inspired the Scriptures. The theological criticism
is not to use a non-theological or non-Christian authority to reject the Bible;
but, as Luther had also said, to “urge Christ against Scripture”. It presupposes
that the Bible was written by human beings susceptible to mistakes and thus
bears the theological opinions and orientations of the authors or the editors.38
Therefore, with regard to the relationship between theology and the Bible and
biblical studies, it is of no necessity that theology should be unilaterally
determined by the Bible or biblical studies, whereas theology can also conduct
a critique of the theological formulations in different parts of the Bible; by
doing so, a hermeneutic circle may be formed. It is possible that this approach
to biblical studies has been secretly carried out throughout the entire history of
Christianity, but has been seldom adopted publicly and systematically, with the
exception of obvious examples such as Martin Luther and Origen. However,
almost every school of Chinese Buddhism regards this kind of doctrinal
criticism as an indispensable component; in fact, Zhang Chunyi (1871-1955), a
Chinese promoter of Mahayana Christianity, has already tried to apply the
35 Delwim Brown, Boundaries of Our Habitations, p.148.

Confucian-Protestant Perspective”, Religion & Theology 10/1 (March, 2003), pp.19-21.
37 Lai Pan-chiu, “Zhongguo Fojiao de Panjiao Duisheng Jingshenxue de Qishi” (The
Inspiration of the Chinese Buddhist Doctrinal Criticism to Biblical Theology), in Chen
Zuoren ed., Wujinde Zhuiqiu [The Endless Pursuit] (Hong Kong: Religion Society,
Chinese University of Hong Kong, 1988), pp.36-62.
38 Robert Morgan, “Sachkritik”, in R. J. Coggins & J. L. Houlden eds., A Dictionary of
Biblical Interpretation (London: SCM / Philadelphia: Trinity, 1990) pp.604-605.
176
method to the criticism of different Scriptural texts.39 In short, as stated in the
above, Sino-Christian theology is capable of making its unique contribution to
the Christian tradition as a whole by making use of its cultural resources.
Between Church and Academy

To sum up our discussion, biblical studies remains under-developed in Mainland
China for many reasons, one of them being the failure of advocates of
Sino-Christian theology to recognize the academic, social and cultural characters
of biblical Studies. This failure reflects a deep-seated problem facing
Sino-Christian theology, which is an intellectual movement advocated by a
group of Chinese intellectuals interested in the academic studies of Christianity
but not necessarily affiliated to any Christian church. For Sino-Christian
theology, as an intellectual movement evolved from academia, an important
problem is how to conceive its relationship with Christianity, especially the
Christian churches and the Bible. Whereas many church leaders have rejected
Sino-Christian theology on the grounds that it does not look particularly
“biblical”, this paper argues that Sino-Christian theology seldom makes
reference to the Bible on legitimate grounds that are both practical and
theological. However, this paper also suggests that it remains desirable for
Sino-Christian theology to develop a more proper interaction with biblical
studies. Such interaction will consolidate the Christian identity of Sino-Christian
theology, make Sino-Christian theology more acceptable for the Chinese
churches, and help Sino-Christian theology to make better use of its cultural
resources, including the methodology of scriptural studies in the Chinese
tradition, in formulating some rather distinctive approaches to biblical studies.
However, for Sino-Christian theology, the problem concerning its relationship
with the Bible or biblical studies remains merely part of the wider problem with
regard to its relationship with the Christian churches, as well as the problem of
the Christian identity of Sino-Christian theology. These questions are so
far-reaching that they need to be further discussed from a number of other
perspectives.
39 Lai Pan-chiu, “Chuli Jiaoli Duoyanghua zhi dao: Dacheng Fojiao de Fangbian yu Jidu
Zongjiao de Qianjiu” (Ways of Handling Doctrinal Diversity: the Skillful Means of
Mahayana Buddhism and the Accommodation of Christianity), in Wu Yan-sheng, Lai
Pinchao & Wang Xiaochao eds., Fojiao yu Jidujiao Duihua [Dialogue between
Buddhism and Christianity] (Beijing: Zhonghua, 2005), pp.364-382.
177
Messianic Predestination in Romans 8
and Classical Confucianism
YEO Khiok-khng
This experimental essay seeks to use an inter-subjective hermeneutic to read the

texts of Paul and Confucius intertextually. The reading is concerned with
crossing borders and fusing horizons in cross-cultural interpretation. The paper
will read Paul’s messianic (Christological) predestination language using the
lens of the Confucian millennial understanding of Datong (Great Togetherness).
It will also read Paul’s eschatology in tension with Confucius’ political and
moral philosophy of recovering the golden age, namely the Zhou dynasty.1 The
hope is that a more responsible and creative reading can become a viable option
for how we understand human history, time, salvation, and the role of human
beings in God’s redemption of the whole creation.
Intersubjectivity of Cross-cultural Interpretation 2

An intersubjective reading assumes a rhetorical-hermeneutical reading process
that is interactive and persuasive in its communication. In Rhetorical Interaction
in 1 Corinthians 8 and 10, I allotted a considerable amount of space to spelling
out the significance and process of an interactive model in biblical reading and
cross-cultural hermeneutics based on rhetorical theories.3 The rhetorical inter-
action among text, writer, and reader is based on rhetorical and literary theories
which are less intentional and articulate in noting the significance of multi-
textual influence, the subjectivity of a text and its reader as well as laying out a
two-way reading process.
1 Unless otherwise noted, all translations of Confucian classics and Romans in this paper
are the author’s.
2 On the survey of contemporary methods of biblical interpretation, see Carl R. Holladay,
“Contemporary Methods of Reading the Bible”, The New Interpreter’s Bible, vol.
(Nashville: Abingdon, 1994), pp.125-149; on the theory of biblical hermeneutics, see
Anthony Thiselton’s magnum opus, New Horizons in Hermeneutics: The Theory and
Practice of Transforming Biblical Reading (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1992). On the
methodology of intersubjectivity, see” Michael Morton and Judith Still eds.,
Intertextuality: Theories and Practices (Manchester & New York: Manchester
University Press, 1991); George Aichele and Gary A. Phillips eds., Intertextuality and
the Bible, Semeia 69/70 (1995).
3 Yeo Khiok-khng, Rhetorical Interaction in 1 Corinthians 8 and 10: A Formal Analysis
With Preliminary Suggestions for a Chinese, Cross-Cultural Hermeneutic (Leiden: E. J.
Brill, 1995), Chapter 3.
179
The term “intertextuality” was coined by Julia Kristeva to indicate that a
text does not exist in a closed system of its own but in interrelation with other
texts through quotations, references, allusions and influences of various kinds.4
The intersubjective influence conveyed through the medium of a “text” is
clearly seen in the “various cultural discourses”5 because “the text is a tissue of
quotations drawn from innumerable centers of culture”.6 The assumed locus of
meaning-production in this inter-subjective process has shifted from the author
to the reader. Both axis of intertextuality––via the writer (who is the first reader)
and the readers (who are co-producers of textual meaning)––allow the
“dialogism” or “heteroglossia” (exchange of language in M. Bakhtin’s under-
standing) of texts to work in the genesis of meaning.7
The processes of reading- and meaning-production are always dialogues
between the writers and the readers. The authority of interpretation does not
reside in the frozen text or in the first writer, but is to be found in the interactive
process of the text, involving both the writer and the reader, which I have
previously termed “rhetorical interaction”. 8 Gadamer writes of the inter-
subjective and inter-interpretive understanding process which is productive and
reproductive. 9 A text not only carries meaning but allows readers to create
meanings. Similarly, readers not only interpret text, they are being read by texts,
viz., their stories are made meaningful by the texts. Because understanding and
reading processes are reproductive and productive, a writer cannot control the
meaning of a text and limit it to just his own “original” intention.
The question then is: to what extent does this intersubjectivity between text
and readers exist? On the extreme case, one may argue that any text can be
“rewritten” by readers, as reader-response theories have shown.10 For example,
Roland Barthes would even argue for “the death of the author,” thus putting the
4 Julia Kristeva, “Word, Dialogue and Novel”, in Toril Moi ed. The Kristeva Reader
(New York: Columbia University Press, 1986); Kristeva, however, does not think that
texts function for readers as an intersubjective network; they function only as
intertextual networks.
5 Jonathan Culler, On Deconstruction: Theory and Criticism after Structuralism (Ithaca:
Cornell University Press, 1982), p.32.
6 Roland Barthes, Image, Music, Text (New York: Hill & Wang, 1977), p.146.
7 “Dialogism” and “heteroglossia” are Bakhtin’s terms in his work, The Dialogic Imagin-
ation, Michael Holquist ed., Caryl Emerson and Michael Holquist trans. (Austin:
University of Texas Press, 1981).
8 Yeo, Rhetorical Interaction in 1 Corinthians 8 and 10, as the title of the work indicates,
see also pp. 15-49.
9 Hans-Georg Gadamer, Truth and Method, 2nd rev. ed. (New York: Crossroad, 1989),
p.261.
10 See the discussion in “Reader-Response Criticism”, in Elizabeth A. Castelli, Stephen D.
Moore and Regina M. Schwartz eds., The Postmodern Bible (New Haven: Yale
University Press, 1995), pp.20-69.
180
authority of interpretation only on the text and the readers.11 Similarly, Culler
writes, “There are no moments of authority and points of origin except those
which are retrospectively designated as origins and which, therefore, can be
shown to derive from the series for which they are constituted as origin.”12
Confucian Messianic Expectation, Datong, and Recovery of the Golden Age

Both motifs of messianic consciousness and national salvation are present in
biblical (Jewish and Christian) and Confucianist utopian history, but the
dynastic change and hope of the return of the golden age is quite distinctive of
Chinese history. Yet the Confucian political ethics and the biblical (especially
Pauline) theology are intertextual lenses I often use to understand history.
Jewish and Christian views look to a transcendental reign of God beyond
national history. In those views, eschatological and millenarian hope is not only
about national salvation, it is also about cosmic salvation (cf. Rom 1:20, 25;
8:20-22). In critiquing the domination of various empires, Jewish and Christian
views portray the God of history whose intended will of salvation “invades” the
world and becomes the telos (goal) of history. The question I often ask in
reading Romans 8 is: Does Paul’s argument regarding Christ as the telos (goal,
purpose) of cosmic salvation provide a comprehensive narrative that excludes
other narratives?
As we will see in this section, the majority of Confucianists, in contrast to
the biblical view, see the Chinese Great Togetherness/Harmony (Datong) as a
realization of a past golden age. Is that Confucianist view too parochial?
We will take a look at both traditions rather independently before
concluding with an intertextual reading of these two. My intention is not to
make the claim that my reading of Romans 8 is the only valid, or even a better
one, than those that have been offered by previous biblical scholars. My
intention is to use my Confucianist lens to re-read Romans 8 and to argue that
this is another plausible reading.13 In the reading process, I also hope to use
Romans 8 to offer helpful critiques to some of my Confucianist assumptions of
history so that my Confucianist-Pauline hermeneutic will broaden my under-
standing of how God is at work in and beyond a particular cultural process and
historical tradition.
11 Roland Barthes by Roland Barthes, Richard Howard trans. (London and New York:
Hill and Wang, 1977), p.140.
12 Jonathan Culler, The Pursuit of Signs: Semiotics, Literature, Deconstruction (Ithaca:
Cornell University Press, 1981), p.117.
13 This paper does not deal with the question of “indeterminacy” and “completing
plausible interpretations”, which I dealt with in “Culture and Intersubjectivity as Criteria
of Negotiating Meanings in Cross-cultural Interpretations”, in The Meanings We
Choose Charles H. Cosgrove (ed.) (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2004), pp.81-100.
181
In contrast to the Pauline vision of Christ narrative of God’s cosmic
salvation, the Confucian vision of national salvation posits a moral transform-
ation of humanity in the hope of recovering the previous ideal dynasty. There
are a few observations we can summarize regarding the Confucian view of
salvation. These observations will serve as lenses for me to read Romans 8. I
must admit that my selective understanding of Confucian political ethics is
influenced by my interest in some of the themes in Romans 8 as well.
Recovery of the Golden Age (Datong)

First, the recovery of the golden age as the Datong in Confucian thought looks
backward at history for the ideal goal within its social-political context. This
strikes me as a prominent spatial-temporal frame that Romans 8 also uses.
Confucius (or known as Kong Zi, 551-479 BCE) regarded the Western (Earlier
or Former) Zhou (1050-770 BCE) as the “golden age,” only 200 years or so
earlier than “Spring and Autumn” (Chun Qiu, 770-476 BCE) when he was born.
Later Confucians were also fond of looking to antiquity as a prototype of an
ideal age to which people in a disintegrating society should look. To them,
antiquity was not a pre-civilization Garden of Eden but the golden age of Zhou
as the era of highest human achievement.
Confucius’ understanding of Datong is not nostalgia for the good old days.
His messianic hope of recovering the golden age of the past served primarily as
a backward stretching of the imagination of Chinese who were living in a state
of cultural and moral deterioration. Confucius wanted the Chinese to
contemplate the Great Harmony (i.e., Datong in Chinese) in the perfect world.
His Datong utopian hope was a critique of their chaotic and deteriorating society.
Continuing the tradition of Confucius, Mencius’ social utopian under-
standings combine to form a government that is responsible to the people;
Mencius also teaches that a royal government (wangdao) seeks to benefit all by
distributing resources fairly according to the “well field system” (jing tian zhi),
and requires all to contribute according to their abilities.14 It is a socialist system
of government based on division of labors, consideration for others, and
communal solidarity.15
14 Wolfgang Bauer, China and the Search for Happiness. Recurring Themes in Four
Thousand Years of Chinese Cultural History, Michael Shaw trans. (New York: Seabury,
1976), pp.24-25.
15 For example, Mencius (Meng Zi) taught King Xuan of Qi the reason of Wenwang of
Zhou. He possessed a large piece of land and yet it was considered too small by his
people. The reason was that Wenwang shared it with his people. (Mencius 1B, 2). See
The Chinese Classics: With a Translation, Critical and Exegetical Notes, Prolegomena
and Copious Indexes, vol. 1, James Legge trans. (Reprint; Hong Kong: Hong Kong
University Press, 1960), pp.153-154.
182
Self-Perception as Heaven-Sent
Second, the self-perception of Confucius as the “messiah” (heaven-sent and
heaven-chosen) to bring about the ideal of the golden age is a distinctive ethos in
Chinese philosophy. “Messianic” consciousness is not just a biblical or Pauline
concept; it is evident in Confucianism as well. Bauer’s research into this
messianic concept in Chinese history shows Confucius as a self-conscious,
“predestined messiah” of his own society.16
Confucius identified himself with the duke of Zhou (Zhou Gong), the
brother of the founder of the dynasty, Wuwang (Warrior King), who was regent
for Chengwang, Wuwang’s son and successor. The Analects (Lun Yu) often
mentions the duke of Zhou, and some scholars have suspected that perhaps
Confucius longed to be such a personality and restore the lost golden age.17
The self-perception of messianic consciousness seems to be the legacy of
Confucianism. Subsequently every Confucianist has the conviction and aspira-
tion to serve one’s country after completing a moral education. That legacy also
makes Confucian moral philosophy political in function. After all, the political
semantic domain of the title, Zi (tzu), being the title of Confucius (Kong Zi
[Kung-tzu] is his name in Chinese), reflects an assumption of Chinese reality.
The title Zi was first used to refer to royal princes and kinsmen, then to wise
counselors of feudal lords, and finally to philosopher-teachers.
The significant point in Confucius’ yearning for the restoration of peace
and order in the world is his understanding of the heavenly mandate, i.e., the
calling that is from the world beyond for him to fulfill, and the mission of saving
the society in which he lives. Throughout Chinese history, few people had as
clear a calling as Confucius. In Historical Records (Shi Ji), there is an account
of Confucius as the ideal ruler:
Three months after Confucius had assumed the government of the state (Lu), even cattle
dealers no longer cheated others by demanding excessive prices; men and women walked
along different sides of the road, and objects lost on the streets were no longer picked up. (Shi
Ji 47:667b).18
Confucius did have the ambition to be a political leader, but the hope was
unfulfilled.19 Confucius’ despair is recorded in the Analects 9:9: “The phoenix
does not come; the river gives forth no chart. It is all over with me!” The
phoenix is a mythical creature belonging to the heavenly realm that sends forth
16 Bauer, China and the Search for Happiness, pp.22-23.

17 Bauer, China and the Search for Happiness, p.22.
18 Julia Ching, Mysticism and Kingship in China (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1997), pp.211-212.
19 This interpretation regarding Confucius is popular in the Tang (618-906) and Qing
dynasties (1644-1912), see Ching, Mysticism and Kingship in China, p.207, n. 7.
183
messages concerning the arrival of sage-king Shun. The river chart is a gift
given to Zhou king during his enthronement, the chart maps out his territory
indicative of a peaceful reign.20
Political Morality in Confucian Datong

Third, the intended purpose of heaven for Chinese society in Confucian thought
focuses on political morality as a consummation of salvation of that society. Of
course, the concern of salvation is the main theme of Paul’s letter to the Romans;
salvation, as related to the righteousness of God, is about creating the people of
God who will live a life of holiness in Christ.
The assumption of this political morality is that the Confucian Datong
vision as a trans-historical reality can be seen in Confucius’ teaching of Tian
Dao (“the Heavenly Principle” or “the Heavenly Way”). How did the
uncrowned king reign and bring about telos in Chinese history? He reigns by
being and teaching other to become ren ren (persons who love). Thus
Confucianism emphasizes moral education rather than warrior nobility, political
virtues rather than political prosperity, relational harmony rather than kingship
kinship. Confucius believed that Tian not only gave birth to the people but
continued to regenerate and sustain them. Thus, in terms of morality, Confucius
regarded ren (love) as the fountainhead of all virtues. He exhorted all to
actualize Tian-ming (mandate of Heaven) by committing themselves to ren,
because ren is what makes human beings human. In terms of political morality,
he emphasizes that the sage-rulers are to be virtuous, providing an example for
others to follow, and thus bringing about the renewal of the society (Great
Learning [Da Xue] 1:1). The Doctrine of Mean (Zhong Yong) likewise states
that if a sage-ruler knows how to cultivate his own character, he will know how
to govern other people (20:11).
As a result of his vision of political morality, Confucius did not popularize
a patriarchal lineage of royal succession. Rather, he advocates virtues of ren and
righteousness. He mentioned that Yao and Shun were regarded as virtuous rulers
who left their thrones not to their sons but to the best qualified candidates.
Analects 4:13 recounts, “If [a king] is able to govern his state with the
disposition of modesty and propriety (li-rang, i.e., “yielding”) [possibly include-
ing the idea of readiness to give it up], what trouble can he have? If he is unable
to govern the state with modesty and propriety, what has he to do with the rites
and propriety?”21
In imagining the existence of goodness and beauty in a perfect society,
Confucius’ Datong vision emphasized music, propriety, character, and harmon-
ious interpersonal relationships, because the Zhou dynasty is the prototype of
20 Ching, Mysticism and Kingship in China, p.211. The Analects translation is that of
Ching.
21 Ching, Mysticism and Kingship in China, p.210.
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Datong. Confucius believed that beauty and goodness were the foundations or
the source of music and propriety, and that the potential for beauty and goodness
resided in every person.
Mencius (372-289 BCE) is the first person who fully developed Confucius’
ethical and social philosophy in the political realm. His sense of a vocation to
save the world is also clear, even though the time cycle for him has not come.
He explained his commitment based on two reasons: First, he believed in the
goodness of human nature, that every human being should have a messianic
consciousness. His democratization of an inherently good human nature moti-
vated the conscience of the people toward social responsibility. Second, he
believed in the “quasi-mystical notion of a salubrious force pulsating through all
beings”22 (hao-ran zhi qi), i.e., because “heaven does not speak... people are the
only court of appeal and decide whether or not a dynasty has the ‘mandate’. A
new ruler must be ‘introduced’ to both heaven and the people before he can be
certain of his office. It is therefore a basic premise of every ideal government
that the prince owns everything in an ‘equal manner’ with the people.”23 His
second point is also a democratic one, but of the mandate of heaven. Such a
view suggests that the validity of heavenly mandate needs approval from the
people.
Cyclical Movement of History

Fourth, the Confucian democratization of messianic consciousness of all people
for their society works and continues in the cyclical movement of history. The
typical Chinese cyclical worldview works well with the periodization view of
history. Since the view of historical time is cyclical, the periodization cannot be
progress but instead a spiraling alternation between order and disorder. Long
ago, Mencius said: “Since the appearance of the world of men, a long time has
indeed elapsed, consisting of alternating order and disorder” (3B, 9). Not in
keeping with that worldview, Mencius (2B, 13) delineates cycles of history in
the following dispensations: (1) from the sage-kings Yao and Shun and Yu
(24th-23rd centuries BCE) to the founder of Shang, (2) from the founder of
Shang to the founders of Zhou (23rd-12th century BCE), and (3) from the
founders of Zhou to Confucius (12th century to 551 BCE). The alternating
sequence of old-new periods is attempted in the Qin dynasty, and the old-new-
old pattern becomes evident in the earlier Han dynasty (206 BCE-6 CE).24
Given this Chinese cyclical/ spiraling understanding of history, national
salvation involves the rule of law and the propriety of virtuous rulers and
22 Bauer, China and the Search for Happiness, p.49.

23 Bauer, China and the Search for Happiness, p.23. See Mencius 5A, 5. Legge, The
Chinese Classics, vol. 2, pp.354-357. Translation of the Mencius is that of Bauer.
24 See Fung Yu-lan, A History of Chinese Philosophy, Derk Bodde trans. (Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 1952), p.160. Cf. Shi Ji, Chap 74.
185
democratized rule of virtue by all self-perceived educated Confucianists. As
such, sage (philosopher) and ruler are inseparable, i.e., crowned kings have to be
virtuous and virtuous persons (ren ren) can be uncrowned kings.
A popular Confucianist understanding of political messianism in China is
that in a five-hundred-year cycle there would supposedly be a ruler vested with
the heavenly mandate to reign over China. Bauer gives examples of messianic
consciousness in Chinese history, and not all these figures are strictly political
rulers. The first is the duke of Zhou (who died in 1105 BCE according to
traditional chronology); next is Confucius (551-479 BCE); then the historian
Sima Qian (Ssu-ma Ch’ien, ca. 145-90 BCE); the illegal emperor Wang Mang
(45 BCE -23 CE); and the philosopher-emperor Yuandi (508-555) of the Liang
dynasty.25 Bauer notes,
Curiously enough, men who did not live during these periods of renewal also believed
that this messianic idea applied to them, particularly Mencius. He is the first to explicitly
discuss this five-hundred-year rule (Mencius 2B, 13 and 7B, 38).26
This Confucian messianic mandate of saving the world lies in the consciousness
of the political commitment of his moral philosophy. Confucian moral philo-
sophy serves its political purpose of bringing about peace in the world through
the process of self-cultivation, family harmony, and nation governing.
The Narrative of Christological Predestination for “Jews and Gentiles” in

Romans 8
Turning to Romans, we note the thesis of Romans 8:28-30 to be a discussion of
the eschatological community of sonship created by the Spirit. Perhaps, the
Confucian emphasis on the mandate of heaven fulfilled in the ethical life of a
community has guided the way I read Romans 8. From my reading I understand
that the ethical life force saves a community as it forms harmony in a world of
suffering and moral deterioration.
Leaving aside the difference between recovering history (alternating
cyclical view of history) and looking forward to the future (eschatological view
of history), the Confucian vision of Datong is similar to the ideal presented in
Romans 8:18-30, which spells out the salvific hope (Rom 8:20, 24-25) or future
glory (Rom 8:17, 18, 21, 23, 30; cf. 1:23) of all God’s people (Jews and Gentiles)
together with creation in the context of present suffering (8:17, 18-23, 26). Paul
encourages the audience to hope as the children of God (Rom 8:18-30).27 Paul
25 Bauer, China and the Search for Happiness, pp.429-430, n. 44.

26 Bauer, China and the Search for Happiness, pp.429-430, n. 44. The Chinese Classics,
see Legge trans., vol. 2, pp.232, 501-502.
27 Robert Jewett, Basic Bible Commentary-Romans (Nashville: Graded, 1984), p.98.
186
assures the community of faith that human weakness is overcome by the
intercession of the Spirit and the loving purpose of God.
Focusing on Romans 8:28-30, we note a few key insights of Paul, which
may be similar or different from the teachings of Confucius:
Sovereignty of God (Theos) and Transcendence of Heaven (Tian)

First, in the context of an imperfect world, the sovereignty of God (Theos)
speaks of the comprehensiveness of God’s purpose in creation; this is similar to
the macro vision of Confucius’ political ethics and its grounding of ethics in the
transcendental Tian (heaven). The point of God’s comprehensive purpose will
extend Paul’s understanding of predestination in a cosmic dimension later (vv.
29-30), and there, the language of predestination is set in the context of
encouragement and not judgment. Here (v. 28), Paul argues that “all things work
together for good for ‘those who love God,’28 who are called to his purpose”
(8:28).29 “All” (panta) includes suffering, sin, weaknesses, adversity, or bearing
of the cross. 30 “Works together” (sunergeô) means assist or profit towards
benefit.31 Not all things serve the comfort of the people of God, but all things
work together to their salvation. God does not cause everything but God uses
every event, good or bad, towards an eventual greater good. Eis agathon is
goodness realized eschatologically, goodness being understood as the telos of
God’s creation.32 Nothing will be meaningless and stay outside God’s purpose
(eschatologically; cf. Rom 14:16). Cranfield summarizes the point well:
We understand the first part of the verse, then, to mean that nothing can really harm –
that is, harm in the deepest sense of the word – those who really love God, but that all
things which may happen to them, including such grievous things as are mentioned in verse
35, must serve to help them on their way to salvation, confirming their faith and drawing
28 “Those who love God” is the common designation in the OT of God’s elect, the Jews
(see Exo 20:6; Deut 5:10); this phrase is now used here to refer to Christians, Jewish or
Gentile alike. See C. E. B. Cranfield, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the
Epistle to the Romans, vol. 1, 6th ed. (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1975-1979), p.424 on
“those who love God” as a designation of Jewish piety.
29 C. E. B. Cranfield, “Romans 8:28”, Scottish Journal of Theology 19 (1966), p.206.
30 On “panta” (not Theos) as subject, see discussion in J. D. G. Dunn, Romans 1-8, Word
Biblical Commentary (Dallas: Word, 1988), p.481; Joseph A. Fitzmyer, Romans: A New
Translation with Introduction and Commentary (New York: Doubleday, 1993), p.523;
Brendan Byrne, Romans (Collegeville: Liturgical, 1996), pp.271-272.
31 Walter Bauer, William F. Arndt, F. Wilbur Gingrich and F. W. Danker, A Greek-
English Lexicon of the New Testament and other Early Christian Literature [BAGD]
(Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1979), p.795.
32 Or as Dunn puts it, “the temporal purpose... of moving history and through history to its
intended end.” See James D. G. Dunn, Romans 1-8, Word Biblical Commentary (Dallas:
Word, 1988), p.482.
187
them closer to their Master, Jesus Christ. But the reason why all things thus assist believers
is, of course, that God is in control of all things.33
All things do not work together for good on their own, but God’s sovereign act
is the under-girding force behind God’s absolute control and omniscient (all
knowing) power over everything.34 God is able to bring good out of all things,
and that is the Christian hope.35 Paul gives the faithful assurance that the future
belongs to the children of God. This assurance strengthens the people of God as
they struggle with sin and suffering. The future is secured because it is grounded
in the eternity of God. The eternal counsel/purpose of God in creation becomes
the very purpose of humanity.
Eschatological Adam (Christ) and Ideal Community (Datong)

Second, for Paul cosmic salvation is inextricably connected with God’s
primordial goal of transforming the fallen world by means of the eschatological
Adam. Analogously, the mandate of heaven (tian-ming) is to transform the
morally corrupted world for Confucius. I understand the eschatological Adam as
the realization of an ideal community (Datong) rather than a salvation by means
of an individual. I also understand Romans 8 to mean that the power of God’s
gospel redeems the whole creation. The power also revealed the righteousness of
God (Heaven). The ultimate purpose of God’s righteousness is to restore all to
wholeness and to bring the totality of creation back into loving relationship with
God.
Paul begins with God’s love for believers through God’s sovereign election
and calling, and ends with God’s divine purpose of our glorification through
Jesus Christ (see the five aorist verbs in vv. 28-30). This is a narrative that
speaks of the Oneness of God who is impartial and whose righteousness
revealed in Jesus Christ is based on grace. Even though the first point (on the
narrative of Christ for the cosmic salvation) may look hegemonic to
(post)modern readers, the second point (on grace and faith) qualifies the first
point by grounding the narrative within the socio-political context. I believe the
Confucian moral critique of political ideology has given me a helpful lens to
read Romans 8 with a political perspective also.
Against the Roman ideology of violence because of polytheistic faith,
Paul’s narrative lifts up the Christ event as just/fair because it is based on a
principle of “from faithfulness [of Christ] to faithfulness [of Christians]” (1:18).
Romans 8:28-30 seem to underline the hope of cosmic salvation which
“characterizes the life in the Spirit to be the life of those who are righteous by
33 Cranfield, “Romans 8:28”, p.212.

34 Douglas J. Moo, The Epistle to the Romans (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996), pp.527-58.
35 John A. Zeisler, Paul’s Letter to the Romans (London: SCM, 1989), p.225.
188
faith.”36 Against the competitiveness and boasting of house-churches in Rome
(e.g. Jewish and Gentile Christians) – a manifestation of similar Roman ideo-
logy of boasting – Paul appeals to the narrative of Christ as the unifying force
for them to welcome one another based on grace.
But why isn’t the narrative of Christ as articulated by Paul an imperialistic
one? The narrative of Christ has its universal effect (“Jews and Gentiles”), but it
does not seek to “conquer”, it seeks to include all by means of grace. Though it
is one narrative for all, it does not have to be seen as imperialistic. Having
multiple narratives cannot guarantee that they will not conquer each other; in
fact, conflicts among these narratives will more likely result in violence if divine
grace is not their driving force. The narrative of Christ is one championed by the
grace of God. If there is one narrative of the eschatological Adam (ideal
community, also Christ) sent by the Creator to be the way for co-existence of
many, then that plan of salvation deserves consideration by all. The question is:
who is that eschatological Adam? What is the plan of salvation?
“Pre-horizoning” of Christ and Predestination of Individuals

Third, in light of the moral freedom I find in Confucian political ethics, I see the
same moral freedom in the language of predestination in Romans 8. I know it is
possible to see the predestination language as a doctrine that separates believers
from unbelievers (sheep and goats), but I want to suggest another plausible
reading. That is, the predestination language is a theological understanding of
God’s cosmic salvation through pre-horizoning of Christ as the ultimate purpose.
This is a comprehensive narrative for humanity, including the vision of
Confucius and others, while at the same time differentiating these narratives for
the sake of enriching the whole.
The problem is that, the language of “predestination” or “pre-horizoning”
looks parochial to many. Grayston argues that, “The old word is ‘predestined’
(as in NRSV) – which means that the destination is chosen, but not the names or
the number of those who will reach it. The Greek word might be Englished as
‘pre-horizoned’ – meaning that God has marked out the limits but not those who
stray beyond them.”37 Predestination means to mark out a boundary or horizon
beforehand to serve as a goal or purpose. The verbs protithêmi and proorizô and
the noun prothesis refer to planning, purposing, or resolving to do something.
All of these terms convey the idea of initiating an action. 38 The program of
God’s salvation for humanity is set in motion as God marks out the purpose,
36 Cranfield, “Romans 8:28”, p.204.

37 Kenneth Grayston, The Epistle to the Romans (Peterborough: Epworth, 1997), p.75.
38 See Paul Jacobs and Hartmut Krienke, “Foreknowledge, Providence, Predestination,” in
Colin Brown ed., New International Dictionary of New Testament Theology [NIDNTT],
vol.1 (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1975-1978), pp.695-696. Also BAGD, p.706, cf. Eph
1:11, 3:11, 2 Tim 1:9.
189
without predetermining every action in the process. In other words, it is
plausible to read Romans 8 as describing the beginning in which God marks out
a destiny for humanity – such as the Confucian understanding that to be human
is to actualize virtue in a community. That telos (goal) or destiny, in this biblical
text, is Christ who is God’s paradigmatic Savior of the world (righteousness of
God) through faith by grace. The paradigm is qualified by “through faith by
grace”. Therefore, what is predestined is primarily not believers or unbelievers
but Christ, the purposeful creation of God by means of God’s ideal community
characterized by faith and grace.
“Firstborn” and Virtues of Faithfulness and Love

Fourth, analogous to the ethical salvation of Confucian society via virtue and
becoming ren ren (loving persons), Christ was portrayed in Romans 8 as the
first born (prototokôs) and the defining horizon. Humanity will be formed
(proorizô) and become sharers (summorphous; cf. Phil 3:21) 39 in the image
(eikôn) of God’s Son.40
“Firstborn” speaks likewise of the resurrection life of the new age; Christ
as the first born “implies his preeminence but also his sharing of sonship with
numerous Christians”. 41 The image of the “firstborn” as used in the Old
Testament refers to one who receives the birthright, thus one who is the heir
having a position of preeminence, prestige and power. The term is also used
often in the Old Testament to refer to Israel as God’s chosen, beloved one,
instrumental in God’s salvific plan.
“Firstborn” is also a messianic term, an epithet for the Davidic King (cf.
LXX Psalm 88 [89 in English Bible]:28) who will restore Israel.42 When this
messianic term is used for Jesus, its nationalistic (David) and ethnic (Israel)
connotations seem to be overturned into an inclusive paradigm of salvation for
all who believe. Jesus trusted in God and was faithfully obedient in suffering
and now is the pioneer of salvation for all who respond in love to God’s call to
believe and follow in Christ’s footsteps.43 The narrative of Christ is for the Jews
and Gentiles, Greeks and barbarians, male and female, and all social classes.
The Christological means of salvation has its goal that all will be made in the
likeness of the Son, set right with God and glorified at the parousia.
39 In Phil 3:21, the word is used to speak of the transforming body of lowliness to that of
glory; thus, the resurrected humanity from the dead is emphasized.
40 Eikôn in Romans 8:11, 23 speaks of the resurrection body of God’s Son despite death,
i.e., the end (resurrection) determines the destiny (life) of humanity. Note the similar
theology as expressed in Ephesians and Colossians: God seeks to transform the whole
Cosmos through Christ as the “first born” of this new creation.
41 Fitzymer, Romans, p.525.
42 See Byrne, Romans, p.273. Cf. Heb 1:6; Rev 1:5.
43 Steve Mosher, A Study in Romans (Scottdale: Herald, 1996), p.9.
190
Foreknowledge of God and His Purposeful Acts
Fifth, predestination is often understood as predetermination of the individual
decision process. It can also mean the sovereign purpose of God’s salvation for
creation––sovereign in final outcome and sovereign in full control of the process.
After all, Heaven (Tian) is sovereign, transcendent and all knowing.
Foreknowledge can mean to choose individuals beforehand for a special
relationship, such as foreknowledge of the faithful response of selected
individuals.44 But my reading understands foreknowledge to be foresight con-
cerning the purposeful act of salvation in which believers will respond faithfully.
Indeed, because of the sovereignty of God and eschatological view of history,
foreknowledge can be understood as the Hebraic understanding of “knowing”
with affection and predilection.45
God has foreknowledge, God knows all, all the time, in all time. God
knows the sweep of history in a moment – “line” of history in a “dot”. Yet when
God creates, God is involved in history, God unfolds the moment into a spiral
movement of history – recovering eschatological telos and re-imagining the
golden age. What God knows and does in eternity appears to us as prior action.
Throughout the unfolding of God’s plan, “light falls from the divine past and the
divine future”.46 In Romans 8:28-30, the Christian’s hope rests in God who has
been there for the people of God even before God’s call was known.47 Nothing
is accidental in God’s plan, nothing is sheer luck or chance, and everything has a
purpose in God’s creation.
One ought to be careful not to read the language of predestination as a
divine prediction and a closed system of static fate; otherwise, the narrative of
Christ could be comprehensive and yet rigid, or could be specific and yet exclu-
sive. This language of predestination and foreknowledge is a reassuring one for
those in suffering, weakness, and in need of grace. And foreknowledge of God
should be understood in the eschatological view of history, i.e., God intends all
humanity to have an affectionate relationship with God as children of God.
The Love and the People of God in Christ

Sixth, the Christian hope is knowing that, though God foreknew the costs of
creating through the suffering and giving of his Son, yet because God is love and
wills all humankind into loving relationship, God calls his Son(s) into obedience.
44 Proginoskô signifies more than an advance knowledge or precognition, it suggests

looking with favor, and is even used of sexual relations. See Francis Brown, S. R.
Driver, and Charles Briggs, A Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament
(Oxford: Clarendon, 1959), p.394.
45 See Dunn, Romans 1-8, p.482; Fitzymer, Romans, p.525. See Gen 18:19, Jer 1:5; Hos
13:5; Amos 3:2; Psalm 1:6, 1 Cor 8:3, 13:12; Gal 4:9, 2 Tim 2:19.
46 Ernst Käsemann, Commentary on Romans (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1980), p.244.
47 R. D. Kaylor, Paul’s Covenant Community (Louisville: John Knox, 1988), p.157.
191
So God creates. This is similar to the general Chinese understanding that
Heaven has empathy and passion (tian you qing) for all.
More importantly, the Confucian messianic consciousness helps me to
understand the divine mission of believers in-Christ. The “in-Christ” destiny is
probably not an election to mere privilege but more a call to responsibility that
gives birth to the mission of God’s community. Election/calling means being
called to a responsibility, assuming an office for duty.48 Verses 29-30 phrase
God’s plan in four parallel clauses with the repeated key words “foreknew,
predestined, justified”, and the climax of God’s salvific plan is the connecting
verb “glorified”.49 Those who respond to God’s call to be in loving relationship
with God are justified by the gift of God’s grace to be the bearers of God’s
purpose.50 The link of justification brings the reader back to the central theme of
stressing faithfulness/faith in Romans chapters 1-4.
Paul’s conviction of God’s plan progressing towards its goal makes him
assert that the future glorification of humankind (Adam theology again, cf. Ps
8:5; Heb 2:8-10) is a completed action (gloried in the aorist tense) as far as
God’s sovereign plan of salvation is concerned. In this way Paul seems to assure
Christians of their hope in the proleptic consummation of God’s plan. This is the
ultimate confidence Christians can have while living in the present and neither
fully glorified nor totally released from the power of death, sin, and the law.
Paul encourages them that the Spirit is working at this eschatological age, and
God’s intention is to bring to glory all who have been justified by faith in Christ.
As the redemptive process and unification of all creation of God’s plan
continues, the readers are assured of being called as divine agents to proclaim
the gospel and to transform the world.
Intertextual Reading of Pauline and Confucian Horizoning of Human

History
The intertextual reading of the Pauline and the Confucian texts has not been
explicit. I want to show how intertextual reading helps us differentiate each text
from the other as well as cross borders for creative interpretations.
Intertextual Reading Between Confucius and Paul

I am aware of the huge differences between Paul and Confucius, Romans and
the Analects, but I am challenged to try an intersubjective reading because that
is an honest way I can read Romans 8 and Confucian classics as a Chinese-
Christian. The intersubjective reading of Romans and Confucianism does not
mean that the two cultures and theologies are all similar or the same.
48 See Brown, Driver, and Briggs, A Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament,
pp.103-104; NIDNTT, vol. 1, pp.536-543.
49 Moo, The Epistle to the Romans, p.530.
50 John A. Zeisler, Paul’s Letter to the Roman’s (London: SCM, 1989), p.227.
192
Intersubjective reading only means that a Chinese-Christian reader allows his
full subjectivity (thus his cultural repertoire) to come in full contact with the
subjectivity of the text (thus textual context). It will be shown that the
intersubjective reading has allowed the use of language not only to describe but
also to recreate meaning of a particular text. For example, Paul’s highly
theological and Jewish understandings of human beings, sin, Torah, Christ,
salvation, are not the same as the humanistic and moral connotation of
Confucius’ political philosophy. Yet they can be brought to dialogue, and as a
result of this dialogue, Paul’s Christological lens is colored with the social and
moral aspects of ethics and politics, and Confucius’ humanistic lens is colored
with the theological necessity. Let me summarize my discoveries thus far.
In-Group and Communal Language

1. The intertexuality of the in-group language in Romans 8 and the communal
understanding in Confucianism:
Reflecting upon the process of struggle in my reading of Romans and
Confucianism, it is fair to say that I take my reading clues from both texts in
many respects. Two of the most influential aspects are the proleptic
understanding of the in-group language of predestination in Romans 8 and the
communal understanding of Confucianism.
Paul is talking about those in Christ already; therefore it is an “in-Christ”
language necessitating us to be very cautious, if not prohibiting us, to speak of
the final destiny or salvation status of “those who are not in Christ”. How do we
know they are not in Christ? To speak this message to non-Christians might
cause misunderstanding or confusion. It is a language of posteriori, in the sense
that only when one is in, and only from the perspective of the in-group, can one
look forward to the assured state of glory. It is therefore not a language of
prediction, as if history is a linear process.
Both Pauline theology and Confucianist ethics have their universal appeal.
Unfortunately, the narrative of Christ in Pauline theology has been used in
Christian missionary movements to prejudge or condemn the destiny of others
and rigidly exclude other narratives that might correct or enhance the narrative
of Christ. After all, the purpose of Paul’s rhetoric in Romans 8 is to unite Jewish
and Gentile Christians and proves the impartiality of God in the salvation of all
humanity.
Similar concern of hegemonic violence could be raised regarding
Confucianist ethics. Though limited in its cultural ethos, the Confucianist ethic
has reigned in Chinese political history to the point where Chinese rulers abuse
their power by barring any questions regarding their ethical behaviors, and some
Confucianists use ethics to justify their political power to rule over their
“inferior”. These are distortion and abuses to both Paul’s and Confucius’
understanding.
193
The Pauline language of predestination is not an eternal comprehensive
decree of God to discriminate between believers and unbelievers. It is, as I
interpreted above, a communal understanding of the goal of conforming to the
firstborn of creation. In other words, Jesus Christ does not simply represent
himself, an individual identity. Rather, Christ, as the “pre-horizon” of God’s
boundary of salvation, represents the corporate identity in which humanity will
be called to conform, be transformed, justified, and glorified the Great Harmony
(Datong) of God’s creation. The Son of God has the group identity of sons of
God. Paul’s theology emphasizes shared sonship. The designations of Jewish
and Gentile believers – “those who love God,” “saints,” “called,” “those God
foreknew, predestined, justified, gloried” – have the identity of solidarity of ren
ren.
I know Paul’s understandings of theology, Christology, ecclesiology is
communal. Yet I must confess that because of my formal training in biblical
studies in the West and my enculturation into the assumptions of modernity, I
am often tempted to read Paul with an individualistic perspective. Doing a
comparative study between Paul and Confucius helps me to overcome my bias.51
Confucius is helpful to my reading of Paul and vice versa. Confucius
understands a human as a social being with personal selfhood. Confucius says,
“Virtue does not exist in isolation; there must be neighbors” (Analects 4:25). “In
order to establish oneself, one helps others to establish themselves” (Analects
6:28). Confucius’ understanding of the socialization process is that one
authenticates one’s being, not by detaching from the world of human relations,
but by making sincere attempts to harmonize one’s relationship with others.
Similar language is used by Paul to speak of Christians being “pre-horizoned
and conformed to the likeness of God’s Son” (8:29). The participation in the
death and resurrection of Christ in Romans 5-6 speaks of a similar Christian
socialization process whereby Christians authenticate their beings by imitating
Christ.
Spiritual and Ethical Humanity

2. The intertextuality of the spiritual-ethical humanity in Pauline and and
Confucian societies:
The notion that Paul speaks only of theology and Confucius speaks only of
humanism is simply not true. They both speak of theological ethics of a
particular community, be that in Roman house churches or in ancient China. We
have seen that the Confucian understanding of being human is to live out the
mandate of heaven, to be ren ren (“loving persons”). To be ren ren is to be
courteous, diligent, loyal, brave, broad-minded, kind (Analects 13:19, 14:5,
51 See Yeo Khiok-khng, “Li and Jen (Torah and Spirit) in Romans”, What Has Jerusalem
to Do with Beijing? Biblical Interpretation from a Chinese Perspective (Harrisburg:
Trinity, 1998), Chap. 6.
194
17:6)––virtues that are to be actualized in public. To be a ren ren is to express
and to participate in the holy as a dimension of all truly human existence.
Fingarette writes, “Human life in its entirety finally appears as one vast,
spontaneous and Holy Rite: the community of man (humanity).”52 The human is
transformed by participation with others in communal ceremony. And that is the
mandate of heaven, that all may live in righteousness and orderliness in relation
to others as a society of sacredness. Many of these ethical teachings of
Confucius are helpful lenses for me to understand the ethical dimension of a
spiritual community in Romans.
Thus Paul advocates different factions of the Roman house-churches to
“welcome one another in Christ” (15:7) and to “greet one another with a holy
kiss” (16:16) despite their differences. People are called into the “fiduciary
community” (Confucian language) of sharing intentions, values, and meanings.
This fiduciary community of sharable values is the “beloved of God” (Rom 1:7,
9:25) community in Christ to whom the Jewish and Gentile Christians in Roman
house-churches belong. The fiduciary community advocated in the Analects
does not have the notion that all persons will always finally agree. On the
contrary, it is natural that diverse personalities will have differing visions of the
Way.53 Similarly, the “strong” and the “weak” in Romans are not encouraged to
be other than themselves as they must hold true to their own “measuring rod of
faith”. The singularly crucial point for both groups is “the continuous process of
symbolic exchange through the sharing of communally cherished values with
other selves”.54
This similar emphasis in Paul and Confucius is presupposed by their
social/communal understanding of human nature. In the Analects, for example,
the self is a center of relationships rather than the center of an isolatable
individual. The self is a dynamic, open organism which actively seeks human
community for wholeness of life and is transformed through the work of Christ.
In Romans 8, those God foreknows are the Christians, called into conformity to
the firstborn, also having a communal identity of God’s new creation. The group
is prior to individual; therefore Christ is prior to Christian.
Oneness of God and Violent Ideology

3. The intertextuality of Oneness of God (Heaven) in both Confucian and
Pauline ideals in the context of violent ideology and polytheism:
52 Herbert Fingarette, Confucius: The Secular as Sacred (New York: Harper and Row,
1972), p.17. Cf. Analects 3:17, 4:5, 6, 8.
53 Cf. Tu Wei-ming, Confucian Thought: Selfhood as Creative Transformation (New York:
State University Press, 1985), p.83.
54 Tu Wei-ming, Confucian Thought: Selfhood as Creative Transformation (New York:
State University Press, 1985), p.83.
195
Confucius’ preoccupation with political ethics has its “antireligious”
tendency (Analects 5:13, 6:22, 7:21, 11:12) because of the violence and
manipulation of “gods and ghosts”. Confucius is living in an age when
superstition dominates peoples’ lives, thus his rationalistic tendency is to
critique the archaic supernatural beliefs of the past. It is more accurate to
describe Confucius as “unreligious rather than irreligious”. His wisdom is to
advise people to keep an appropriate distance from spirits and earnestly attend to
ethical responsibility toward others (Analects 6:20). And Confucius has his own
religious life of praying and offering sacrifice (Analects 2:5, 3:13, 17, 7:34).
Confucian Tian is both the creator and the field of creatures. Confucius thinks
Tian is awesome and respected by all sages (Analects 16:8), Tian has intentions
(Analects 9:5, 3:24), and Tian possesses understanding (Analects 14:35, 9:12).
And more importantly, for Confucius, Tian is the source of moral power
(Analects 3:24, 7:23, 9:5, 8:19, 9:6,12, 11:9, 14:35). Confucius transfers the
tian-ming (“Mandate of Heaven”) from a highly political claim of the ruling
family to a universally appropriated one for all. That is, Confucius seeks to
popularize that elitist and political mandate of tian so that everyone can cultivate
virtues and bring about universal peace and prosperity. As for the rulers,
Confucius emphasizes that the sage-rulers are to be virtuous, providing an
example for others to follow, and thus bringing about renewal of the society.
Confucian ideals discussed here are good reminders to Christians that
preoccupation with eschatological hope without attending to ethical respon-
sibility to our neighbors is a weak faith. And religiosity without ethic can bring
about violence that is often sanctioned in the name of one’s god(s).
For Confucius, the social understanding of being human speaks of the
necessity of cultural pluralism but only within the boundary of cultured teaching
(wen, jiao) – that of li (ritual propriety), yue (music), and ren (love) and other
virtues. Confucianism will regard those who do not practice cultured teaching as
immature persons (xiao ren, literally means “little persons”) or barbarians (non-
Chinese). Similarly, the Pauline theology of the Oneness of God seems to pose a
comprehensive narrative that does not condone polytheism. This is a difficult
issue regarding the boundary of cultural and religious pluralism, and I will offer
my tentative reflections.
The Oneness of God and the impartiality of God go together, and
theologically they serve to respond to an inherent ideology of violence of the
dominant Roman Empire. The cultural problem of Romans 8 is the polytheistic
ideologies of patriarchy (in familial and societal structures), hierarchy (in
institutional power structures), imperialism (in Roman, Herodian and even
priestly politics), oppression (between the ruling elite and marginalized
peasants), and colonialism (in racial tension and immigration situations), which
resulted in violence – socially, politically and religiously.
196
The Roman ideology of polytheism and conquest is displayed in the
splintered nature of Roman house-churches, evident by the various boastings
(Rom 4:2, 11:18) of Jews and Gentiles. Paul argues that the will of God for
Jewish and Gentile Christians in Rome is the righteousness of God. How can the
Jew and the Gentile and the many factions within the Roman house churches
live in harmony? Based on the Oneness of God (Rom 3:30, 16:27, cf. 5:15-19)
of both Jews and Gentiles, Paul’s Christology in Romans 8 emphasizes the
sovereignty of God in creation; thus the narrative of Christ is evident in Paul’s
understanding of the salvation of Jews and Gentiles. The sovereign love of God
creates by means of Christ’s redemption, and the predestined Christ in loving
obedience is the divine plan of God’s creation and redemption of the world.
Christ as the eschatological Adam (new humanity) has saved the first Adam (old
humanity) from the bondages/slavery of sin, death, and cultural boastings.
Jews and Gentiles alike are addressed using the same terms (saints, those
who love God, firstborn, called, predestined), so the promise, inheritance, and
privilege of Israel are opened to all. The Adam Christology (Christ as the image
of God) is inclusive of all because all shared the sonship with Christ. The
Pauline answer is the Oneness of God, the impartiality of God, the righteousness
of God by means of grace.
This question of co-existence for humanity was also Confucius’ concern in
the splintered society of his days. Confucius answers the problem of ethnic
conflict, cultural deterioration, and moral confusion: “The person of humanity is
naturally at ease with humanity” (Analects 4:2). In a Chinese-Christian
terminology, the answer is that God’s Spirit (Rom 8:1) wills the faithful (all
God’s people) to become fully human in loving relationship with others (ren
ren), and the firstborn (Christ) makes it clear and possible for humanity to co-
exist based on the principle of grace and faith (trust) rather than on cultural
boasting. The power of God’s gospel is that it grants righteousness to all who
place their faith (trust) in Heaven. That faith and grace is concretely expressed in
our “faith” (trust) and “grace” towards one another.55
The conviction of Paul’s Christological predestination as the only plan of
God’s salvation could be exclusive and even hegemonic. Yet we see that the
subversion to and reversal of power overcomes the problem of exclusivism
similar to the Confucian ethic of virtue (de) as the prerequisite for a person to
become a ruler. If Christological predestination explains God’s interruption in
human history (as seen in the death and resurrection of the Christ-event), then
the Christ-event allows us to discern the meaning and intended goal of history.
Thus an analogical or metaphorical understanding of how God is at work in
Christ becomes a key hermeneutical tool. For God’s work is not limited by
55 A. R. C. Leaney, “Conformed to the Image of His Son (Rom. VIII. 29)”, New
Testament Studies 10 (1964), p.479.
197
culture and language, but God’s Spirit transcends culture and language while
working in them. In other words, just as I see Confucian ethics being practiced
in other societies, I also see how God-in-Christ is at work in other cultures and
traditions.
God’s involvement in history through his firstborn of creation is the
narrative and mythos of deciphering meaning out of chaos, redemption out of
violence in all societies. No matter how great the magnitude of violence and
destruction is in the final conflict of human history, the ren ren (full humanity in
loving others) and the Crucified God in his death as the firstborn do not accept
the “will to power” of any ideology: not the violence of the Pax Romana, the
murderous jealousy of Cain (Gen 4), or the Lion of Judah (Revelation). The ren
ren will rule by means of virtue and not physical force. Confucius’ political
ethics of de (virtue) has the drawing force of virtuous rulers guiding the nation
by means of his moral excellence, without exerting physical force. Analects 2:1
writes that “those who rule with de (moral force) are like the North Star that
seated in its place yet surrounded by multitude of stars”.
The Crucified God incarnated as the Lamb of God does not accept tragedy,
but establishes redemptive meaning. The resurrection confirms Abel’s and
Christ’s innocence. The voice of Abel, the “son of Man” was raised up to
heaven. Confucius may die without realizing his aspiration of finding a virtuous
ruler, yet his political ethic reigns in China for two millennia. Confucian de
(virtue) can be self-sacrificing, and the Cross is a “violent” event, but they do
not condone violence. The end of the crucified Christ was the beginning of new
life. “Christian eschatology follows this Christological pattern in all its personal,
historical and cosmic dimensions: in the end is the beginning.”56 There is hope
amid all historical ambiguities because God’s future transcends history and God
is the actor in history.
Confucius’ anthropological and moral ideals are grounded, and thus
legitimized, in the patriarchal kinship and ancestral cult. Thus, we see on one
hand, the moral vitality and cultural inclusiveness of Confucian vision of
national salvation; on the other hand, we see the rigidity of propriety and the
violence of pre-determinism. It is not a surprise to see that Confucius’
philosophy is a political and moral one, and that he is worshipped as an
“uncrowned king” and the greatest teacher. The irony is that at times his moral
philosophy seems unable to transform his assumptions regarding the political
reality and rigidity of tradition; thus the result is that many are taught to observe
their places and to maintain proprieties within the given culture.
The Confucian vision of national salvation for China is a noble one, and his
vision of retrieving the golden age in the Shang and Zhou dynasty can supple-
ment Paul’s eschatological emphasis. Unfortunately, Confucian retrieval of the
56 Jürgen Moltmann, The Way of Jesus Christ: Christology in Messianic Dimensions, M.

Kohl trans. (London: SCM, 1990), p.x.
198
golden age was often taken in a linear view of history. In the next point I will
discuss the Confucian view of time and that of Paul.
Paul’s and Confucius’ Understanding of Times

4. The intertextuality between Paul’s and Confucius’ understandings of time:
Confucius’ vision of the ideal regent is of an ethical but not a religious person,
largely because of his preoccupation with the society, and because of the
changes in worldview from the Shang to the Zhou: the new worldview empha-
sizes the here and now – a helpful critique of the preoccupation of the future in
Paul’s eschatological theology. The Chinese concept of time is cyclical, or
rather, a spiral of two interlocking sets of “heavenly stems” and the “earthly
branches”.57 Confucianists view history as moving in a spiral motion, unlike the
linear view of Paul. Confucianists have a dynamic understanding of time, unlike
the modern, scientific view that time is merely a linear progression of past,
present, and future – the past is taken to mean the passing of the present, future
is the prolongation of the present, and the present is the only possession one has.
Chinese seldom talk about absolute time but time associated with events –
dynamic time.58 In the Confucian process of production and reproduction, time
never comes to an end or repeats itself.
The linear view of time is too static; the cyclical view is too closed a
system. A synthesis of both views can be done if we understand the biblical
understanding of past, present, and future as not tenses but modes of existence
and aspects of action.59 In other words, God’s narrative in human historical time
is what predestined Christology is about. The present is our spontaneous and
continuous experience of the Holy despite our current historical ambiguity and
despair. The past refers to realized acts of God in history. The future is the
coming (advent or parousia) of the radically new creation of God assured by the
past and to be realized in the present. The manifest destiny of history through
Christ is God’s new creation towards wholeness. The dynamic understanding of
God’s working in history is not simply a linear or a cyclical but a spiral process.
Redemptive event can happen at kairotic (opportune, meaningful time), thus
repeating moments.
The traditional Confucian worldview believes in the constant flux of the
universe following a “predictable pattern consisting either of eternal oscillation
between two poles or of cyclical movement within a closed circuit. [So]... all
57 Ching, Mysticism and Kingship in China, p.210. The English translation of Mencius is
Ching’s.
58 See Thomé H. Fang, “The World and the Individual in Chinese Metaphysics”, in
Charles A. Moore ed., The Chinese Mind: Essentials of Chinese Philosophy and Culture
(Honolulu: University Press of Hawaii, 1967), p.240.
59 On especially the differentiation of future and advent as well as novum, see Moltmann,
The Way of Jesus Christ, pp.22-28.
199
movement serves in the end only to bring the process back to its starting
point.”60 However, in Paul’s view, historical events are dated backward to the
beginning of Creation, and the end of history is defined by Christ.
In Chinese history events are dated cyclically every sixty years or from the
rise of new emperors. And the dominant view in Chinese history is to look for a
golden age in the past – in other words, the circle of degeneration characterizes
Chinese history – and it is the circle of conscious cultivation of selves in
harmony with society or cosmos that will bring back the golden age.
For 5000 years or so, Confucius has reigned without a crown, yet his moral
philosophy is not subversive enough within the political culture to transform
Chinese society seeking the recovery of the golden age. Looking backward
without looking forward does not allow him to see the possibilities and hopes of
the future. The conservatism of looking to the past will provide some guidance,
but creativity in re-appropriating the past could bring about freedom and hope as
he would look to the future for openness and direction. Yao and Shun are
exemplary rulers, but only within the historical contexts and problems. The
notion of an uncrowned king may liberate the idea that kingship is not lineage
and all can become kings, since education and wisdom are not limited to or by
an elitist few. Yet, the question is whether the Confucian ideal of a philosopher-
sage becoming a king is a philosophical legitimization of the old kingship, or a
replacement of the old using a new paradigm of kingship.
Conclusion
I used to think Confucius and Paul were incommensurable (that probably is
still true if an intertextual reading is not used), but a cross-cultural reading of the
Pauline text and the Confucian texts has helped me understand that their
differences can complement each other. Confucius’ political context is a helpful
lens for me to reread the political power of Paul’s gospel mission – an ecclesial
space that will transform and replace the larger political space. Confucius’
ethical insights have led me to observe the communal problems faced in Romans
with regards to group behavior and identity. Paul’s theology of Christ clarifies
the personal and political salvation of the Chinese. Paul’s cross-cultural
sensitivity with Jewish and Gentile Christians helps me overcome the possible
ethnocentrism of working with mono-cultural texts such as that of the Analects,
the Mencius, and Romans. Lastly, Paul’s eschatological definition of the goal
(the end) of history from the future supplements my Confucianist retrieval
reading of history from the past golden age. The openness of the future will
surpass the past, the New Jerusalem will transcend the Garden of Eden, but
eschatology does not delete the golden age (e.g., Datong), just as future does not
discount history. My Chinese-Christian worldview now has stretched to include
60 Derk Bodde, Essays on Chinese Civilization (Princeton: Princeton University Press,

1981), p.239.
200
past, present, and future in the full spectrum of dynamic time. Despite the
recurring or spiral movement of dynamic time, it has a forward thrust towards
the creation of God’s people based on the incarnation of faith and grace. The
virtue of Christ and Christians is faithfulness and love and hope for the salvation
of humanity and the whole cosmos.
201
Reflection on Enlightenment:
A Proposal of the Focus of Sino-Christian Theology
LIN Hong-hsin
“Enlightenment” is a “term for the major intellectual and cultural movement of

the 18th century, characterized by a pronounced faith in the power of human
knowledge to solve basic problems of existence”.1 Most scholars agree that the
beginning of the Enlightenment could be traced back to 1680, but whether it
concluded in 1789 with the beginning of the French Revolution or passed
through the revolutionary and Napoleonic periods till 1815 or even latter than
1815 was still debatable.2 One thing is for sure that the period of Enlightenment
has covered the European area in the 18th century. The term “enlightenment”
comes from French “lumières”. It means illumination and inspiration. In
German “Aufklärung” means illustration and clarification. In this essay, I will
adopt the “Enlightenment” as a historical movement in Europe and “enlight-
enment” as the goal of the movement which seeks illumination and clarification,
but sometimes both are interchangeable.
Kant published “An Answer to the Question: What is Enlightenment?” in
Dec 1784, who defined the ideal of the Enlightenment as follows: “Enlight-
enment is humankind’s exit from its self-incurred immaturity”.3 Kant believes
that it is possible for mankind to use one’s own reason that only depends upon
one’s own resolution. “Immaturity is the inability to make use of one’s own
understanding without the guidance of another. Self-incurred is this inability if
its cause lies not in the lack of understanding but rather in the lack of resolution
and the courage to use it without the guidance of another.”4 Through such a
definition, Kant appeals to using one’s own reason bravely as a motto of the
Enlightenment shows, “Sapere aude”, that is to say, dare to know! However,
pursuing enlightenment is absolutely not the monopoly of the Enlightenment. It
is legitimate for any age to seek resolution and courage to use reason
independently in order to dare to know.
1 P. H. Reill & E. J. Wilson eds., Encyclopedia of the Enlightenment (New York: Facts On
File, 1996), p.131.
2 P. H. Reill & E. J. Wilson eds., Encyclopedia of the Enlightenment, p.131.
3 I. Kant, “An Answer to the Question: What is Enlightenment?”, in James Schmidt ed.,
What is Enlightenment (Berkeley: University of California, 1996), p.58.
4 I. Kant, “An Answer to the Question: What is Enlightenment?”, p.58.
203
Context of Sino-Christian Theology
In the current trend of thought of pursuing enlightenment in the modern China
there have been far more enthusiastic propagandists than theorists. That is to say,
the Voltairian figures outnumber the Kantian figures. But the Voltairian way of
enlightenment, which treats religions as superstitions, is only one possibility
among many. It is irrefutable that such a way has dominated the scenario of
modern China.
In 1915 Chen Duxiu (1879-1942), one of the three founders of Chinese
Communist Party, founded The Youth Magazine, which was renamed New
Yourth latter on, and led the movement of New Culture pursuing democracy and
science enthusiastically. The movement was very influential. Any critique
against feudalism and blindness was welcome everywhere. Independent thinking
became a sacred goal. In the first issue of The Youth Magazine Chen Duxiu says:
The superiority of Europe to others lies in the rise of science and the theories of human
right as well. It is just like that two wheels are indispensable for a cart. The modern time is
moving on day by day. Everything and every event have to resort to the principles of science
in order to define their rules. The end is that all thoughts and actions must definitely follow
reason and exclude superstition. All ignorance and inappropriate behaviors should be
terminated. If our people would like to catch the West and get rid of dark ages and superficial
5
culture, we should emphasize both science and human right.
Chen Duxiu has emphasized both science and human right (democracy) as
the indispensable two wheels of a cart by creating a slogan “Mr. D and Mr. S”.
Science is a synonym for reason here, because resorting to the principles of
science is the same as following reason. What has been enthusiastically expected
is all ignorance and inappropriate behaviors will be brought to an end. Chen
Duxiu’s expectation of enlightenment tends to be over optimistic, because the
flourishing development of science might mean high technology but not
necessarily pervasion of reason.
The Voltairian enlightenment intends to replace Christianity with Deism or
Atheism.6 Religion is dealt with as another name for superstition. Exalting
reason is the same as discarding religion. For instance, the then president of
Peking University Cai Yuanpei (1868-1940) appeals for the substitution of
religion with the aesthetic education. He thinks that “the origin of religion is
nothing other than the constitution of our own religious functions” and the issue
of religion in the West belongs to the past.7 He tries to internalize religion just
5 Chen Duxiu, “Jinggao Qingnian” (To the Youth), Zhongguo Jindai Qimeng Sichao
[Modern Trend of Enlightenment in China] vol. 2, Ding Shouhe ed. (Beijing: Sheke
Wenxian, 1999), pp.7-8.
6 Li Feng-ming, Fuertai [Voltaire] (Taipei: Dongda,1995), pp.77-123.
7 Cai Yuanpei, “Yi Meiyu Daiti Zongjiao” (Replacing Religion with Aesthetic Education),
204
like aesthetic feelings because the issue of religion has passed away. But from
his time up to now religion stands the long lasting none the less. It is not only
that the aesthetic education has not taken the place of religion at all, but also that
religions are booming up everywhere in the modern world. The issue of religion
does not pass away at all. Moreover, the global growth of Christianity in the 21st
century is going to reach her historical peak.8
There has been a blank of deep reflection on enlightenment. On the one
hand, during the great mass fervor of pursuing “Mr. D and Mr. S” promoted by
the New Cultural Movement, Chinese intellectuals tended to oversimplify
enlightenment. In the fact, to exit from human’s self-incurred immaturity is not
as easy as the slogan of “Mr. D and Mr. S” shows. On the other hand, Nietzsche
as a severe critic of the Enlightenment and a precursor of the post-modern
thinking has aroused the interests of many modern Chinese intellectuals who
tended to skip over enlightenment as something out of date. There has been a
great amount of literature about Nietzsche written by famous Chinese thinkers
and scholars who are fascinated by Nietzsche.9 In an essay I have written:
The reasons why there have been interests in Nietzsche in the modern China are multiple.
There is a need of transforming the loser image for Chinese through the superman philosophy
of Nietzsche; the critique of Nietzsche against Christianity is in accordance with the trend
against the West which has been represented by Christianity; the “God is dead” trend of
thought starting from Nietzsche is in resonance with the Chinese mentality against the
Western religion; and there is a longing for a colorful world of the philosophy of arts initiated
by Nietzsche.10
The neglect of reflection on enlightenment, no matter it is caused by

oversimplification or the interests in Nietzsche and the post-modern thinking,
implies a lack of solid ground for the construction of enlightenment.
Moreover, in this decade pursuing economic growth and modern technology
Zhongguo Jindai Qimeng Sichao [Modern Trend of Enlightenment in China] vol. 2,

p.303.
8 Philip Jenkins, The Next Christendom (New York: Oxford University Press, 2002).
9 Cheng Fang ed., Wo Kan Nicai – Zhongguo Xuezhe Jun Nicai 1949 Nian Qian [I See
Nietzsche: Chinese scholars on Nietzsche before 1949] (Nanjing: Nanjing University,
2000); Gao Yuanbao ed., Nicai zai Zhongguo [Nietzsche in China] (Shanghai: Sanlian,
2001); Jin Huimin and Xue Xiaoyuan eds., Pingshuo Chaoren: Nicai zai Zhongguo de
Bainian Jiedu [Comments on SupermanѧThe Interpretation of Nietzsche in China
Since 100 Years] (Beijing: Sheke Wenxian, 2001); Cheng Fang, Nicai zai Zhongguo
[Nietzsche in China] (Nanjng: Nanjing,1993) is the first study on the history of Chinese
reception of Nietzsche in the 20th century.
10 Lin Hong-Hsin, “Nicai de Yongheng Huigui zhongmoguan zhi Pingshu” (In Dialogue
with Nietzsche’s Eschatological View of the Eternal Recurrence), Logos and Pneuma 17
(2002), p.75.
205
have rapidly transformed China from a pre-modern society into a modern
society which is moving on to the post-modern scene. If the reflection on
enlightenment is still in short, there will be a terrible blank for the ground of a
modern society. The result is that the basic structure of such a changing
society will be unstable.
While we turn back to those who are interested in enlightenment, it is
noteworthy that those who pursue enlightenment superficially could bring forth
another disaster. It is not unusual to see that an enlightener turns out to be an
anti-enlightener very fast. Those who pursue enlightenment need to reflect on
enlightenment in depth in order to prevent from becoming an obstacle of
enlightenment. We must say that the superficial enlightenment is the enemy of
Chinese enlightenment just like the feudal tradition. In this essay, we will first
explore “irony of enlightenment” and “regression of enlightenment” in order to
deepen the understanding of enlightenment and refrain from repeating the same
mistake. And then we will propose Sino-Christian theology to focus on
“enlightenment”. Pursuing enlightenment blindly in a way of ignoring religion
will be trapped into anti-enlightenment. On the contrary, with the reflection on
enlightenment offered by religious reference may help promoting enlightenment
in a healthy way.
Irony of Enlightenment
American historian Carl L. Becker (1873-1945) published his serial lectures
in1932 as Heavenly City of the Eighteenth-Century Philosophers.11 The subject
of this book is very startling as he maintains: “And yet I think the Philosophes
(philosophers) were nearer to the Medieval ages, less emancipated from the
preconceptions of medieval Christian thought, than they quite realized or we
have commonly supposed.”12 The reason is that, “passionate faith and an expert
rationalism are apt to be united”.13 While adopting reason in a very enthusiastic
way, it is more like a faith rather than rationalism. The problem is that those who
claim to be rational and are opposed against faith in an enthusiastically way are
not aware of that they are constructing another faith by destroying the old
simultaneously. In his words: “But, if we examine the foundations of their faith,
we find that at every turn the Philosophes betray their debt to medieval thought
without being aware of it.”14
The main idea of Augustine’s The City of God has been adopted as the title
of the book. Like the city of God, heavenly city is the perfection of all beautiful
ideals and wishes. Ironically, the Philosophes of 18th century are very rational
11 Carl L. Becker, Heavenly City of the Eighteenth-Century Philosophers (New Haven:

Yale University Press, 1932).
12 Carl L. Becker, Heavenly City of the Eighteenth-Century Philosophers, p.29.
206
and objective in their outlooks, yet in the fact they are constructing their own
heavenly city in a very irrational and subjective way.
Old Men in New Clothes

In the general perception, the 18th century is a rational age which has kept
distance from the middle ages which emphasize the traditional authority and are
filled with superstitions. The Philosophes are thinkers of this rational age of
enlightenment. They are supposed to be the model of independent thinking with
reason. But Becker questions that whether they are actually the medieval old
men only dressing in the new clothes of enlightenment.
According to the observation of Becker, what really decisive for ways of
thinking are not reasoning and logic, but rather, the “climate of opinion” which
he has adopted from Whitehead.15 The “climate of opinion” of the 18th century
as the trend of thinking drove the Philosophers to pursue to be rational very
enthusiastically. Ironically, the end of that age is the irrational and aimless
destruction of Citizen Robespierre during the French Revolution. “We can watch
this enthusiasm, this passion for liberty and justice, for truth and humanity, rise
and sire throughout the century until it becomes a delirium.”16
Becker thinks that it comes close to the truth by saying that the Philosophers
of 18th century have developed their own beliefs rather than put heavy weight on
reason. One of theirs beliefs is the worship of nature and natural law.17 They
have adopted the scientific discoveries of the 17th century in order to set up the
foundation of their own belief.18 They believe that nature functions precisely
like a machine and natural law has taken the place of medieval God. Human
beings should live with nature harmoniously just like that in the medieval times
human beings seek to live together with God harmoniously.19 Since both human
and nature are created by God and human beings are a part of nature, the human
thinking and behaviors should be in harmony with the rules of nature.
But while facing the difficulty that human customs are not always in
harmony with the rules of nature, those rational Philosophers turns out to be
irrational by denying any disharmony. “No doubt the difficulty could be avoided
by declaring that there was no disharmony.”20 In fact, it is impossible that any
difficulty will disappear only by neglecting it. The result is the rise of
dogmatism.
Academic Works with Predetermined Conclusions

19 Carl L. Becker, Heavenly City of the Eighteenth-Century Philosophers, pp.63-64.
207
In addition to their worship of nature and natural law, the Philosophers of the
18th century construct “new history” as a view of history with a heavy value
judgment. They believe that the modern time is far better than the past, so they
want to get away from the past in order to get into the brand new era. Therefore
they are not interested at all in the consecutiveness of history, but rather
presuppose the common principles of human nature.21
Behind their presuppositions there is a deep psychological factor, namely
the ambition to pursue the actions which change the world. “The reason is that
the eighteenth-century Philosophers were not primarily interested in stabilizing
society, but in changing it.”22 What interests them is not the historical fact of the
past, but rather the future development from now on.23 To this end, the so-called
“rational” thinkers are not interested in any fact more than effectual profits
according to their belief. Now the objective rationality has been put away into
the corner.
Ironically, the Philosophers have hold on a set of knowledge, just like those
whom they are opposed to, namely the medieval scholastic scholars who hold on
the revealed knowledge.24 Such a way of thinking with preconceptions has
enabled them to get what they want from history without respecting historical
facts. Their academic works of historical studies are running after predetermined
conclusions even at the expense of falsifying history. According to the value
system of “new history”, right or wrong can be finally judged. “This was the
function of the new history: to make that distinction, which abstract reason was
unable to make, between the naturally good and the naturally bad, between the
customs that were suited and those that were unsuited to man’s nature.”25 The
point is not to explore the historical past, but rather that how the ground of
judgment can be derived from the historical past. If it cannot be found, then it
can be made. In this sense, historical studies are nothing other than the service
for a religion, namely the religion of enlightenment.
The problem of the Philosophers lies in their self-direction and self-
performance. There is no distinction between their wishes and the rules of
historical development. They firmly believe in the general principles. They
believe that the general human nature is good, and it is very easy to be
enlightened and to follow reason and common sense.26 Under such a mask of
the rules of historical development, their wishes look like very rational and
objective. Becker sharply points out that the Philosophers are self-deceiving
unconsciously. “They do not know that the ‘man in general’ they are looking

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for is just their own image, that the principles they are bound to find are the
very ones they start out with. This is the trick they play on the dead.”27
Becker mocks at their historical studies as a trick play on the past. They
project their own images as the ideal images and their own principles as ideal
principles.
Religion of Enlightenment
Becker has called the belief of the Philosophers as a religion of enlightenment,
or a humanitarian religion of the 18th century, because it is a religion which
esteems human beings as the highest standard. However, it looks like more a
religion than a philosophy. Such a religion is an earthly religion. “The new
heaven had to be located somewhere within the confines of the earthly life, since
it was an article of philosophical faith that the end of life is life itself, the
perfected temporal life of a man; and in the future, since the temporal life was
not yet perfected.”28 According to the religion of enlightenment, the heavenly
city is located on the earth. The key words are “temporal life” and “future
perfection”. Though humankind has not yet been perfected, yet it is its own
savior. With the human endeavor and progress, perfection will definitely come.
That the belief of the Philosophers, who accuse religions of superstitions,
has been termed as a religion of enlightenment is itself an irony. The
eschatological hope of such a religion is that “posterity would complete what
the past and the present had begun”. 29 The Philosophers believe that the
completion of the heavenly city lies in the hands of posterity. Because the
coming ages will be far better than now, the Philosophers are capable of
overcoming the dissatisfaction of the contemporary state with an optimistic
attitude. “It is an optimism projected into the future, sustained by the
conviction that what is wrong now will shortly be set right.”30 In other words,
the future becomes God. “It replaced God as judge and justifier of those
virtuous and enlightened ones who were not of this world.” 31 Thus the
Philosophers are pilgrims who wait and hope for the future which will justify
them as correct and righteous.
From the perspective of the religion of enlightenment, there was similarity
between the Enlightenment and the French Revolution. Becker noted that De
Tocqueville had regarded the French Revolution as a “political revolution which
functioned in the manner and which took on in some sense the aspect of a
religious revolution”.32 It was not only a political revolution, but a political

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revolution carried out in a religious way. This new religion is a humanitarian
religion; its dogmas are liberty and equality as the sacred doctrines of the
Revolution; its worship is the civic festival; its saints are the heroes and martyrs
of liberty.33
Becker applies the observation of De Tocqueville further into the rise of
communism. “Like the eighteenth-century religion of humanity, the communist
faith was founded on the laws of nature as revealed by science.”34 Corres-
ponding to the faith of the French Revolution, the communist faith claims to be
the truth itself. “The new faith, like the old, looks to the past and to the future;
like the old, it sees in the past a persistent conflict, and in the future a millennial
state.”35 Becker observes the Russian Revolution, which is stepping into the
historical stages, in a similar way: its dogmas are the theories of Marx
interpreted by Lenin; its festivals are the days of the Revolution; its saints are
the heroes and martyrs of the communist faith; its icons are the portraits of
Lenin; it pilgrimage is a road to Lenin’s tomb.36
Repetition of History
In the last paragraph of Heavenly City of the Eighteenth-Century Philosopher,
Becker sighs with emotion by pessimistically pointing out.
If that should by any chance be what fortune has in store for us, it is not too
fanciful to suppose that “posterity”, in the year 2032, will be celebrating the
events of November, 1917, as a happy turning point in the history of human
freedom, much as we celebrate the events of July, 1789. What then, are we to
think of all these “great days”, these intimations of utopia?37
Though a hundred years is a long time, yet human beings always repeat the
same story. While reviewing the October Revolution of 1917 in 2032, i.e. one
hundred years after publishing Heavenly City of the Eighteenth-Century
Philosophers, it is probably like reviewing the French Revolution of 1789 in 1932.
The October Revolution of 1917 could be as great as the French Revolution of
1789, and the former could also be as tragic as the latter. On the one hand, it is a
great epoch-making event. On the other hand, it is more or less only a repetition
of human history. Notwithstanding that it takes a long time for us to learn
something from history, Becker quotes Marcus Aurelius, “the man of forty years,
if he has a grain of sense, in view of this sameness has seen all that has been and
shall be?”38 What Becker strongly suggested was, the October Revolution of
1917 would probably be only another repetition of human history and therefore

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unable to lead to perfection. The collapse of Soviet Empire has proved his
presentiment.39
Summary
Revolutionists become anti-revolutionists. Such an irony of revolution can be
proved by many historians. But enlighteners become anti-enlighteners that has
been easily ignored. Since the New Cultural Movement which appealed to
enlightenment, have we really been enlightened?40
Regression of Enlightenment
The Frankfurt School based upon the Institute for Social Research of the
University of Frankfurt since 1929 is very unique among those who criticize
against the Enlightenment. According to the tradition of Marx they have
severely criticized the Enlightenment, yet not without a hope for enlightenment
itself. One of the best examples is Dialectic of Enlightenment co-authored by M.
Horkheimer and Th. W. Adorno, the founder and the second major figure of the
Frankfurt School.41 The opening words of the book point out a paradox: “the
Enlightenment has always aimed at liberating men from fear and establishing
their sovereignty. Yet the fully enlightened earth radiates disaster triumphant.”42
According to the definition of Kant that the Enlightenment seeks to
overcome humankind’s self-incurred immaturity and use one’s own reason
independently, it is necessary to get rid of fear which keeps human beings from
being masters. Originally the Enlightenment was to get human beings free from
fear in order to be masters, but on the contrary the result was a disaster of new
enslavement caused by technology. From liberation into enslavement is itself a
paradox. Horkheimer and Adorno claim that the Enlightenment has not
succeeded yet.
Self-destruction
It states in the introduction: “It turned out, in fact, that we had set ourselves
nothing less than the discovery of why mankind, instead of entering into a truly
human condition, is sinking into a new kind of barbarism.” 43 To the surprise of
most people, the Enlightenment does not bring into civilized human condition,
39 The former President of Soviet Union Gorbachev announced his resignation on Dec 25,
1991. His power was taken over by Yeltsin as Russia’s first post-Soviet president, and
then Soviet Union as a sovereign state was terminated as well.
40 Lin Hong-Hsin, “Are we really enlightened?”, ISCS Newsletter, 2004/2.
41 Horkheimer & Th. W. Adorno, Dialectic of Enlightenment (New York: Continuum,
1990). See also the original German edition: Horkheimer & Th.W. Adorno, Dialektik
der Aufklaerung.Philosophische Fragmente (Frankfurt am Main: Fischer Taschenbuch,
1971).
42 Horkheimer & Th.W. Adorno, Dialectic of Enlightenment, p.3.
43 Horkheimer & Th.W. Adorno, Dialectic of Enlightenment, p.xi.
211
but rather retreat back to barbarism. The problem lies in that “we still trusted too
much in the modern consciousness”.44 In other words, the difficulties of the
modern ago which has been shaped by the Enlightenment are caused by the
modernity itself. The Enlightenment, which is supposed to be progressive yet
becomes regressive, is itself the cause of difficulties.
Both Horkheimer and Adorno have realized that the difficulties caused by
the Enlightenment are first of all the self-destruction of enlightenment. During
the development of the Enlightenment, it “already contains the seed of the
reversal universally apparent today”. 45 None the less both Horkheimer and
Adorno emphasize the idea of enlightenment. They suggest, “If enlightenment
does not accommodate reflection on this recidivist element, then it seals its own
fate.”46 They expect that through real enlightenment all the difficulties will be
exposed and solved. The key to solving difficulties caused by the Enlightenment
lies in enlightenment itself.
Retreat into Mythology

According to Dialectic of Enlightenment, the understanding of “the prime cause
of the retreat from enlightenment into mythology is not to be sought so much in
the nationalist, pagan and other modern mythologies manufactured precisely in
order to contrive such a reversal, but in the Enlightenment itself when paralyzed
by fear of the truth.”47 In a word, the cause of the regression of Enlightenment
lies not in the factors outside the enlightenment, but rather inside the enlighten-
ment. It is not that mythology pushes enlightenment into reversal, but that
enlightenment itself retreats into mythology.
In contrast to what the Enlightenment criticize, namely traditional society
which is filled with various myths, both Horkheimer and Adorno criticize that
while the Enlightenment resolves the mythical world, it constructs another new
mythical world. “In advance, the Enlightenment recognizes as being and
occurrence only what can be apprehended in unity (Einheit): its ideal is the
system from which all and everything follows.” “Unity” is a keyword of the
ideal of the Enlightenment which pursues unification. “System” is another
keyword which produces unity. The point is that the spirit of the Enlightenment
intends to include everything into a unified system in order to produce unity for
the convenience of scientific calculation, experiment and understanding. The
unified power of the technical world has created another mythical world which
is capable of absorbing everything into its system. The result is that the old
mythical world has gone away, but another new mythical world has been built
up.
44 Horkheimer & Th.W. Adorno, Dialectic of Enlightenment, p.xi.

45 Horkheimer & Th.W. Adorno, Dialectic of Enlightenment, p.xiii.
46 Horkheimer & Th.W. Adorno, Dialectic of Enlightenment, p.xiii.
47 Horkheimer & Th.W. Adorno, Dialectic of Enlightenment, pp.xiii-xiv.
212
The Enlightenment intends to resolve the mythical world, but it shapes a
new mythology through technology and constructs a new mythical world. The
end is that nature has been dealt with by technology simply as an object just like
an object in the laboratory. As a unified object, nature is therefore alienated and
estranged from human beings. Finally, everything in the cosmos will be
absorbed into the technological system. In the past, the ancient people dealt with
nature by witchcraft and everything in the cosmos was absorbed into the
mythical system. In the present, the modern people deal with nature by techno-
logy and everything in the cosmos is absorbed into another mythical system.
Mythological Heroes
The Enlightenment has not only formed a new myth of unification, but also
shaped new mythological heroes who conquer the whole world. The scientists
are especially the heroes among heroes. With the memory of being persecuted
by Nazi regime, both Horkheimer and Adorno write:
Enlightenment behaves toward things as a dictator toward men. He knows them in so far
as he can manipulate them. The man of science knows things in so far as he can make them.
In this way their potentiality is turned to his own ends (Dadurch wird ihr Ansich für ihn,
48
through this, things are settled down in their own ways for him).
Just like a dictator knows people in so far as he can manipulate them, a

scientist knows things in order to use them to manufacture something. The
relation between the manufacturer and the manufactured is as far and alienated
as the manipulator and the manipulated. A dictator intends to locate every one
into a system according to his will, and a scientist intends to locate everything
into a system according to the scientific principles. Consequently, a dictator
dominates people, and a scientist dominates things. While everything has been
absorbed into the technological system, human beings are certainly no
exemption.
The Enlightenment has brought into a new spirit of dictatorship. The
modern scientists intend to locate everything into a scientific system in a similar
way that the antique people intend to locate everything into a mythological
system. The modern scientists are even harsher than the traditional dictators in
terms that they want to control everything in every way. What they really want is
to define everything precisely. In the ancient time, there was alienation of human
beings from nature caused by the taboos of a mythical world. Do the modern
people escape from living in alienation caused by the new taboos of a new
mythical world?
48 Horkheimer & Th.W. Adorno, Dialectic of Enlightenment, p.9. Translation modified.
213
Logic of Dialectical Thinking
Totally speaking, the logic of the critique of Horkheimer and Adorno against the
Enlightenment is as follows:
Raised and Swollen Subjectivity

Ш Mythical World
Forced Identity into a Unified System

Ш Mythical System
Control, Utilization of and Therefore Alienation from Nature

Ш Mythical Taboos
First, the raised human subjectivity by the Enlightenment has swollen itself
further in a way that mythological heroes dominate the whole world. The result
is a retreat into the mythical world before the Enlightenment. Second,
technology brought in by the Enlightenment has enforced unification by
absorbing everything into a technological system. The result is a retreat into the
mythical system before the Enlightenment. Third, the intention to control and
utilize everything has alienated human beings from nature. The result is a retreat
into the mythical taboos before the Enlightenment.
Solution
According to Kant, “Enlightenment is humankind’s exist from its self-incurred
immaturity.” But the problems caused by the Enlightenment have made mankind
back into immaturity in terms of submitting to a technological system, being
incapable of making use of one’s own reason and lacking resolution and the
courage to use reason. While facing the problems caused by the Enlightenment
both Horkheimer and Adorno expect that the principle of enlightenment will
solve the problems none the less. “It (enlightenment) comes into its own only
when it surrenders the last remaining concordance with the latter (enemy of
enlightenment) and dares to transcend the false absolute, the principle of blind
dominations. The spirit of this kind of unrelenting theory would turn even the
mind of relentless progress to its end.”49
Both Horkheimer and Adorno expect that the principle of enlightenment
should be carried out thoroughly, then human beings will be totally liberated
from fear and establish their sovereignty. They contend that we should never
give way to the new enslavement by insisting on criticizing the absolutization of
technology. Only when the principle of enlightenment has been carried out
49 Horkheimer & Th.W. Adorno, Dialectic of Enlightenment, p.42.
214
thoroughly without any compromise, the problems will be solved. This is the
heavy dose of medication prescribed by Horkheimer and Adorno who believe
that “the spirit of this kind of unrelenting theory would turn even the mind of
relentless progress to its end.”
Summary
The regress of the Enlightenment is a terrible development of history, which is
supposed to exist from self-incurred immaturity but actually retreats into another
self-incurred immaturity. Technology brought in by the Enlightenment is
enforcing unification universally through absorbing everything into a
technological system. Moreover, while technology cooperates with commercial
activities, every person is absorbed into a commercial system. The ideal of the
Enlightenment to control and utilize everything has alienated human beings
from nature. Moreover, the exploited and polluted nature is fighting back against
human beings through poisoning and disasters. It is for sure that enlightenment
has an ability of self-destruction, but is it also for sure that it has an ability to
discover and solve the problems caused by itself?
Proposed Focus of Sino-Christian Theology

The Philosophers of 18th century are old men dressing in new clothes in the
sense that they want to break off the absolute authority of tradition but actually
they build up the absolute authority of reason instead. They want to abolish the
intolerance by tradition, but they establish the intolerance by reason. Those
rational Philosophers become irrational while reconciling the conflict between
the objective fact and their belief by declaring that there is no disharmony at all
and doing academic works with predetermined conclusions. They would rather
reconstruct history in order to adapt to their own belief.
While the Enlightenment which criticizes religion as superstition turns out
to be a religion of enlightenment, such an ironical repetition of history reminds
us of the limitation of human beings. That those who seek enlightenment
become anti-enlighteners shows how slow the human growth in the history is.
While considering the context of Sino-Christian theology, which is mixed up
with the pre-modern, modern and post-modern contexts, Sino-Christian theology
should pay attention to how to be enlightened.
The Philosophers of 18th century look like rational and objective, but they
build up their own heavenly city irrationally and subjectively. In its Sino-context
of the 21st century Sino-Christian theology should pay attention to whether those
which are rational and objective in outlooks are really so. Will we repeat the
same mistake like the Philosophers of 18th century? Will we adopt the method of
denying any difficulty in the Sino-context of the 21st century as well? So long as
the Philosophers of 18th century are medieval old men dressing in new clothes,
Sino-Christian theology should be concerned about whether the Sino-intell-
215
ectuals of the 21st century are feudalistic old men dressing in new clothes as
well. Inasmuch as the Philosophers of 18th century do the academic works with
predetermined conclusions, Sino-Christian theology should be concerned about
whether the Sino-intellectuals of the 21st century take self-image as the ideal
image and their own principles as the ideal principles. Since the Philosophers of
18th century prove that history repeats itself, Sino-Christian theology should be
concerned about whether the history of 21st century in the Sino-context is
another repetition of human history.
Both Horkheimer and Adorno have pointed out that the Enlightenment
intends to get human beings free from fear and make them masters, but on the
contrary it brings in the new enslavement of technology. Whenever human
beings become the dictators of the world through technology, human beings fall
into the state of being dominated by technology. Whenever commerce cooper-
ates with technology, there is no chance for anyone to escape from the fate of
being dominated. While facing the problems caused by the Enlightenment, both
Horkheimer and Adorno insist that the principle of enlightenment will solve all
those problems. But we must ask, whether such an expectation of enlightenment
is too optimistic? While the main problem caused by the Enlightenment is the
self-destruction of enlightenment, how is it possible for the trouble makers to
become the solvers of the trouble? Above all, while human beings have been
raised to an extent as absolute subjects, how can human beings get involved into
the problems caused by human beings without making a dilemma that the
involvement of human beings is itself a way of raising human subjectivity
further? It is crucial that Sino-Christian theology should offer a reference which
is capable of overcoming such a dilemma.
Therefore, Sino-Christian theology should take the issue of enlightenment
as a main focus in order to prevent from a blank of the ground of modern society
in the Sino-context. Through our discussion of the irony of enlightenment and
the regression of enlightenment we have seen that the problem-solver can be the
problem-maker and there has been always a temptation for enlighteners to
become anti-enlighteners. The key lies in whether there is a reference to surpass
such a paradox. Sino-Christian theology should seek a reference from the
perspective of Christianity to reflect upon enlightenment in depth in order to
promote enlightenment in a healthy way.
Examining the Ground of Reason

From the perspective of theological reflection, when the Philosophers of 18th
century rely upon reason and treat religions as superstitions, they neglect that
even reason itself needs a ground such as basic belief which is similar to religion.
Karl Barth (1886-1968) holds that “there is no philosophy that is not to some
216
extent also theology”.50 The reason is that “there is no man who does not have
his own god or gods as the object of his highest desire and trust, or as the basis
of his deepest loyalty and commitment. There is no one who is not to this extent
also a theologian.”51 Barth’s view can be applied into those who deny the
divinity, because they “would in practice merely consist in transferring an
identical dignity and function to another object”,52 no matter it is “nature”,
“creativity”, “an unconscious and amorphous will to life”, “reason”, “progress”,
or “a redeeming nothingness”, “even such apparently ‘godless’ ideologies are
theologies”.53 In other words, it is impossible to deny something ultimately
without claiming some other things ultimately instead.
In a similar way, Paul Tillich (1886-1965) claims that “every creative
philosopher is a hidden theologian (sometimes even a declared theologian)”.54
From the perspective of ultimate concern,55 every philosopher has his own
ultimate pursuit and commitment. In this sense, there is no difference for a
philosopher from a theologian. That is to say, in the aspect of ultimate pursuit
and commitment, those who claim to be atheists acknowledge the existence of a
certain “god”. Accordingly, there are no absolute atheists except those who deny
one god or some gods. In the absolute sense, there are no atheists who are
ultimately concerned. To the end, reason itself is not ultimate but rather has its
own ground. Sino-Christian theology should inquire about what is the ground of
reason.
If we want to exit from our self-incurred immaturity, it is necessary to be
aware of where reason is standing upon. With this regard H.-G. Gadamer
(1900-2002) has done a great contribution to the ground of reason. Gadamer has
taken “Prejudice” (Vorurteil, it is better understood as “pre-understanding”) as a
starting point of understanding. From this perspective he has shown that the
prejudice of Enlightenment is an intention to be opposed against all prejudice by
rejecting all authority and cutting off its ties with tradition. But the blindness of
Enlightenment lies in its prejudice against all prejudices. Whenever one is aware
of its own prejudice, it is not easy to be misguided by its prejudice. But
whenever one is unaware of its own prejudice, it is highly possible to be guided
by its own prejudice unconsciously.
50 Karl Barth, Evangelical Theology: An Introduction (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1980),

p.3.
51 Karl Barth, Evangelical Theology: An Introduction, p.3.
52 Karl Barth, Evangelical Theology: An Introduction, p.3.
53 Karl Barth, Evangelical Theology: An Introduction, pp.3-4.
54 Paul Tillich, Systematic Theology, vol.1 (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press,
1951), p.25.
55 Tillich has taken “Ultimate Concern” as an abstract translation of Mk 12.29. See: P.
Tillich, Systematic Theology, vol. 1 (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1951),
p.12: “The object of theology is what concerns us ultimately.” “Our ultimate concern is
that which determines our being or not-being.”
217
Although Gadamer has mainly adopted the neutral meaning of “prejudice”
(Vorurteil) as pre-understanding, yet it implies a negative meaning like “bias”.
Owing to such a double meaning, sometimes it tends to be ironical as he says,
“The overcoming of all prejudices, this global demand of the enlightenment,
will itself prove to be a prejudice, and removing it opens the way to an
appropriate understanding of the finitude which dominates not only our
humanity but also our historical consciousness.” 56 In a word, the greatest
prejudice of the Enlightenment is to be confident of its own ability to get rid of
all prejudices. This implies that the bias of the Enlightenment is the unawareness
of its own prejudice. Removing such a bias is necessary for soundly developing
the ideal of enlightenment.
2. Examining the Limitation of Reason

Contemporary French philosopher Edgar Morin (1921-) contends that there are
two characters of reason, “rationalization” and “rationality”: One is the cons-
tructive nature, and another is the critical nature.57 The former is to construct
according to rational judgment, and the latter is to destroy according to rational
judgment. From such a perspective, the function of reason in the middle ages
relies upon religion in terms that the constructing reason builds up what religion
needs and allows on the one hand, and the critical reason destructs what is not in
accordance with religion on the other hand. The result is that reason functions as
a defending mechanism through rationalization by “maintaining the consistency
of logic of one’s own system at the expense of paralyzing the critical function
and the dialogue with the real world”.58
Both “rationalization” and “rationality” come from the same source of
reason. But the two show totally different characters. The former excludes all
those which are different from one’s own view and the latter adopts a tolerant
attitude to those which are incomprehensible. On the one hand, “rationalization”
has its predetermined conclusions, so reason is actually following those conclu-
sions. On the other hand, “rationality” allows an open attitude and reason is
following rational principles. In fact it is difficult to make a distinction between
the both, because it is difficult to discern rational principles from predetermined
conclusions. In many cases we may see that the way of rationalization is
superior to the way of rationality. This has exposed the weakness of reason.
The problem of the Philosophers of 18th century lies in a confusion of
rationality with rationalization. For instance, both Voltaire and Diderot appeal to
56 H.-G. Gadamer, Truth and Method (New York: Crossroad, 1992), p.276. Cf. H.-G.
Gadamer, Wahrheit und Methode (Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1986), p.280.
57 Edgar Morin, Penser l'Europe (Paris: Gallimard, 1990). The only available for this essay
is the Chinese edition, Fasi Ouzhou [Reflection on Europe] (Beijing: Sanlian, 2005),
p.49.
58 Edgar Morin, Fasi Ouzhou, p.49.
218
reason and tolerance, but they would harshly impugn those which are
inexplicable to them as “irrational” in a very negative sense.59 The point is that,
“Reason is not only the source of critical thinking, but also the source of
producing myth.”60 It is not unusual to see that whenever reason criticizes myth
and religion there are myth and religion produced by reason. “Whenever reason
regards as the moment of defeating myth and religion, myth and reason
parasitize reason itself and occupy it.”61 The moment whenever reason turns to
a new myth and religion is always a moment turning from tolerance to
intolerance. Therefore, Morin contends that it is necessary to delineate the
limitation of reason and to develop dialogues with those who are different from
us, including the “irrational”, the “irrationalization” and “myths which are
seemingly born to be riddles”.62
The Philosophers of the 18th century intend to criticize myth, religion and
autocracy and construct a system of examination by reason. But it is ironical that
reason itself is exempt from any examination.
The blindness of the enlightenment philosophers lies in regarding myth and
religion as falsehood, superstition and deception by excluding all the real and
deep connections of myth and religion. It is owing to the blindness against myth
reason creates its own myth inside itself such as the myth of rational order. Thus
reason identifies itself with the truth. This is a road leads to playing God. The
end is that the deification of reason leads to insanity.63
Whenever reason regards itself as limitless, it is a moment of deifying itself.
The Enlightenment demands that reason is the only authority above all. “In
general, the Enlightenment tends to accept no authority and to decide everything
before the judgment seat of reason.” 64 While calling every authority into
question, reason regards itself as the highest authority as if it can be separated
from historical tradition. But this has reflected an irrational attitude for blindly
following the authority of reason which is exempt from any examination.
In fact, reason itself is not limitless at all because it is rooted in the temporal
and spatial situation. In Gadamer’s words, “the idea of an absolute reason is not
a possibility for historical humanity.”65 The real human beings exist only in the
temporal and spatial contexts of history, so is reason of human beings not
beyond them. “Reason exists for us only in concrete, historical terms.”66 In this
sense, reason is not self-sufficient at all, and “it is not its own master but remains
59 Edgar Morin, Fasi Ouzhou, pp.51-52.

64 H.-G. Gadamer, Truth and Method (New York: Crossroad, 1992), p.272.
65 H.-G. Gadamer, Truth and Method, p.276.
219
constantly dependent on the given circumstances in which it operates.” 67
Reason is not its own master in terms that it is shaped in the historical context. It
is impossible for reason to interrogate the historical tradition as if it is standing
on a position beyond the historical tradition. Sino- Christian theology should
examine the authority and limitation of reason from the perspective of
presupposition and pre-understanding with religion as a reference.
Examining the Limitation of the Agent of Reason

In addition to examining the validity of reason, Sino-Christian theology should
examine the agent of reason as well, because the agent of reason is connected to
reason itself and the way to use reason. Since Kant would say that dare to know
in order to be mature, it might cause a misperception that while making rational
judgments the agent of reason is independent of history and exempt from any
examination. With regard to this, Gadamer says, “In fact history does not belong
to us; we belong to it.”68 History is not something belongs to human beings, but
rather, it is presented by all human beings. In this sense, human beings live in
history and therefore belong to history rather than go beyond it. “Real historical
thinking must take account of its own historicity.”69 Human beings are those
who live in history and think about history. But we must notice that even the
action of thinking about history itself happens in history.
Jürgen Habermas is dissatisfied with Gadamer’s position that reason “is not
its own master but remains constantly dependent on the given circumstances in
which it operates”. For Habermas, the stand of Gadamer has not been carried out
thoroughly enough, because reason has been founded upon a narrow and close
ego only operates in the given circumstances. Habermas contends that reason
has been shaped during the process of communication in the changing context.
That is to say, the agent of reason has been put into a living context of
communication. He criticizes that Gadamer does not realize the power of
reflection in the process of understanding which should not be overshadowed by
the phantom of autonomy and separated from its changing context. 70 For
Habermas, the agent of reason is not an idealistic ego, but rather shaped in the
changing context and it can be realized only by the power of reflection. He
believes that whenever such a reflection is applied, it will not be confined by
any form of dogmatism.
Both Gadamer and Habermas are against the radical enlighteners who have
absolutized reason. Gadamer emphasizes that reason is not self-sufficient but
rather dependent upon the given contexts. But Habermas places emphasis on the
influence of changing contexts upon the agent of reason, because he has sensed

70 Jürgen Habermas, On the Logic of the Social Sciences (Cambridge: MIT, 1988), p.168.
220
a certain residue of Idealism in Gadamer. Both thinkers have been aware of the
limitation of human beings. While facing the position of Enlightenment of
putting everything before the judgment seat of reason, Gadamer emphasizes the
possibility of recognizing the authority of tradition through rational judgment.
This is owing to a limitation of human beings, for tradition is prior to the
existence of human beings in many ways. Habermas implicitly criticizes
Gadamer’s respect for tradition as a form of dogmatism and contends for a
continuous critique against tradition in a changing world. This is due to another
limitation of human beings, for tradition as constructed by human beings is
always imperfect. Sino-Christian theology should inquire about the limitation of
the agent of reason who is under the influence of tradition and constructing the
imperfect tradition simultaneously. Above all, it is the agent of reason who is
located in the given context and changing context.
Epilogue: Are we really enlightened?

Sino-Christian theology should ask continuously: are we really enlightened? The
target of the question of Sino-Christian theology should not be other than those
who are doing Sino-Christian theology. Those who think themselves have been
enlightened could be those who are not enlightened at all. Only when the
rational critique can be applied into self rather than others, it is time to be on the
way to be enlightened.
Are we really enlightened? If we are not enlightened at all, we are surely
incapable of dealing with the problems brought in by enlightenment. How can
human beings in problems solve the human problems? Above all, human beings
in problems are the real human problems. Pursuing the ideal of enlightenment is
to solve these problems.
Can human beings enlighten human beings? Can human beings be
enlightened by human beings? How can the word of human beings really
enlighten human beings, unless it is the word of the Creator of human beings?
This should be an important starting point of Sino-Christian theology.
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Appendix
Preliminary Survey on the New Generation of Scholars of
Christian Studies in Mainland China
GAO Xin
Introduction
The academic study of Christianity has resumed in Mainland China since the
1980s under the reform and open policy of the Chinese government. During that
time, along with the introduction of Western thoughts into the Chinese academia
and society, Chinese scholars of various humanistic disciplines began to
research into the study of Christianity or Christian studies in the course of
exploring Western cultures.
Owing to the special religious policy and political environment, Christian
studies in Mainland China possesses several characteristics when resumed in
1980s. In terms of the characteristics of the researchers, most of the scholars of
Christian studies proclaim themselves to be intellectuals rather than theologians,
academicians studying Christianity rather than practicing Christians. They
usually do not adhere to any Christian church. Furthermore, these scholars
mainly came from different humanistic disciplines in universities instead of
from denominational churches, theological seminaries or academic departments
of religious studies in universities. Over the last thirty years or so, Christian
studies has successfully gained public recognition in the Chinese academia due
to the work of these scholars. As more and more scholars participate in Christian
studies, various approaches to the study of Christianity have been developed:
historical, philosophical, theological, sociological, etc. In the development of
this burgeoning academic discipline, significant changes might have taken place
within the discipline itself and the scholars involved.
According to Prof. He Guanghu, scholars of Christian studies in Mainland
China can be classified into three generations.1 The first generation consists of
scholars who were active mainly during the period of 1950s to 1970s and can be
further divided into two groups. The first group consists of church members who
received patronage from the government and their main concerns were more
political than academic due to the special political environment of China in that
period. The other group of the first generation refers to scholars who, though not
within the church circle, began to reflect and discuss the religious issues in
1 He Guanghu, “Jiangshan dai you Rencai chu – Ershi Shijimo zhi Ershiyi Shijichu
Zhongguo Jidujiao Yanjiu Xuezhe Sumiao” (Trends of Chinese Scholars in Christian
Studies in the Turn of the Twentieth and Twenty-First Century), Logos & Pneuma 29
(Autumn 2008), pp.53-73.
225
China during the late of 1970s.2 As for the second generation scholars, most of
them are graduates (aged twenty to thirty) from humanistic disciplines such as
history, philosophy, literature, etc. in universities when China began to
implement the reform and open policy in the beginning of 1980s. At that time,
there were only two or three departments of religious studies in universities in
Mainland China. As a result, very few scholars of the second generation had
received the specialized training in religious or theological studies. According to
Prof. He, the second generation scholars, who played the leading role in the field
of Christian studies from mid-1980s to the later half of 1990s, can be described
as “from knowing to understanding, from seeking to reward”,3 whereas the third
generation scholars are characterized as “from learning to specializing, from
interest to commitment”.4
Prof. He’s crude classification and general delineation of the characteristics
of scholars of Christian studies in Mainland China of the three generations may
provide an important hypothesis concerning the development of Christian
studies in Mainland China. However, Prof. He’s hypothesis is based primarily
on his informal observation and impressions, which may better be tested and
confirmed by a more concrete survey on the scholars of the third generation.
Under the auspice of a research project directed by Prof. Lai Pan-chiu of the
Chinese University of Hong Kong, a survey of the new generation of scholars of
Christian studies was conducted. This survey is conducted respectively by Dr.
Gao Xin during a conference organized by the China Academy of Social Science,
Beijing in December 2008 and Dr. Sha Mei during a conference held at Heilong-
jiang University, Harbin, in January 2009.
The scholars being targeted for survey are primarily those of the age 35-45
with the academic rank comparable to associate professor or below. They are
supposed to belong to the third generation according to Prof. He’s classification.
The survey aims at testing if this batch of scholars has any characteristic making
them distinguishable from the older generation, especially the second generation
according to Prof. He’s classification. These characteristics may include:
academic orientation, research interests, religious commitment, church affili-
ation, professional training, understanding of the academic, personal, cultural
and ecclesiastical significance of their research work, etc.
As the topic remains sensitive to some scholars, the participants being
invited to take part in the survey had been shown beforehand: (1) a formal letter
from Prof. Lai Pan-chiu, indicating the academic purpose of the survey and
2 He Guanghu, “Trends of Chinese Scholars in Christian Studies in the Turn of the

Twentieth and Twenty-First Century”, p.57.
Twentieth and Twenty-First Century”, pp.61-62.
Twentieth and Twenty-First Century”, pp.66-70.
226
pledging to keep confidential the personal identification of the scholars
participating in this survey; (2) a questionnaire in one page listing the 5
questions to be asked with blank space for filling in short answer; and (3) a
consent form which the scholar participating in the survey has to sign to indicate
his/her consent.
The main questions that this survey sets out to address are as follows:
1. What is the major reason or motivation for your engaging in Christian studies?
Is it purely for academic interests, purely for religious reasons or both?
2. How do you evaluate the achievements and limitations of the “senior”
scholars of Christian studies in Mainland China?
3. Do you have any religious affiliation? Do you worship at a Christian church -
never, occasionally or regularly?
4. How do you perceive the significance or meaning of Christian studies to the
Chinese academia, churches, culture and society?
5. To what extent are you affected by the academic study of Christianity in your
own personal or spiritual life?
There are total 28 scholars surveyed. Of the 28 participants, 14 of them are

accomplished by means of face-to-face conversation, the other 14 by filling in
the questionnaire by the scholar himself/herself. Below is a summary of the
results of this rather preliminary survey of the new generation of scholars of
Christian studies in Mainland China.
Why Studying Christianity?

With regard to the first question, 13 out of the 28 participants indicate that they
engage in Christian studies for purely academic interests. There are 11
participants stating that the motivations of their studies originate from both
academic interests and religious reasons. There are 2 participants suggesting that
their research motivations began as some sort of “faith seeking understanding”.
Another scholar suggests that the motivation of his / her study of Christianity is
to search for the goal and meaning of life. Only 1 participant replies that his or
her reason for studying Christianity is due to chance with no specific intention.
Among the 11 participants who are motivated by both academic and religious
reasons, some of them think that they can make a clear distinction between
academic consideration and personal belief. They believe that personal religious
preference should not and will not offer any methodology for academic research
and teaching. They can thus ensure that their academic activities would measure
up with strict academic standards and educational requirements. Other
participants who are also motivated by both academic and religious reasons
suggest that it is not easy or even realistic to make religious involvement
thoroughly separate from academic research. According to their own
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experiences – both academic and religious, in the pursuit of the ultimate value of
life, the study of Christianity is deemed to have a positive influence on the
personal development and to help them to achieve a more reflective attitude
towards life and belief, and hence strengthen their religious convictions. At the
same time, they also believe that while they can maintain an objective and
neutral stance in their teaching and research, their religious experiences can
provide some sort of insights and critical perspectives on their academic studies.
In short, Christian studies can combine their academic activities with their lives
and make these two benefit each other.
Evaluation of Previous Generation

With regard to the second question concerning the achievements of the senior
scholars, as most of the participants started their academic work, consciously or
unconsciously, on the foundation accomplished by the senior scholars, how to
understand and evaluate the achievements of the senior scholars will be an
important indicator showing their perception of the academic trends and the
difference between the two generations. Based on the results of this survey, there
is a rather extensive consensus among the participants that the senior scholars of
Christian studies in Mainland China have made considerable contributions to the
Chinese academia. Through translating relevant books into Chinese, teaching
courses at universities and writing books about Christianity, they took on the
responsibility of introducing the knowledge of Christianity to the whole of
Chinese academia, helping Chinese intellectuals and ordinary people understand
Christianity in an appropriate way. But their most important achievement
remains that they were the first to bring Christianity to the Chinese academia.
During the period of Cultural Revolution, Christianity and its relevant studies
were associated with reactionism and foreign invasion. Thanks to the senior
scholars, the subject-matter and nature of Christian studies had been changed
from a political or ideological enterprise to an academic discipline of humanities.
Due to their endeavors, Christian studies had successfully established itself as a
fairly systematized discipline in Chinese academia more than twenty years ago.
They could thus be regarded as the pioneers of Christian studies in Chinese
academia.
In addition to the academic accomplishments of the senior scholars, some
participants also express their admirations and respects for the senior scholars.
Considering the special political environment where they started their initial
work and the ideological burden which they bore for years, the younger scholars
are particularly impressed by the passion and the courage of these senior
scholars. It is agreed that the pioneering work of the senior scholars laid the
solid foundation of Christian studies in Chinese academia and made a great
impact on the younger generation.
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Besides their praises of the contributions made by the senior scholars of
Christian studies, the participants also give their reflective and critical comments
on the work done by their seniors. Their comments can be summarized as
follows:
Firstly, from the academic perspective, the works of the senior scholars are
not critical enough to match the academic standard in terms of originality and
creativity due to the fact that they mainly concentrated on translation and
introductory work. According to the participants, the translation and intro-
ductory work are absolutely important but they are not adequate for the further
development of Christian studies. The growth and progress of this discipline,
including the theoretical articulation of Sino-Christian theology which remains
under construction, require novelty and expertise at a higher level.
Secondly, as very few senior scholars of Christian studies were formally
trained in religious or theological studies, most of them started their studies of
Christianity from the perspectives like history, philosophy, literature, foreign
languages, etc. Their academic background made the research foci of the senior
scholars sometimes not so directly relevant to religious or theological studies.
Though this might be quite inevitable in Mainland China especially at that time,
the participants agree that the construction of the conceptual framework and
methodology of Christian studies calls for a much more specialized training of
religious or theological studies.
Thirdly, since most of the senior scholars devoted themselves mainly to the
translation and introductory work, they have not fully explored the diverse
aspects of Christianity at length. The participants unanimously pledge to take up
the responsibility to carry on and further promote the multidisciplinary studies
of Christianity and to delve even deeper into Christian studies.
Religious Affiliation
Regarding the third question concerning religious affiliation, 8 participants
express that they have Christian faith. Among this group of declared adherents, 3
are regular churchgoers, including 1 serving as deacon in his or her church;
another 3 worship at a church occasionally; the remaining 2 never go to church
and prefer their individual way of worshiping or together with their family
members. There are 14 participants indicating that they do not have any
religious affiliation but their detailed answers are interestingly diversified.
Among those who gave further details about their religious activities, 4 of them
have never attended church worship, 1 is a frequent churchgoer, 6 attend church
worship occasionally, and 1 claims that he/she sometimes attends church
activities but with no religious implication.5 Concerning this question, there are
3 participants who do not explicitly express whether they have any religious
5 The 2 scholars who have no religious belief do not indicate whether they go to church or
not.
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belief, but they seem to show observable religious sentiment during the
conversation. One of these 3 participants says that he/she has religious sentiment;
another says he/she wishes to adhere or commit to the Christian faith; and the
last one indicates that he/she attends worship at church rather often. Among the
3 participants who prefer not to declare their religious affiliation(s) due to
personal reasons, one of them discloses that he/she goes to church occasionally
and the others indicate that they do not exclude themselves from church
activities and worship.
Interestingly, we can see from the replies that most of the participants who
do not profess the Christian faith are open to church activities and some of them
often attend church activities. One of the possible reasons for this is that parti-
cipating in church activities is regarded as a direct means of acquainting the
scholars with Christianity and in this way they can have a better understanding
of Christianity. Another possible reason may be that some scholars consider the
Christian church, similar to the Buddhist temple, as a nice and peaceful place for
contemplation and spiritual cultivation.
Social Significance of Christian Studies

Relating to the fourth question concerning the significance of Christian studies
for the Chinese academia, churches, culture and society, responses offered by
the participants are quite positive and affirmative. No matter how diversified
their research interests and personal belief are, all the participants share similar
recognition of the significance of Christian studies in Mainland China. They
agree that Christian Studies has exerted great impact on the Chinese academia,
culture and society. From the perspective of academic structure, Christian
Studies offers a significant frame of reference to the Chinese academia. Some
participants suggest that Christian studies in the universities can complement
and save the inadequacy of ecclesiastical theology. Furthermore, Christian
Studies is able to respond to the development of ecclesiastical theology and the
dilemma of “faith crisis” in China. It is the consensus of the participants that the
resumption and development of Christian studies in Mainland China contributed
greatly to the integrity of the humanistic ecosystem of Chinese academia, the
construction of human sciences in China and the cultural exchange between East
and West. Other than the tremendous impact on the Chinese academia, the
participants also mention that Christianity as a global religion with a long
history will contribute to the moral civilization and social transformation of
contemporary Chinese society. Regarding the prospect of Christian studies in
Mainland China, the participants also agree that Christian studies will continue
to play an important role in various areas in the future.
Concerning the non-confessional Christian theology formulated by the
Chinese scholars, especially those of the previous generation, the opinions of
the participants can be divided into two camps. One camp suggests that this
230
kind of academic Christian theology articulated mainly by scholars with almost
no Christian faith and no ecclesiastical function is very meaningful. It brings
forth significant influences to the contemporary Chinese society, such as
offering guidance to the government’s policy related to religious issues. It can
function as a bridge between believers and non-believers. It can also provide
some sort of mediating function among different religions and between
Christianity and the government. The other camp takes a more critical stand
and argues that this kind of non-confessional theology or Christian studies
accomplished mainly by scholars of public universities is inadequate. It is
because it intentionally or unconsciously ignores from time to time the faith
community in China for certain reasons. Scholars of this camp of thought
propose that Christian studies in Mainland China, instead of being restricted to
the academic tradition of refraining from making contact with religious
communities, should include various academic traditions and the contemporary
religious lives in a broader sense. In the long term, they suggest, Christian
studies in Mainland China should face the faith community in a more gentle
and positive way, which may benefit the growth of faith community. When
Christian studies in China is better integrated with the faith community, a
genuine and dynamic “Christian community” will be formed in Chinese society.
Moreover, they also suggest, Christian studies should concentrate more on the
theological perspective rather than the philosophical or historical. As a result, a
more active interaction between Christian studies and Chinese churches can be
expected in the future.
In terms of the meaning of Christian studies to the society, some participants
think that the significance or influence of Christian studies in Mainland China
has already gone beyond the academia itself. It provides an opportunity for the
Chinese people to understand Western cultures and religions in an objective and
multi-dimensional way. In turn, the recognition obtained by Christian studies
also helps the Chinese people to reckon the realities of China in a new way. As
some participants suggest, some Chinese people began to understand the
realities of China from the perspective of Christianity. When people can
perceive the tensions demonstrated in Christianity, they may have similar view
on the practical problems in China. In the eyes of some other participants,
Christian culture can also enrich traditional Chinese culture and will bring out
the best from both sides in the future. Since Christian culture has some unique
features which Chinese traditions cannot provide, including the ideas of original
sin, confession/repentance, etc., Christian culture can function as a valuable
complement in this respect. Owing to the possible contributions of Christian
culture, some participants suggest that Christianity should be an indispensable
partner for the establishment of the public value in China. At the same time, the
development of Christian studies in China can be regarded as a re-interpretation
of the Christian tradition and an extension of Chinese culture. In other words,
231
Christian studies can enrich Chinese culture and can contribute to a more
flourishing future for Chinese society on the whole.
Concerning the prospect or future development of Christian studies in
Mainland China, most of the participants come to the general agreement that
Christian studies in Mainland China should be undertaken by well-trained
Christian theologians and scholars with specialized training in religious studies.
The study of Christianity in China should be more inclusive to cover different
Western theological traditions. Furthermore, the participants also think that
Christian studies in Mainland China should keep on bringing fresh ideas to the
issues concerning social welfare, social transformation and morality. It will then
enhance the plurality of Chinese culture and society as a whole.
Personal Significance of Christian Studies

As to the last question concerning the impact of Christian studies on the personal
or spiritual life of the researchers, most of the participants recognize that the study
of Christianity, though an academic activity by nature, has a rather beneficial
effect on their personal or spiritual life in various ways. One group of the
participants indicates that their studies of Christianity made them committed to
Christianity. Scholars of this group usually had no religious belief before
engaging in Christian studies. However, in the course of their academic
explorations, they were deeply inspired by the vital principles and the uniqueness
of Christianity, and thus became attracted and even adhered to Christianity.
Another group of participants feel that they were perplexed by the tension
between Chinese tradition and Christian culture especially when they strived for
their personal liberation and spiritual cultivation. Though attracted by Christianity
as a religion, they have not resolved the problems or tensions between the
distinctive traditions of these two cultures. One of the obvious characteristics of
these participants is that facing the conflicting elements of Chinese and Christian
traditions, they have the difficulties in identifying themselves as Christians. For
instance, they still feel that it is not easy to forsake entirely the Chinese tradition
and accept wholeheartedly the Christian doctrines. Answers given by the third
group of participants, who makes no commitment to Christian faith, are quite
diversified. Most of participants of this group admit that Christian Studies has
influenced their worldviews in a constructive way. For example, through studying
Christianity, some of their previous negative impressions on Christianity, such as
the misunderstanding of Christianity as an ideological weapon of Western
Imperialism, have been rectified. Being inspired by the spiritual power of
Christianity, some participants think that their academic studies of Christianity
affected their lives deeply and offered an important alternative way of living apart
from the Chinese traditions. As the message or spiritual resources of Christianity
is so closely related to life, their spiritual lives were positively enhanced and
expanded after studying Christianity. It is Christian studies that made them
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experience the transcendence and religiosity in their lives. Therefore, they can
adopt a more sensible and open attitude in the subsequent years of their lives.
Prospect of Christian Studies

As some of the participants involved in in-depth interviews, they had the chance
to elaborate their opinions on issues not listed in the questionnaire. During the
interviews, some of the interviewees expressed their proposals or visions for
Christian studies in Mainland China. As the future development of Christian
studies in Mainland China will be dominated sooner or later by this new
generation, the proposals or visions articulated by the interviewees may shed
light on the prospect of the discipline of Christian studies in China.
The first aspect to be mentioned is that some of the interviewees propose to
broaden the scope of Christian studies on the one hand and to delve deeper into
some specialized areas on the other. Whereas scholars of the older generation
focus on philosophical studies of Christianity, the interviewees propose to
promote a wide range of sub-disciplines within Christian studies, including
biblical studies, sociology of religion, spirituality, original theory of Sino-
Christian theology, moral role of Christianity in Chinese society, etc. With
regard to the translation work, some interviewees argue that the translation of
works in foreign languages other than English, for instance, Latin, Spanish,
Portuguese, etc. is also very important. These non-English foreign languages and
their materials are necessary for studying literatures and Catholic studies, and
hence deserve to be taken seriously. They expect that Christian studies in
Mainland China should grow in a comprehensive way covering various areas or
aspects and develop its own creative theoretical framework in the future. As a
branch of the humanities in Chinese academia, Christian studies may then
become more mature as well as specialized and can play a significant role in the
Chinese academic tradition.
Another observation from the survey is that the interviewees place
emphases on the realities of Chinese society, the establishment of public values
in China and the relationship with the faith community. According to some of
the interviewees, research on sociology of religion and public theology will be
beneficial to discussion of the cultural, social and religious issues from the
Christian perspective, which can provide new options different from those of the
Chinese traditions. Some interviewees believe that they should give their
responses to the relevant social problems in contemporary Chinese society. For
instance, some of them claim that they have the obligation to response to the
increasing number of Christians in China and to apply the results of their
research to practical religious matters in contemporary China. During the
interview, many of the interviewees expressed from time to time their concerns
which cover human spirituality, Chinese society, moral issues, and even
ecosystem or environmental problems. The interviewers got the impression that
233
most of the interviewees do not take their studies of Christianity as merely a job
for earning a living. Instead, they regard Christian studies as a vocation which
deserves their greatest passions and devotions to further promote it both for the
sake of academic interest and for the well-being of the society. It is thus
expected that more and more of this kind of socially engaging discourse will
emerge and even become dominant in Christian studies in Mainland China in the
future.
The third aspect to be mentioned is about religious experience. According to
the friendly sharing of the interviewees, the religious experience of the scholars
of the younger generation may be much more extensive and intensive than that
of the senior ones. This refers to both the survey findings that the percentage of
declared/confessional Christians is expected to be significantly higher than the
older generation and that more scholars of the new generation show some sort of
religious sentiment towards Christianity. With regard to the latter group of
scholars, though they have not committed to Christianity, they can evaluate
Christianity positively in a frank manner.6 Even those who study Christianity
merely from a detached position have plenty opportunities to contact Christians
around them and to understand the practices of Christianity in China and the
West. As a result, some new features of Christian studies may emerge in the
future, for example the study of Christian Spirituality. As the subject matter for
the study of Christian spirituality is the subjective religious experiences or
feelings of Christians, the researcher is expected to have analogous experience
or feeling in order to have any in-depth understanding. The religious sentiment
or spiritual experience of the scholars of the younger generation may have made
them better equipped (in comparison with the older generation at least) to
understand and even further develop Christian spirituality into a genuine
academic discipline. For those who have no Christian faith or sentiment towards
Christianity, they may not have the desire or passion for the study of Spirituality.
However, through attending the church activities and observing or even
participating in the prayer and/or ritual of Christianity, they may be able to
contribute to the study of Christian spirituality through their “field studies”. In
short, given the increase of Christians in number as well as the overall religious
sentiment among the younger scholars, the prospect for the development of the
study of Christian spirituality should be much more promising than before.
Summary, Analysis & Reflection

Though the size of sample of this survey is rather small in number, after
analyzing the records, some significant observations can be made.
In terms of academic orientation, the younger scholars participating in the
6 For this possibility, see Milton Wan, “Shenxue Yanjiu yu Jidu Zongjiao Jingyan”
(Theological Studies and Its Corresponding Religious Experiences), Logos & Pneuma
29 (Autumn 2008), p. 127.
234
survey agree that Christian studies should be broaden in scope and further
specialized in the future. Since the senior scholars have contributed a lot to the
introduction of Christian studies into the Chinese academia with a strong
cultural mission and have established successfully the legitimate status of
Christian studies as an academic discipline in the Chinese academia, the younger
scholars accepts that it is the task of this new generation to further develop the
discipline in a different way. The younger scholars propose that while the
philosophical and historical perspectives adopted by their seniors remain very
useful, these perspectives do not constitute or exhaust the entirety of the
methodological framework for Christian studies. Other methodologies like
theological, sociological and anthropological approaches should be taken into
consideration seriously and deserved to be promoted. Other than the method-
ologies, the participants also point out that, though the introductory work and
translation are important and still deserve to be continued, much attention should
be paid to the innovation of original theories in Christian studies. The Christian
Studies in China should not be exhausted by the introduction of the Western
theories or translation of the famous works of Western scholars. It also should
not indiscriminately adopt the methods used in Hong Kong and Taiwan either. In
short, scholars of the younger generation share the opinion that the methodology
of Christian studies in Mainland China should be more pluralistic in the future
and should aim to develop its own characteristics, theories and even method-
ologies according to the concrete conditions in Mainland China.
Another observation to be made from the survey is that the proportion of
Christians shows a considerable increase among the younger generation scholars.
Approximately 30% of the participants declared themselves as Christians in the
survey. In contrast, most of the senior scholars devote themselves to the study of
Christianity mainly for their academic interests and do not declare themselves as
believers, adherents or practitioners of Christianity as a religion. This difference
in terms of attitude towards Christianity is reflected in the participants’ percep-
tion of the significance of Christian studies in Mainland China. Whereas
scholars of the older generation tend to overlook or downplay the significance of
Christian studies for the Christian churches, some of the participants clearly
indicate the positive significance of Christian studies for the Christian churches,
including the ecclesiastical theology. Some participants even voice their
criticism of the work of the senior scholars at this juncture – lack of commitment
or relevance to the religious community. Though it is not easy to carry out a
comprehensive survey to get the accurate numbers and percentages of Christians
of the two generations, most of the participants state that they can sense the
phenomenal difference between the two generations with regard to their
religious affiliations.
Possible factors for this significant change can be manifold:
Firstly, dramatic changes took place with regard to the political and social
235
environments in which the older and younger generation scholars conduct their
research activities. Most of the senior scholars had experienced a highly ossified
ideology in the Cultural Revolution before they began their academic study of
Christianity. At the initial stage of their academic careers, they needed to tackle
the remaining ossified notions widespread in Mainland China at that time.
Compared with the senior scholars, the surrounding environment of the younger
generation scholars are much freer and pluralistic. They have not experienced
the ossified ideology and tough times of the senior scholars.
Secondly, in terms of learning experience, in comparison with the senior
scholars, the education and training received by the younger generation scholars
are more systematic and specialized and less ideological. Under the call for the
urban-educated youths to go to the countryside during the Cultural Revolution,
most of the senior scholars who were primarily considered as the educated youth
at that time had to drop out of school and interrupt their formal studies. It is thus
quite fair to say that their background trainings were more fragmentary and
ideological. In contrast, having been systematically trained in schools and
universities, the younger generation scholars are better equipped with a solid
knowledge base and a more open attitude for their future developments. The
university education the younger generation underwent is relatively less
ideological. Moreover, their proficiency in foreign languages allow the scholars of
younger generation to acquire resources in those languages and thus digest the
information about Christianity in a more direct, reliable and comprehensive way.
Besides the formal education received in China, a good number of the younger
scholars have the experiences of studying abroad, attending the overseas
academic exchange programs, visiting the seminaries, divinity schools and the
departments of religious studies in the universities overseas, etc. They thus have a
lot of opportunities to contact the Christian scholars abroad and to know the
recent developments of both Christianity as a living religion and Christian studies
as an academic discipline. It is evident that the communications between Chinese
and Western scholars to a certain extent helped some Chinese scholars to
overcome the ideological barrier or prejudice against Christianity. It can be said
that whereas the senior scholars normally conduct their study from a relatively
distant position and taking Christianity merely as part of human civilization, the
understanding of Christianity the younger generation achieved is much more
concrete and comprehensive. However, it is noteworthy that based on the results
of the survey and the academic background of the participants, there seems to be
some sort of loose correlation between the younger scholars’ attitudes towards
Christianity and their academic background or specialties. Generally speaking,
scholars specializing in Marxist Philosophy usually hold a more indifferent or
even alienated attitude towards Christianity as a religion, especially the
confessional or devotional aspect of Christianity. At the same time, very few of
these Marxist scholars have made the commitment to Christianity.
236
Thirdly, the internal development of Christian studies as an academic
subject in the Chinese academia is another important factor. The senior scholar
had to grope and struggle for ways to establish this new discipline when they
started the study of Christianity, with extremely limited resources and the
uncertain political situation at that time. After years of development, the younger
generation scholars can develop their research on the groundwork prepared by
their seniors with relatively plentiful resources at their disposal.
Referring to Prof. He Gaunghu’s hypothesis, the results of this survey seems
to support the overall observations that there are some significant differences
between the older or second generation and the younger or third generation. In
terms of religious affiliation, this new or third generation of scholars as a whole
is relatively more religious and less alienated to the Christian churches. In terms
of academic orientation, the new generation tends to be more specialists rather
than generalists, to be more open to the spiritual dimension, and to be more
socially engaged in a more public way.
As a survey aiming at identifying the differences between the older and
younger generations of scholars and sketching the characteristics of the younger
generation, it is far from comprehensive due to the size of the sample and the
number of questions asked. Though one may find some significant differences
between the two generations, some sort of commonalities among the younger
scholars and some general trends of development, one can hardly draw any
definite or decisive conclusion on the new generation of scholars of Christian
studies in Mainland China from the results of this survey alone. More time and
concrete evidences are needed in order to further explore how the future
development of Christian studies will be effected by the characteristics of the
scholars of this new generation. It is noteworthy that during the interview, many
participants expressed that it is time to conduct a similar survey because enough
materials have been accumulated in this area since 1980s to support such kind of
survey. Furthermore, a similar survey on a broader scale will be beneficial to our
understanding of the past and will serve as a reference for the future.7
7 The survey reported here is part of a research project conducted by Prof. Lai Pan-chiu,
Department of Cultural & Religious Studies, Chinese University of Hong Kong,
concerning scholars of Christian Studies in Mainland China. The research funding is
gratefully received from the General Research Fund provided by the Research Grants
Council, Hong Kong (project no. CUHK445207H).
237
STUDIEN ZUR INTERKULTURELLEN GESCHICHTE DES CHRISTENTUMS
ETUDES D'HISTOIRE INTERCULTURELLE DU CHRISTIANISME
STUDIES IN THE INTERCULTURAL HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY
Begründet von/fondé par/founded by
Walter J. Hollenweger und / et / and Hans Jochen Margull †
Herausgegeben von/edité par/edited by
Richard Friedli Jan A.B. Jongeneel Klaus Koschorke

Université de Fribourg Universiteit Utrecht Universität München
Theo Sundermeier Werner Ustorf

Universität Heidelberg University of Birmingham
Die Reihe “Studien zur interkulturellen Geschichte des Christentums” arbeitet im Überschneidungsgebiet
von Missions- und Religionswissenschaft, Ökumenik und Interkultureller Theologie. In historischer, sozial-
wissenschaftlicher und theoretischer Erforschung verfolgt sie die Frage der Identität des lokalen und glo-
balen Christentums. Sie tut dies in Anerkennung grundlegender Transformationen (z.B. Technisierung,
Globalisierung, Migration, Ökologie), der Bezugnahme auf die Andersdenkenden und Andersglaubenden
und im Blick auf die Zukunft der Menschheit.
The series “Studies in the Intercultural History of Christianity” operates in an area that includes the discipli-
nes of missiology, history of religions, ecumenics and intercultural theology. Using historical, socio-cultural
and theoretical approaches it addresses the question of the identity of local and global Christianity. This is
done in the light of the continuing transformations (e.g. technology, globalization, migration, ecology) and
the living together of people of different faiths and persuasions in the human community.
La série « Etudes de l’Histoire Interculturelle du Christianisme » étudie les points de rencontre entre missio-
logie, science des religions, œcuménisme et théologie interculturelle. En utilisant les approches théori-
ques de l’histoire et des sciences sociales, elle fournit des éléments de réponse à la question de l’identité
du christianisme local et global. Pour ce faire, elle prend en considération aussi bien les transformations
profondes (p. ex. technologie, globalisation, migration, écologie), que la reconnaissance de ceux qui pen-
sent et croient d’une manière différente, le tout en relation avec l’avenir de l’humanité.
Band 1 Wolfram Weiße: Südafrika und das Antirassismusprogramm. Kirchen im Spannungsfeld

einer Rassengesellschaft.
Band 2 Ingo Lembke: Christentum unter den Bedingungen Lateinamerikas. Die katholische
Kirche vor den Problemen der Abhängigkeit und Unterentwicklung.
Band 3 Gerd U. Kliewer: Das neue Volk der Pfingstler. Religion, Unterentwicklung und sozialer
Wandel in Lateinamerika.
Band 4 Joachim Wietzke: Theologie im modernen Indien - Paul David Devanandan.
Band 5 Werner Ustorf: Afrikanische Initiative. Das aktive Leiden des Propheten Simon Kimbangu.
Band 6 Erhard Kamphausen: Anfänge der kirchlichen Unabhängigkeitsbewegung in Südafrika.
Geschichte und Theologie der äthiopischen Bewegung. 1880-1910.
Band 7 Lothar Engel: Kolonialismus und Nationalismus im deutschen Protestantismus in Namibia
1907-1945. Beiträge zur Geschichte der deutschen evangelischen Mission und Kirche im
ehemaligen Kolonial- und Mandatsgebiet Südwestafrika.
Band 8 Pamela M. Binyon: The Concepts of "Spirit" and "Demon". A Study in the use of different
languages describing the same phenomena.
Band 9 Neville Richardson: The World Council of Churches and Race Relations. 1960 to 1969.
Band 10 Jörg Müller: Uppsala II. Erneuerung in der Mission. Eine redaktionsgeschichtliche Studie
und Dokumentation zu Sektion II der 4. Vollversammlung des Ökumenischen Rates der
Kirchen, Uppsala 1968.
Band 11 Hans Schöpfer: Theologie und Gesellschaft. Interdisziplinäre Grundlagenbibliographie zur
Einführung in die befreiungs- und polittheologische Problematik: 1960-1975.
Band 12 Werner Hoerschelmann: Christliche Gurus. Darstellung von Selbstverständnis und
Funktion indigenen Christseins durch unabhängige charismatisch geführte Gruppen in
Südindien.
Band 13 Claude Schaller: L'Eglise en quête de dialogue. Vergriffen.
Band 14 Theo Tschuy: Hundert Jahre kubanischer Protestantismus (1868-1961). Versuch einer
kirchengeschichtlichen Darstellung.
Band 15 Werner Korte: Wir sind die Kirchen der unteren Klassen. Entstehung, Organisation und
gesellschaftliche Funktionen unabhängiger Kirchen in Afrika.
Band 16 Arnold Bittlinger: Papst und Pfingstler. Der römisch katholisch-pfingstlerische Dialog und
seine ökumenische Relevanz.
Band 17 Ingemar Lindén: The Last Trump. An historico-genetical study of some important chapters
in the making and development of the Seventh-day Adventist Church.
Band 18 Zwinglio Dias: Krisen und Aufgaben im brasilianischen Protestantismus. Eine Studie zu
den sozialgeschichtlichen Bedingungen und volkspädagogischen Möglichkeiten der
Evangelisation.
Band 19 Mary Hall: A quest for the liberated Christian. Examined on the basis of a mission, a man
and a movement as agents of liberation.
Band 20 Arturo Blatezky: Sprache des Glaubens in Lateinamerika. Eine Studie zu Selbstverständ-
nis und Methode der "Theologie der Befreiung".
Band 21 Anthony Mookenthottam: Indian Theological Tendencies. Approaches and problems for
further research as seen in the works of some leading Indian theologicans.
Band 22 George Thomas: Christian Indians and Indian Nationalism 1885-1950. An Interpretation in
Historical and Theological Perspectives.
Band 23 Essiben Madiba: Evangélisation et Colonisation en Afrique: L'Héritage scolaire du
Cameroun (1885-1965).
Band 24 Katsumi Takizawa: Reflexionen über die universale Grundlage von Buddhismus und
Christentum.
Band 25 S.W. Sykes (ed.): England and Germany. Studies in theological diplomacy.
Band 26 James Haire: The Character and Theological Struggle of the Church in Halmahera,
Indonesia, 1941-1979.
Band 27 David Ford: Barth and God's Story. Biblical Narrative and the Theological Method of Karl
Barth in the Church Dogmatics.
Band 28 Kortright Davis: Mission for Carribean Change. Carribean Development As Theological
Enterprice.
Band 29 Origen V. Jathanna: The Decisiveness of the Christ-Event and the Universality of
Christianity in a world of Religious Plurality. With Special Reference to Hendrik Kraemer
and Alfred George Hogg as well as to William Ernest Hocking and Pandipeddi Chenchiah.
Band 30 Joyce V. Thurman: New Wineskins. A Study of the House Church Movement.
Band 31 John May: Meaning, Consensus and Dialogue in Buddhist-Christian-Communication. A
study in the Construction of Meaning.
Band 32 Friedhelm Voges: Das Denken von Thomas Chalmers im kirchen- und sozialgeschicht-
lichen Kontext.
Band 33 George MacDonald Mulrain: Theology in Folk Culture. The Theological Significance of
Haitian Folk Religion.
Band 34 Alan Ford: The Protestant Reformation in Ireland, 1590-1641. 2. unveränderte Auflage.
Band 35 Harold Tonks: Faith, Hope and Decision-Making. The Kingdom of God and Social Policy-
Making. The Work of Arthur Rich of Zürich.
Band 36 Bingham Tembe: Integrationismus und Afrikanismus. Zur Rolle der kirchlichen Unabhän-
gigkeitsbewegung in der Auseinandersetzung um die Landfrage und die Bildung der
Afrikaner in Südafrika, 1880-1960.
Band 37 Kingsley Lewis: The Moravian Mission in Barbados 1816-1886. A Study of the Historical
Context and Theological Significance of a Minority Church Among an Oppressed People.
Band 38 Ulrich M. Dehn: Indische Christen in der gesellschaftlichen Verantwortung. Eine
theologische und religionssoziologische Untersuchung politischer Theologie im gegen-
wärtigen Indien.
Band 39 Walter J. Hollenweger (ed.): Pentecostal Research in Europe: Problems, Promises and
People. Proceedings from the Pentecostal Research Conference at the University of
Birmingham (England) April 26th to 29th 1984.
Band 40 P. Solomon Raj: A Christian Folk-Religion in India. A Study of the Small Church
Movement in Andhra Pradesh, with a Special Reference to the Bible Mission of Devadas.
Band 41 Karl-Wilhelm Westmeier: Reconciling Heaven and earth: The Transcendental Enthusiasm
and Growth of an Urban Protestant Community, Bogota, Colombia.
Band 42 George A. Hood: Mission Accomplished? The English Presbyterian Mission in Lingtung,
South China. A Study of the Interplay between Mission Methods and their Historical Context.
Band 43 Emmanuel Yartekwei Lartey: Pastoral Counselling in Inter-Cultural Perspective: A Study
of some African (Ghanaian) and Anglo-American viewes on human existence and
counselling.
Band 44 Jerry L. Sandidge: Roman Catholic/Pentecostal Dialogue (1977-1982): A Study
in Developing Ecumenism.
Band 45 Friedeborg L. Müller: The History of German Lutheran Congregations in England, 1900-
1950.
Band 46 Roger B. Edrington: Everyday Men: Living in a Climate of Unbelief.
Band 47 Bongani Mazibuko: Education in Mission/Mission in Education. A Critical Comparative
Study of Selected Approaches.
Band 48 Jochanan Hesse (ed.): Mitten im Tod - vom Leben umfangen. Gedenkschrift für Werner
Kohler.
Band 49 Elisabeth A. Kasper: Afrobrasilianische Religion. Der Mensch in der Beziehung zu Natur,
Kosmos und Gemeinschaft im Candomblé - eine tiefenpsychologische Studie.
Band 50 Charles Chikezie Agu: Secularization in Igboland. Socio-religious Change and its
Challenges to the Church Among the Igbo.
Band 51 Abraham Adu Berinyuu: Pastoral Care to the Sick in Africa. An Approach to Transcultural
Pastoral Theology.
Band 52 Boo-Woong Yoo: Korean Pentecostalism. Its History and Theology.
Band 53 Roger H. Hooker: Themes in Hinduism and Christianity. A Comparative Study.
Band 54 Jean-Daniel Plüss: Therapeutic and Prophetic Narratives in Worship. A Hermeneutic
Study of Testimonies and Visions. Their Potential Significance for Christian Worship and
Secular Society.
Band 55 John Mansford Prior: Church and Marriage in an Indonesian Village. A Study of
Customary and Church Marriage among the Ata Lio of Central Flores, Indonesia, as a
Paradigm of the Ecclesial Interrelationship between village and Institutional Catholicism.
Band 56 Werner Kohler: Umkehr und Umdenken. Grundzüge einer Theologie der Mission (her-
ausgegeben von Jörg Salaquarda).
Band 57 Martin Maw: Visions of India. Fulfilment Theology, the Aryan Race Theory, and the Work
of British Protestant Missionaries in Victorian India.
Band 58 Aasulv Lande: Meiji Protestantism in History and Historiography. A Comparative Study of
Japanese and Western Interpretation of Early Protestantism in Japan.
Band 59 Enyi B. Udoh: Guest Christology. An interpretative view of the christological problem in
Africa.
Band 60 Peter Schüttke-Scherle: From Contextual to Ecumenical Theology? A Dialogue between
Minjung Theology and 'Theology after Auschwitz'.
Band 61 Michael S. Northcott: The Church and Secularisation. Urban Industrial Mission in North
East England.
Band 62 Daniel O'Connor: Gospel, Raj and Swaraj. The Missionary Years of C. F. Andrews
1904-14.
Band 63 Paul D. Matheny: Dogmatics and Ethics. The Theological Realism and Ethics of Karl
Barth's Church Dogmatics.
Band 64 Warren Kinne: A People's Church? The Mindanao-Sulu Church Debacle.
Band 65 Jane Collier: The culture of economism. An exploration of barriers to faith-as-praxis.
Band 66 Michael Biehl: Der Fall Sadhu Sundar Singh. Theologie zwischen den Kulturen.
Band 67 Brian C. Castle: Hymns: The Making and Shaping of a Theology for the Whole People of
God. A Comparison of the Four Last Things in Some English and Zambian Hymns in In-
tercultural Perspective.
Band 68 Jan A. B. Jongeneel (ed.): Experiences of the Spirit. Conference on Pentecostal and
Charismatic Research in Europe at Utrecht University 1989 .
Band 69 William S. Campbell: Paul's Gospel in an Intercultural Context. Jew and Gentile in the
Letter to the Romans.
Band 70 Lynne Price: Interfaith Encounter and Dialogue. A Methodist Pilgrimage.
Band 71 Merrill Morse: Kosuke Koyama. A model for intercultural theology .
Band 73 Robert M. Solomon: Living in two worlds. Pastoral responses to possession in Singapore.
Band 74 James R. Krabill: The Hymnody of the Harrist Church Among the Dida of South Central
Ivory Coast (1913-1949). A Historico-Religious Study.
Band 75 Jan A. B. Jongeneel a.o. (eds.): Pentecost, Mission and Ecumenism. Essays on Inter-
cultural Theology. Festschrift in Honour of Professor Walter J. Hollenweger.
Band 76 Siga Arles: Theological Education for the Mission of the Church in India: 1947-1987.
Theological Education in relation to the identification of the Task of Mission and the
Development of Ministries in India: 1947-1987; with special reference to the Church of
South India.
Band 77 Roswith I.H. Gerloff: A Plea for British Black Theologies. The Black Church Movement in
Britain in its transatlanctic cultural and theological interaction with special reference to the
Pentecostal Oneness (Apostolic) and Sabbatarian movements. 2 parts.
Band 78 Friday M. Mbon: Brotherhood of the Cross and Star. A New Religious Movement in
Nigeria.
Band 79 John Samuel Pobee (ed.): Exploring Afro-christology.
Band 80 Frieder Ludwig: Kirche im kolonialen Kontext. Anglikanische Missionare und afrikanische
Propheten im südöstlichen Nigeria.
Band 81 Werner A. Wienecke: Die Bedeutung der Zeit in Afrika. In den traditionellen Religionen
und in der missionarischen Verkündigung.
Band 82 Ukachukwu Chris Manus: Christ, the African King. New Testament Christology.
Band 83 At Ipenburg: 'All Good Men'. The Development of Lubwa Mission, Chinsali, Zambia, 1905-
1967.
Band 84 Heinrich Schäfer: Protestantismus in Zentralamerika. Christliches Zeugnis im Spannungs-
feld von US-amerikanischem Fundamentalismus, Unterdrückung und Wiederbelebung
"indianischer" Kultur.
Band 85 Joseph Kufulu Mandunu: Das "Kindoki" im Licht der Sündenbocktheologie. Versuch einer
christlichen Bewältigung des Hexenglaubens in Schwarz-Afrika.
Band 86 Peter Fulljames: God and Creation in intercultural perspective. Dialogue between the
Theologies of Barth, Dickson, Pobee, Nyamiti and Pannenberg.
Band 87 Stephanie Lehr: "Wir leiden für den Taufschein!" Mission und Kolonialisierung am Beispiel
des Landkatechumenates in Nordostzaire.
Band 88 Dhirendra Kumar Sahu: The Church of North India. A Historical and Systematic Theologi-
cal Inquiry into an Ecumenical Ecclesiology.
Band 89 William W. Emilsen: Violence and Atonement. The Missionary Experiences of Mohandas
Gandhi, Samuel Stokes and Verrier Elwin in India before 1935.
Band 90 Kenneth D. Gill: Toward a Contextualized Theology for the Third World. The Emergence
and Development of Jesus' Name Pentecostalism in Mexico.
Band 91 Karl O. Sandnes: A New Family. Conversation and Ecclesiology in the Early Church with
Cross-Cultural.
Band 92 Jan A. B. Jongeneel: Philosophy, Science, and Theology of Mission in the 19th and 20th
Centuries. A Missiological Encyclopedia. Part I: The Philosophy and Science of Mission.
Band 93 Raymond Pfister: Soixante ans de pentecôtisme en Alsace (1930-1990). Une approche
socio-historique.
Band 94 Charles R. A. Hoole: "Modern Sannyasins". Protestant Missionarys Contribution to Ceylon
Tamil Culture.
Band 95 Amuluche Gregory Nnamani: The Paradox of a Suffering God. On the Classical, Modern-
Western and Third World Struggles to harmonise the incompatible Attributes of the
Trinitarian God.
Band 96 Geraldine S. Smyth: A Way of Transformation. A Theological Evaluation of the Conciliar
Process of Mutual Commitment to Justice, Peace and Integrity of Creation World Council
of Churches, 1983-1991.
Band 97 Aasulv Lande / Werner Ustorf (eds.): Mission in a Pluralist World.
Band 98 Alan Suggate: Japanese Christians and Society. With the assistance of YAMANO
Shigeko.
Band 99 Isolde Andrews: Deconstructing Barth. A Study of the Complementary Methods in Karl
Barth and Jacques Derrida.
Band 100 Lynne Price: Faithful Uncertainty. Leslie D. Weatherhead's Methodology of Creative
Evangelism.
Band 101 Jean de Dieu Mvuanda: Inculturer pour évangéliser en profondeur. Des initiations
traditionnelles africaines à une initiation chrétienne engageante.
Band 102 Allison M. Howell: The Religious Itinerary of a Ghanaian People. The Kasena and the
Christian Gospel.
Band 103 Lynne Price, Juan Sepúlveda & Graeme Smith (eds.): Mission Matters.
Band 104 Tharwat Kades: Die arabischen Bibelübersetzungen im 19. Jahrhundert.
Band 105 Thomas G. Dalzell SM: The Dramatic Encounter of Divine and Human Freedom in the
Theology of Hans Urs von Balthasar.
Band 106 Jan A. B. Jongeneel: Philosophy, Science, and Theology of Mission in the 19th and 20th
Centuries. A Missiological Encyclopedia. Part II: Missionary Theology.
Band 107 Werner Kohler: Unterwegs zum Verstehen der Religionen. Gesammelte Aufsätze. Her-
ausgegeben im Auftrag der Deutschen Ostasien-Mission und der Schweizerischen Ost-
asien-Mission von Andreas Feldtkeller.
Band 108 Mariasusai Dhavamony: Christian Theology of Religions. A Systematic Reflection on the
Christian Understanding of World Religions.
Band 109 Chinonyelu Moses Ugwu: Healing in the Nigerian Church. A Pastoral-Psychological Ex-
ploration.
Band 110 Getatchew Haile, Aasulv Lande & Samuel Rubenson (eds.): The Missionary Factor in
Ethiopia: Papers from a Symposium on the Impact of European Missions on Ethiopian
Society, Lund University, August 1996.
Band 111 Anthony Savari Raj: A New Hermeneutic of Reality. Raimon Panikkar's Cosmotheandric
Vision.
Band 112 Jean Pierre Bwalwel: Famille et habitat. Implications éthiques de l'éclatement urbain. Cas
de la ville de Kinshasa.
Band 113 Michael Bergunder: Die südindische Pfingstbewegung im 20. Jahrhundert. Eine histori-
sche und systematische Untersuchung.
Band 114 Alar Laats: Doctrines of the Trinity in Eastern and Western Theologies. A Study with Spe-
cial Reference to K. Barth and V. Lossky.
Band 115 Afeosemime U. Adogame: Celestial Church of Christ. The Politics of Cultural Identity in a
West African Prophetic – Charismatic Movement.
Band 116 Laurent W. Ramambason: Missiology: Its Subject-Matter and Method. A Study of Mis-
sion-Doers in Madagascar.
Band 117 Veli-Matti Kärkkäinen: Ad Ultimum Terrae. Evangelization, Proselytism and Common
Witness in the Roman Catholic Pentecostal Dialogue (1990-1997).
Band 118 Julie C. Ma: When the Spirit meets the Spirits. Pentecostal Ministry among the Kankana-
ey Tribe in the Philippines. 2., revised edition.
Band 119 Patrick Chukwudezie Chibuko: Igbo Christian Rite of Marriage. A Proposed Rite for Study
and Celebration.
Band 120 Patrick Chukwudezie Chibuko: Paschal Mystery of Christ. Foundation for Liturgical In-
culturation in Africa.
Band 121 Werner Ustorf / Toshiko Murayama (eds.): Identity and Marginality. Rethinking Christianity
in North East Asia.
Band 122 Ogbu U. Kalu: Power, Poverty and Prayer. The Challenges of Poverty and Pluralism in
African Christianity, 1960-1996.
Band 123 Peter Cruchley-Jones: Singing the Lord's Song in a Strange Land? A Missiological Inter-
pretation of the Ely Pastorate Churches, Cardiff.
Band 124 Paul Hedges: Preparation and Fulfilment. A History and Study of Fulfilment Theology in
Modern British Thought in the Indian Context.
Band 125 Werner Ustorf: Sailing on the Next Tide. Missions, Missiology, and the Third Reich.
Band 126 Seong-Won Park: Worship in the Presbyterian Church in Korea. Its History and Implica-
tions.
Band 127 Sturla J. Stålsett: The crucified and the Crucified. A Study in the Liberation Christology of
Jon Sobrino.
Band 128 Dong-Kun Kim: Jesus: From Bultman to the Third World.
Band 129 Lalsangkima Pachuau: Ethnic Identity and Christianity. A Socio-Historical and Missiologi-
cal Study of Christianity in Northeast India with Special Reference to Mizoram. 2002.
Band 130 Uchenna A. Ezeh: Jesus Christ the Ancestor. An African Contextual Christology in the
Light of the Major Dogmatic Christological Definitions of the Church from the Council of Nicea
(325) to Chalcedon (451).
Band 131 Chun Hoi Heo: Multicultural Christology. A Korean Immigrant Perspective.
Band 132 Arun W. Jones: Christian Missions in the American Empire. Episcopalians in Northern Lu-
zon, the Philippines, 1902-1946. 2003.
Band 133 Mary Schaller Blaufuss: Changing Goals of the American Madura Mission in India, 1830-
1916. 2003.
Band 134 Young-Gwan Kim: Karl Barth's Reception in Korea. Focusing on Ecclesiology in Relation
to Korean Christian Thought.
Band 135 Graeme Smith: Oxford 1937. The Universal Christian Council for Life and Work Confer-
ence. 2004.
Band 136 Uta Theilen: Gender, Race, Power and Religion. Women in the Methodist Church of
Southern Africa in Post-Apartheid Society. 2005.
Band 137 Uta Blohm: Religious Traditions and Personal Stories. Women Working as Priests, Minis-
ters and Rabbis. 2005.
Band 138 Ann Aldén: Religion in Dialogue with Late Modern Society. A Constructive Contribution to
a Christian Spirituality Informed by Buddhist-Christian Encounters. 2006.
Band 139 Stephen R. Goodwin: Fractured Land, Healing Nations. A Contextual Analysis of the Role
of Religious Faith Sodalities Towards Peace-Building in Bosnia-Herzegovina. 2006.
Band 140 Ábrahám Kovács: The History of the Free Church of Scotland's Mission to the Jews in Bu-
dapest and its Impact on the Reformed Church of Hungary. 1841–1914. 2006.
Band 141 Jørgen Skov Sørensen: Missiological Mutilations – Prospective Paralogies. Language and
Power in Contemporary Mission Theory. 2007.
Band 142 José Lingna Nafafé: Colonial Encounters: Issues of Culture, Hybridity and Creolisation.
Portuguese Mercantile Settlers in West Africa. 2007.
Band 143 Peter Cruchley-Jones (ed.): God at Ground Level. Reappraising Church Decline in the UK
Through the Experience of Grass Roots Communities and Situations. 2008.
Band 144 Marko Kuhn: Prophetic Christianity in Western Kenya. Political, Cultural and Theological
Aspects of African Independent Churches. 2008.
Band 145 Yang-Cun Jeong: Koreanische Immigrationsgemeinden in der Bundesrepublik Deutsch-
land. Die Entstehung, Entwicklung und Zukunft der koreanischen protestantischen Immigrati-
onsgemeinden in der Bundesrepublik Deutschland seit 1963. 2008.
Band 146 Jonas Adelin Jørgensen: Jesus Imandars and Christ Bhaktas. Two Case Studies of Inter-
religious Hermeneutics and Identity in Global Christianity. 2008.
Band 147 Brian K. Jennings: Leading Virtue. A Model for the Contextualisation of Christian Ethics. A
Study of the Interaction and Synthesis of Methodist and Fante Moral Traditions. 2009.
Band 148 Jan A. B. Jongeneel / Peter Tze Ming Ng / Paek Chong Ku / Scott W. Sunquist / Yuko
Watanabe (eds.): Christian Mission and Education in Modern China, Japan, and Korea. Histo-
rical Studies. 2009.
Band 149 Jan A. B. Jongeneel: Jesus Christ in World History. His Presence and Representation in
Cyclical and Linear Settings. With the Assistance of Robert T. Coote. 2009.
Band 150 Intercultural Perceptions and Prospects of World Christianity, ed. and authored by Richard
Friedli, Jan A. B. Jongeneel, Klaus Koschorke, Theo Sundermeier, and Werner Ustorf. 2010.
Band 151 Benjamin Simon: From Migrants to Missionaries. Christians of African Origin in Germany.
2010.
Band 152 Pan-chiu Lai / Jason Lam (eds.): Sino-Christian Theology. A Theological Qua Cultural Mo-
vement in Contemporary China. 2010.
www.peterlang.de
Reformed Theology in Africa Series
Volume 2
Life
in
Theological and Ethical
Contributions on Migration
Edited by
Manitza Kotzé & Riaan Rheeder
Volume 2
Life
in
TransIT
Published by AOSIS Books, an imprint of AOSIS Publishing.
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How to cite this work: Kotzé, M. & Rheeder, R. (eds.), 2020, ‘Life in transit: Theological
and ethical contributions on migration’, in Reformed Theology in Africa Series Volume 2,
pp. i–365, AOSIS, Cape Town.

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Volume 2
Life
in
TransIT
EDITORS
Manitza Kotzé
Riaan Rheeder
Commissioning Editor
Andries G. van Aarde, MA, DD, PhD, D Litt, South Africa
Board Members
Warren Carter, Professor of New Testament, Brite Divinity School, Fort Worth, United States
Christian Danz, Dekan der Evangelisch-Theologischen Fakultät der Universität Wien and
Ordentlicher Universität professor für Systematische Theologie und Religionswissenschaft,
University of Vienna, Austria
Pieter G.R. de Villiers, Associate Editor, Extraordinary Professor in Biblical Spirituality,
Faculty of Theology, University of the Free State, South Africa
Musa W. Dube, Department of Theology & Religious Studies, Faculty of Humanities,
University of Botswana, Botswana
David D. Grafton, Professor of Islamic Studies and Christian-Muslim Relations, Duncan Black
Macdonald Center for the Study of Islam and Christian-Muslim Relations, Hartford Seminary,
Hartford, Connecticut, United States
Jeanne Hoeft, Dean of Students and Associate Professor of Pastoral Theology and Pastoral
Care, Saint Paul School of Theology, United States
Dirk J. Human, Associate Editor, Deputy Dean and Professor of Old Testament Studies,
Faculty of Theology, University of Pretoria, South Africa
D. Andrew Kille, Former Chair of the SBL Psychology and Bible Section, and Editor of the
Bible Workbench, San Jose, United States
William R.G. Loader, Emeritus Professor Murdoch University, Perth, Western Australia
Isabel A. Phiri, Associate General Secretary for Public Witness and Diakonia, World Council
of Churches, Geneva, Switzerland
Marcel Sarot, Emeritus, Professor of Fundamental Theology, Tilburg School of Catholic
Theology, Tilburg University, the Netherlands
Corneliu C. Simut, Professor of Historical and Dogmatic Theology, Emanuel University,
Oradea, Bihor, Romania
Rothney S. Tshaka, Professor and Head of Department of Philosophy, Practical and
Systematic Theology, University of South Africa, Pretoria, South Africa
Elaine M. Wainwright, Emeritus Professor School of Theology, University of Auckland,
New Zealand; Executive Leader, Mission and Ministry, McAuley Centre, Australia
Gerald West, Associate Editor, School of Religion, Philosophy and Classics in the College of
Humanities, University of KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa

The publisher (AOSIS) endorses the South African ‘National Scholarly Book
Publishers Forum Best Practice for Peer Review of Scholarly Books’. The
manuscript was subjected to rigorous two-step peer review prior to publication,
with the identities of the reviewers not revealed to the author(s). The reviewers
were independent of the publisher and/or authors in question. The reviewers
commented positively on the scholarly merits of the manuscript and recommended
that the manuscript be published. Where the reviewers recommended revision
and/or improvements to the manuscript, the authors responded adequately to
such recommendations.
Migration is an issue that is under discussion worldwide and affects South Africa,
United States and Germany in a distinctive way. This book reflects academically
on this significant and topical subject of migration from the often neglected
perspective of the fields of theology and Christian ethics. While the majority of
contributions are from the South African context, there are also chapters reflecting
on the topic from the two other aforementioned contexts. While numerous
publications have recently appeared on the subject, reflections from theology and
Christian ethics are often lacking. As such, this scholarly publication wants to add
ethical value to the local and global conversations on the theme from a theological
perspective. The book reflects on migration from the perspectives originated in
the disciplines of biblical studies (the Hebrew Bible and the New Testament),
systematic theology, ecumenical studies, Christian ethics, practical theology and
missiology. It presents new and innovative inquiries primarily from a qualitative
methodological viewpoint. The book unveils new themes for deliberation and
provides novel interpretations and insights into existing research. The co-authors
represent a variety of academic, cultural and confessional backgrounds and as
such, a range of epistemological points of departure, adding to the richness and
value of the contribution. The target audience of this book includes scholars,
peers, researchers and professionals with an interest in migration, in particular
as reflected upon from the fields of theology and Christian ethics. The chapters
are based on original research, except the one authored by Professor Matthew
Kaemingk with the title ‘Muslim Immigration and Reformed Christology’. In this
chapter the author revisits and reworks, with permission granted by the publisher,
his previous research published in his book Christian Hospitality and Muslim
Immigration in an Age of Fear. No part of the book was plagiarised from another
publication or books.
Manitza Kotzé, Unit for Reformed Theology and the Development of the South
African Society, Faculty of Theology, North-West University, Potchefstroom,
South Africa
Riaan Rheeder, Unit for Reformed Theology and the Development of the South
African Society, Faculty of Theology, North-West University, Potchefstroom,
South Africa
Contents
Abbreviations, Figures and Tables Appearing in the
Text and Notes xv
List of Abbreviations xv
List of Figures xv
List of Tables xvi
Notes on Contributors xvii
Preface xxiii
Introduction: Life in transit: An introduction 1

Manitza Kotzé & Riaan Rheeder
Introduction 1
Chapter 1: ‘Love Thy Sojourner (by integrating them)’:

Ethical perspectives from the Pentateuch 15
Albert J. Coetsee
Introduction 15
The definition of the Hebrew word for ‘sojourn’ or ‘sojourner’ 18
The occurrence and use of the concept ‘sojourn’ or
‘sojourner’ in the Pentateuch 21
Laws concerning sojourners in the Pentateuch 25
Laws concerning festivals and Sabbaths 25
Laws concerning sacrifices 28
Laws concerning food 29
Laws concerning charity 32
Laws concerning justice 35
Laws that are the same for Israel and the sojourner 35
Laws concerning conduct due to the sojourner 36
The Pentateuch’s aim: Charity, solidarity and integration 37
Charity 38
vii
Contents
Solidarity 38
Integration 40
Some suggestions on integrating sojourners in the
modern context 43
Conclusion 44
Chapter 2: Migration of God’s people as an opportunity

to learn and understand God within the migrant context:
A perspective from the books of Leviticus and Acts 47
Christopher Magezi
Introduction and background to the study 48

In search of a framework for migration theology: A biblical
redemptive historical approach 52
The conceptualisation of a biblical redemptive historical
approach as an important framework for analysing
migration in Leviticus 19:33–37 and Acts 9:32–10:48 56
The migration of the Israelites into Egyptian bondage to
learn how they should treat people from other nations:
A perspective from Leviticus 19:33–37 60
Migration as an opportunity for God’s people to learn new
things about the character of God: A perspective from the
Book of Acts 66
An overview of the Book of Acts in view of migration in
redemptive history 66
How Peter learns of God’s impartiality regarding
the salvation of humankind in a migration context:
A perspective from Acts 9:32–10:48 68
The interrelationship between the doctrine of God’s
providence and the notion that good-new perspectives
about God may emerge because of migration 75
A balanced understanding of the linkage between the
doctrine of God’s providence and the perspectives that
emerge in Leviticus 19 and Acts 10 78
Summary and conclusion 82
viii
Contents
Chapter 3: What can we learn from Paul, the Jew’s,

migration dynamics, to accommodate the stranger
amidst the Jewish Diaspora? 85
J.A. (Jan) du Rand
Actuality and purpose 86

The historical Jewish Diaspora as a space of migration 88
The definable Diaspora situation 88
Some Diaspora spaces according to the Old and
New Testament 92
Paul the Jew in the Jewish Diaspora situation 97
Paul facilitates the Diaspora situation through his
migration dynamics: Paul’s migration dynamics and Israel 101
Migration dynamics and the law (Torah) 102
Migration dynamics in a particular social context 104
The Diaspora synagogue as source of social dynamic 105
Migration dynamics in a typical Diaspora urban environment 106
The dynamics in the development of communities 106
Migration dynamics in the household 107
Migration dynamics in cooperation with voluntary
associations 107
Assimilation, acculturation and accommodation in
migration dynamics 108
Migration dynamics and the Jewish identity 109
The historical Jesus in Paul’s migration dynamics? 109
The Septuagint (LXX) as migration dynamic and Paul’s
use of scripture 112
Paul’s transcultural and inter-religion approach and
Activating missionary perspectives through
Migration dynamics active in the Diaspora church in transit 115
Migration dynamics in an eschatological perspective 115
Paul’s own life narrative ‘in Christ’ as migration dynamic 116
Reflection and conclusion 117
ix
Contents
Chapter 4: Migration and Christian identity: Theological

reflections on Christian identity reconstructions in new
places and spaces 121
Nico Vorster
Introduction 122
Social-scientific perspectives on identity formation in new
places and spaces 124
Migration and identity 124
Migrations and religious identity reconstructions 128
Diagnostic deductions 130
Theological-ethical perspectives 131
Pauline perspectives on Christian identity and diversity 131
Theological-ethical application 136
Conclusion 140
Chapter 5: Human personhood and the call to

humaneness in an environment of migration:
A Christian ethical perspective 143
J.M. (Koos) Vorster
Introduction 144
The breath of human life 145
The beginning of life 152
The uniqueness of human life 155
The character of human life 160
The intention of human life 162
The hope of human life 165
Conclusion 167
Chapter 6: Muslim immigration and reformed Christology 171

Matthew Kaemingk
Introduction 171
A ninth frame 175
Herman Bavinck: The kaleidoscopic Christ 177
x
Contents
Klaas Schilder: The slave-king 182

Klaas Schilder: The naked king 185
Following the naked slave-king between Mecca
and Amsterdam 188
Hans Boersma: The hospitable king 191
Toward a reformed hospitality 195
Cruciform hospitality amidst Muslim immigration 197
The complex king 200
Framing Muslim migrants in Christ 204
Conclusion: Beyond paralysis 207
Chapter 7: The phenomenon of emigration of health

practitioners in South Africa: A Protestant perspective on
global guidance for the individual decision 209
Riaan Rheeder
Introduction 210
A global-ethical problem 214
Global-ethical perspective 218
Biblical perspective 224
Autonomy 224
Social responsibility 229
Conflicting duties 236
Conclusion 238
Chapter 8: A Christian ethical reflection on transnational

assisted reproductive technology 239
Manitza Kotzé
Introduction 239
Assisted reproductive technology and egg donation 242
The inequality of access to reproductive technology 244
Transnational assisted reproductive technology 245
Vulnerability of donors 246
xi
Contents
Migrant women as donors 247

An ethical response 248
Karl Barth and Christian ethics 250
Solidarity with the vulnerable as point of departure for
Christian ethics 252
Conclusion 254
Chapter 9: Violence against the displaced: An African

Pentecostal response 257
Marius Nel
Introduction 257
Refugees as a South African challenge 258
A theology of aliens 265
A Pentecostal response to violence against
displaced persons 267
Conclusion 274
Synthesis 274
Chapter 10: Religious pluralisation and the identity of

diaconia in Germany 277
Johannes Eurich
Introduction 277
On the transformation of religious social forms and their
significance for diaconia 279
Religion and religiosity in a sociological perspective 279
What impact does this change have on diaconia? 282
On the question of diaconal identity 283
Possible links to diaconal practice 290
Outlook: Migration as an invitation to the
interreligious opening of diaconia 294
xii
Contents
Chapter 11: Life in transit: From exiles to pilgrims –

A missiological perspective on humanity’s
global movement 297
I.W. (Naas) Ferreira
Introduction 298
Identify the origin of the Western Church’s ‘perennial urban
despair’ 299
Globalisation from above: History of our modernising world 300
Globalisation from below—an ‘urbanism’ 303
Identifying the problem: The problem of ‘identity’ in a
globalised world 306
Is there a way to save the Western Church? 309
God’s purposeful and redemptive movement in
human history 310
People movement (diasporas) within God’s divine plan 312
Identity: Not exiles, but pilgrims 314
Answer of hope: The next step—move with God 316
Examples to follow and to learn from 316
Conclusion 317
References 319
Index 359
xiii
Abbreviations, Figures
and Tables Appearing in
the Text and Notes
AIDS Acquired Immunodeficiency Syndrome
ART Assisted Reproductive Technology
HIV Human Immunodeficiency Virus
IPT Identity Process Theory
IVF In Vitro Fertilisation
LXX Septuagint
MT Masoretic Text
PTSD Post-traumatic Stress Disorder
SA South Africa
SADC South African Development Community
UDBHR Universal Declaration of Bioethics and
Human Rights
UN United Nations
UNESCO United Nations Educational, Scientific and
Cultural Organization
UNHCR United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees
UNPDDESA United Nations Population Division Department
of Economic and Social Affairs
WCRC World Communion of Reformed Churches
WHO World Health Organization
List of Figures
Figure 1: Pacifism and Pentecostals in South Africa. 269
xv
Abbreviations, Figures and Tables Appearing in the Text and Notes
List of Tables
Table 1.1: Occurrences of the root ‫ גור‬in the Pentateuch. 22
ָ ֹ ֹ ‫ ּתו‬in the Pentateuch.
Table 1.2: Occurrences of the noun ‫שב‬ 23
Table 1.3: The referent of the concept ‘sojourn’ or
‘sojourner’ in the Pentateuch. 23
xvi
Albert J. Coetsee
Unit for Reformed Theology and the Development of the South African Society,
Faculty of Theology, North-West University,
Potchefstroom, South Africa
Email: albert.coetsee@nwu.ac.za
Albert J. Coetsee studied theology at the North-West University

(2004–2010). From 2011 to 2016 he was the minister of the
Reformed Church Uitschot. During these years, he completed
his PhD in the New Testament. The title of his thesis (written in
Afrikaans) is, ‘The speaking God in the book of Hebrews: a
revelation-historical study’ (2014). Since 2017 he is an Old
Testament lecturer at the North-West University. His academic
interests include the book of Hebrews and the book of
Deuteronomy.
Christopher Magezi
Vaal Triangle, South Africa
Email: magezichristopher@gmail.com
Christopher Magezi completed his B.Th. Honours in 2013 at the

North-West University. In 2015 he received an MA in Theology at
the same university, graduating with a distinction. His MA research
focused in systematic theology, particularly, the application of
Christology to African contextual ministry realities. In 2016, after
completing his master’s research, Magezi enrolled for a PhD at
the Vaal Triangle Campus of the North-West University. His PhD
thesis focused on theological understandings of migration and
its implications for church ministry. It employed a biblical
redemptive historical approach to analyse the biblical text and its
relevance to the impact of migration on the church. The study is
located within a systematic theological reflection, with an
intentional gospel ministry application in contemporary urban
ministry and intercultural experience, as well as human coexistence
xvii
in the global ministry context, with particular focus on South

Africa (SA). Since completing his master’s degree, Christopher
Magezi has published more than 14 peer-reviewed academic
articles in academic journals that enjoy the South African
Department of Higher Education (DHET) subsidy. Magezi is
currently a Post-Doctoral Researcher at NWU.
J.A. (Jan) du Rand

Email: jdrtheol@gmail.com
J.A. (Jan) du Rand is a retired extraordinary professor in the Unit

for Reformed Theology and the Development of the South African
Society, Faculty of Theology, North-West University. He is an
emeritus professor at the Department of Religion Studies at the
University of Johannesburg. His research interests focus on Bible
translation (New Testament), biblical and theological eschatology,
theology and ethics of the Johannine writings in the New Testament
and biblical hermeneutics (New Testament Greek). Du Rand holds
the following degrees: BA and BA Hons (Greek) (UP), MA (Greek)
(University of the Free State [UFS]), BD and Postgraduate Dipl in
Theology, DD (New Testament) (UP), EMF (Essentials in Managerial
Finance) (Wits). He is the author of 41 monographs and 189
scholarly articles and has guided 41 doctor degrees. Recent
research projects include the theological development of Pauline
eschatology; the application of biblical ethics in the South African
situation; the influence of postmodern and deconstructive
hermeneutics on theology. Du Rand was awarded the Andrew
Murray prize for Theology four times, two on his own for Die A-Z
van Openbaring and Die Einde (both in process of translation into
English); the Millennial Medal for Theology from UFS as well as the
Ds Pieter van Drimmelen medal for Theology from Die S.A.
Akademie vir Wetenskap en Kuns.
xviii
Nico Vorster
Email: nico.vorster@nwu.ac.za
Nico Vorster is research professor in Systematic Theology and

Ethics at the Faculty of Theology at the North-West University of
SA (Potchefstroom Campus).
J.M. (Koos) Vorster

Email: koos.vorster@nwu.ac.za
J.M. (Koos) Vorster is a post-retirement professor in Ethics at the

Faculty of Theology at the North-West University of SA
(Potchefstroom Campus). His field of study is social ethics from
a theological perspective. He published 11 books and 103 scholarly
articles in international and national theological journals on issues
relating to human dignity, human rights and political ethics. His
angle of approach is the classic Reformed tradition as it was
developed by theologians, Christian philosophers and political
thinkers since the contributions of Calvin and his contemporaries.
He is rated by the National Research Foundation of SA as an
established researcher and has presented several papers at
international conferences on modern social-ethical issues. He
also acted as an advisor of the Human Rights Council of the
United Nations in Geneva from 2000 to 2013 on behalf of the
United Nations accredited International Association of Religious
Freedom.
xix
Matthew Kaemingk
Department of Christian Ethics,
Fuller Theological Seminary,
Houston, TX, United States of America,
Email: kaemingk@fuller.edu
Matthew Kaemingk is an associate dean and an assistant professor

of Christian Ethics at Fuller Theological Seminary in Houston.
Matthew serves as a fellow at the Center for Public Justice and a
scholar-in-residence at the De Pree Center for Christian
Leadership. He is the author of Christian Hospitality and Muslim
Immigration in an Age of Fear (Eerdmans 2018). Matthew’s
research and public speaking focuses on a variety of issues
related to faith and public life including: religious pluralism and
political ethics, marketplace ethics, Muslim–Christian relations
and Reformed public theology.
Riaan Rheeder
Email: riaan.rheeder@nwu.ac.za
Riaan Rheeder is a professor in bioethics, affiliated to the Unit for

Reformed Theology and the Development of the South African
Society within the Faculty of Theology at the North-West
University in Potchefstroom. His research interest includes the
exploration and promotion of the universal bioethical principles
of the Universal Declaration of Bioethics and Human Rights (by
UNESCO). He held the following degrees: BA, ThB, MA and ThD
in theological ethics. He participated in scholarly projects, namely
Religion and Civil Society (2017), Togetherness in South Africa
(on racism, 2017) and Reconceiving Reproductive Health:
Theological and Christian Ethical Reflections (2019). He is also
part of a project with The International Network of the UNESCO
Chair in Bioethics (Haifa) involved in the promotion of bioethics
and is also a C2-rated researcher.
xx
Manitza Kotzé
Email: manitza.kotze@nwu.ac.za
Manitza Kotzé is a Senior Lecturer in Dogmatology at the Faculty

of Theology at North-West University, SA where she teaches
Christian Doctrine and Christian Ethics. Her research interests
include the interplay between Christian doctrine and bioethics, in
particular topical ethical questions raised by biotechnology. She
is ordained in the Dutch Reformed Church.
Marius Nel
Email: marius.nel@nwu.ac.za
Marius Nel is a research professor and he occupies the Chair of

Ecumenism: Pentecostalism and Neo-Pentecostalism at the Unit
for Reformed Theology of the Faculty of Theology at the
Potchefstroom campus of the North-West University in SA and
he has been a pastor of the Apostolic Faith Mission of South
Africa with 35 years’ experience. He specialises in apocalypticism
in the Old and New Testament, the history of the Pentecostal
movement and the study of its doctrine.
Johannes Eurich
Institute of Diaconal Studies,
Faculty of Theology, University of Heidelberg,
Heidelberg, Germany;
Department of Practical Theology,
Faculty of Theology, Stellenbosch University,
Stellenbosch, South Africa
Email: johannes.eurich@dwi.uni-heidelberg.de
Johannes Eurich has been a Professor of Practical Theology or

Diaconal Studies and Director of the Institute of Diaconal Studies
at the University of Heidelberg since 2009. From 2013 to 2015 he
was Dean of the Faculty of Theology at the University of
xxi
Heidelberg, previously Professor of Ethics in Social Work at the

Protestant University in Bochum. In 2011 he was appointed
Extraordinary Professor of Practical Theology at Stellenbosch
University in SA. In his research he works on the following topics:
Theology of Helping, Diakonia in the Transformation of the
Welfare State, Social Innovation and Innovation in Social Services,
Economisation of Social Services, Ethics in Social Work. He is
active in numerous committees, including the Social Chamber of
the Protestant Church in Germany and the Scientific Advisory
Board of the Institute for Public Theology and Ethics of Social
Welfare in Vienna. Prof. Eurich heads the Scientific Advisory
Board of the Social Science Institute of the Protestant Church in
Germany as well as the International Advisory Board of the VID
University Oslo in Norway.

Email: naas.ferreira@nwu.ac.za
Naas Ferreira was a minister (pastor) in the Reformed Churches
in South Africa for 26 years. He studied at the former
Potchefstroom University for Christian Higher Education and
received his BA and ThM from this university. He completed his
Doctor of Ministry (Urban Missions) degree at the Westminster
Theological Seminary in Philadelphia (USA). He is a senior lecturer
in Missiology at the Faculty of Theology of the Northwest
University since April 2014 and is the study leader for several MA
and PhD students in Missiology. He has travelled Africa extensively
and attended several international conferences in Africa and
recently also in Turkey. He was also involved in the Christian
mission in several African countries. In his research, he specifically
focuses on Urban Mission and Theological Education for a post
Christendom context.
xxii
Preface
Manitza Kotzé
Unit for Reformed Theology and the Development of the
South African Society,
Riaan Rheeder
Unit for Reformed Theology and the Development of the
South African Society,
The editors express their gratitude to the contributors for giving

their time and energy, as well as to the peer reviewers who
contributed to the high-quality of the contributions in this volume.
We really appreciate all of your hard work!
The editors thank the staff of AOSIS, in particular Mrs Bertha
Oberholzer at the In die Skriflif/In Luce Verbi office, for all of her
assistance, patience and continued communication and
appreciate Prof. Koos Vorster and the editorial board of In die
Skriflif/In Luce Verbi.
The editors also acknowledge the financial assistance from
the Unit for Reformed Theology at the Faculty of Theology at
North-West University, and in particular, the Director of the Unit,
Prof. Ferdi Kruger, which made the publication of this volume
possible.
How to cite: Kotzé, M. & Rheeder, R., 2020, ‘Preface’, in M. Kotzé & R. Rheeder (eds.), Life
in Transit: Theological and Ethical Contributions on Migration (Reformed Theology in Africa
Series volume 2), pp. xxiii–xxiii, AOSIS, Cape Town. https://doi.org/10.4102/aosis.2020.
BK219.00
xxiii
Introduction
Life in transit:
An introduction
Manitza Kotzé
Unit for Reformed Theology and the
Development of the South African Society,
Riaan Rheeder
Introduction
Migration within counties and across country borders is taking
place on an unprecedented scale. The growing number of
refugees and people displaced by war and environmental
disasters is a cause of serious global concern. With the world
population swiftly on its way to exceeding 8 billion people, and
displacement and natural catastrophes rising, ‘[m]ass migration
in an era of globalization will increase as never known before’
(Hertig 2014:46). Migrants account for roughly 3% of the world’s
How to cite: Kotzé, M., & Rheeder R., 2020, ‘Life in transit: An introduction’, in M. Kotzé
& R. Rheeder (eds.), Life in Transit: Theological and Ethical Contributions on Migration
(Reformed Theology in Africa Series volume 2), pp. 1–14, AOSIS, Cape Town. https://doi.
org/10.4102/aosis.2020.BK219.0i
1
Life in transit: An introduction
population, with more than 60% living in the developed world

(Cruz 2010:1). If all of the migrants in the world were to establish
a country, it would be the sixth most heavily populated in the
world (Cruz 2010:1).
‘Migration’ as a term is derived from the Latin migrare, which
refers to movement, ‘whether temporary or permanent, voluntary
or forced, of individuals and groups of people crossing territorial
boundaries’ (Padilla & Phan 2013:2). As such, migration also goes
hand-in-hand with other closely related topics of inquiry such as
globalisation. Saskia Sassen (1996) utilises two interrelated
phrases in order to discuss the parallel tendency of the same
macro- and microstructures that enable and prompt migration
on a global scale through agencies and institutions that provide
the market with circulating migrant labour to, simultaneously,
strive for the control of such migration. These two phrases are
‘denationalisation of economics’ and ‘renationalisation of politics’
(Sassen 1996:30, 63–65).
Concurrent with control mechanisms tightening, phenomena
such as the denial of the rights of migrants often occur with
‘nationalistic sentiments that fuel unfair trading laws or at least
the dulling of consciences that turn a blind eye toward them’
(Padilla & Phan 2013:3–4). In this way, freedom of movement can
be lessened and the subject of migration further complicated.
Migration, Elaine Padilla and Peter C. Phan (2013:1) remark, ‘is
a highly complex phenomenon, with significant economic,
sociopolitical, cultural, and religious repercussions for the
migrants, their native countries, and the host societies’. In their
volume on migration theory, Caroline B. Brettell and James F.
Hollifield remark (2007:n.p.) that ‘migration is a subject that cries
out for an interdisciplinary approach’. Every discipline brings
something to the table, they argue, whether it is theoretical or
empirical. Their list of contributions includes the fields of
anthropology, sociology, economics, geography, political science,
history, and demographics. Theology is strikingly absent.
2
Introduction
Increasing interest in the topic of migration within the

disciplines of religious studies and theology can be seen in
publications such as Padilla and Phan’s (2013) Contemporary
Issues of Migration and Theology, which discusses a number of
key issues that are raised by migration within the intersecting
fields of World Christianity and constructive theology, ethics,
spirituality, mission, ministry, inculturation, interreligious dialogue
and theological education; Cruz’s (2010) An Intercultural
Theology of Migration: Pilgrims in the Wilderness, which presents
an intercultural theology of migration through focusing on the
struggles of a particular group of migrants, Filipina domestic
workers in Hong Kong; and Cruz’s (2016) later Toward a Theology
of Migration: Social Justice and Religious Experience, in which
she reflects on Christian unity in view of both the gifts and
challenges to Christian spirituality, mission and inculturation
brought about by contemporary migration, as well as the
necessity of reforming migration policies based on the experiences
of migrants.
Other recent publications include Padilla and Phan’s (2014)
Theology of Migration in the Abrahamic Religions; Afe Adogame,
Raimundo Barreto and Wanderley P. da Rosa’s (2019) Migration
and Public Discourse in World Christianity; Martha Frederiks and
Dorottya Nagy’s (2016) Religion, Migration, and Identity:
Methodological and Theological Explorations; Safwat Marzouk’s
(2019) Intercultural Church: A Biblical Vision for an Age of
Migration; and Jenny McGill’s (2016) Religious Identity and
Cultural Negotiation: Toward a Theology of Christian Identity in
Migration.
This contribution draws on three locations heavily impacted
by migration, namely South Africa, Germany, and the United
States of America. Since 1994, South Africa has been experiencing
a large influx of migrants from Sub-Saharan and Central Africa.
Many of the migrants are illegal residents who live below the
radar of the law and enjoy no legal rights. Germany has faced a
sudden influx of 150 000 refugees from Syria as a result of the
3
civil war in Syria. The decision of Angela Merkel to allow refugees

into Germany may have long-term effects on the demographic
profile and social make-up of Germany. The refugee crisis has
already impacted heavily on Germany’s budget and welfare
logistics. In the United States of America, immigration policies
are heavily debated. The Trump administration has vowed to
crack down on illegal immigration and has expressed intent to
limit Muslim immigration. A troubling issue facing both Germany
and the United States of America concerns the radicalisation of
second and third generation immigrant communities. South
Africa, conversely, had to contend with unprecedented
xenophobic attacks on foreigners. In short, South Africa, Germany
and the United States of America are undergoing a complex
process of identity reconfiguration brought about by the mass
movements of people and rapid demographic changes. The
dynamics regarding identity formation have led to turbulent
political, social and public contestation, as can be seen in the rise
of right-wing politics in Germany, Trumpism in the United States
of America and the decolonisation narrative in South Africa.
While the majority of contributions to this volume are from South
African scholars, perspectives of scholars from Germany and the
United States of America are also included.
Migration is not only a socio-political and ethical issue,
however, but also one that necessitates a theological and Christian
ethical response and, simultaneously, one where theology and
Christian ethics can both benefit from and contribute to the
discussion in other disciplines. Marion Grau (2013:12) lists a
number of questions that migration raises, such as ‘questions
about land, belongingness, identity and community’. These are
questions that theology has grappled with in the past and is still
reflecting on, and as such, questions where theologians and
Christian ethicists can have a valuable influence. Migration is not
a new phenomenon. Scripture contains numerous references to
the relocation and migration of peoples in various narratives and
literary styles. At the very beginning of the Bible, the first human
4
Introduction
beings are exiled from the Garden, and at the very end John,
exiled to Patmos, has a vision of the migration of all of humanity
to the New Jerusalem. Theological engagement with biblical
texts can teach us much about ‘how struggling, contested
cultures combine, extend and recombine their narratives toward
a contested identity narrative’ (Grau 2013:12).
In Genesis, Sarita Gallagher (2014:4) notes, Abraham is
acknowledged as ‘an immigrant and a stranger in the land’. His
position as a nomadic outsider is an important aspect of the
primary narrative, and he experiences the challenges that many
foreigners and migrants face today, namely ‘culture shock, social
displacement, cultural confusion, and language barriers’
(Gallagher 2014:4). In addition, the exodus narrative of migration
‘informs much of Christian liberation theology’ (Grau 2013:12)
and is a prominent theme throughout the Old Testament. Walter
Brueggemann’s 1977 publication The Land argues that land is
conceivably the most important theme found in the Old
Testament. In examining the traditions of land and landlessness,
he contends that land is not merely given to the people of God to
meet their needs, but to take care of. Failure to do so results in
removal from the land, migration into exile.
Migration is also prominent in the narratives of the New
Testament. Hertig (2014:47–48) discusses Jesus’ migrations as a
child, first fleeing to Egypt to escape Herod and then migrating
to Nazareth after Herod’s death. Matthew’s utilisation of the
term ‘withdraw’, Hertig (2014:49) notes, emphasises that ‘Jesus
is a migrant from early childhood, who must cross borders not
only to survive, but, eventually, to initiate and fulfil his mission’.
In the Great Commission (Mt 28), Christians are instructed to
migrate to all corners of the earth, to make disciples of all
nations.
Conradie (2009:4) furthermore indicates that a theology of
place is intimately related to what he terms the seven ‘chapters’
of the Christian story: ‘creation, continuing creation and history,
5
human culture and sin, Gods providence, redemption in history,

church and mission and eschatological fulfilment (the hope to
find a final resting place). A theology of place, he continues,
should also be comprehended from the position of the social
power of space, ‘over land, over public buildings, over housing
and over the bodies of others’ (Conradie 2009:4). Accordingly,
speaking about a theology of place, Conradie (2009:4) maintains,
is deeply connected with everyday life. Combined with the
previous aspect of movement found in Scripture, this everyday
life can also be expressed as ‘life in transit’.
Reflecting on these deliberations also forms part of crucial
debates within faith communities, which necessitates the
development of life-giving theological language and creative
theological and ethical alternatives that can speak to experiences
of matters relating to migration within countries and across
borders.
This contribution provides the fields of theology and Christian
social ethics with an opportunity to bring together emerging
insights on the complex nexus of problems related to population
migrations. A plethora of public theological issues arise as a
result of global mass movements. There are, for instance,
widespread concerns on the social impact of the annihilation of
family structures as a result of migrant labour, influx controls and
forced removals because of war or poverty. How can theologians
address the phenomena underlying the fragmentation of family
networks? How can theology contribute to the formation of
positive social identities in these contexts? In what way can
public theology influence public discourse and encourage a
universal respect for human dignity, equality and freedom? What
can be done to eradicate xenophobia? By what means can
religious communities influence the immigrant experience? How
should we respond from a theological viewpoint to what Sassen
(2016) has called emergent migrant flows, a phenomenon that
includes unaccompanied minors, religious minorities and those
fleeing war zones and despoiled habitats?
6
Introduction
In ‘“Love Thy Sojourner (by integrating them)”: Ethical

perspectives from the Pentateuch’ (ch. 1), Albert Coetzee
examines the legal and illegal migration of people, which leads to
a plethora of reactions, ranging from indifference to persecution.
This impels us to seek an answer to the question: How can the
intricacies of migration and the reactions it evokes be addressed?
This chapter aims to contribute to the answer by focusing on the
Pentateuch. The Pentateuch contains numerous references to
sojourners. Among others, the Pentateuch explicitly states how
the people of Israel were to treat non-Israelite sojourners: they
were not to wrong or oppress them, but to love them (cf. Lev
19:34; Deut 10:19). Coetzee starts off by defining the Hebrew
words for ‘sojourn/sojourner’. This is followed up by tracing the
occurrence and use of this concept in the Pentateuch. Next, the
chapter zooms in on the various laws concerning sojourners by
grouping similar laws together, discussing their content and
deducing the ethical principles underlying them. Coetzee argues
that the various laws concerning sojourners in the Pentateuch are
not aimed at goodwill, charity and the alleviation of poverty only.
Rather, these laws are aimed at integrating non-Israelites into the
history and religion of Israel. In other words, the Pentateuch
teaches that loving a sojourner means integrating that sojourner
into the complexities of his or her new place of residence. The
chapter ends by giving some suggestions on how this can be
done in the modern context.
In ‘Migration of God’s People as an Opportunity to Learn and
Understand God within Migrant Context: A Perspective from the
Books of Exodus and Acts’ (ch. 2), Christopher Magezi argues
that the contemporary church can no longer afford to ignore the
increasing number of people who are moving from one country
to another. This notion is embedded in the fact that when
international migrants arrive in their desired hosting nations, they
are faced with various challenges that the church, as a community
of God, is sanctioned to address (Mt 25:31ff.). However, at present,
the church, as a body of Christ that is sanctioned by God to
respond to migrants’ challenges, is responding ineffectively to
7
the migration phenomenon because of lack of biblical theological

foundational statuses of migration theology that drive respective
churches’ migrant ministries. As a response to the proposed
theological need, this chapter is a quest for a theology of
migration that would effectively drive the churches’ migrant
ministries. After explaining and defending a biblical redemptive
historical approach as a relevant and responsible approach to
understanding and developing migration theology, which
provides a coherent unifying approach that results in an
appropriate and constructive understanding of migration in the
Bible, the chapter proceeds to examine the issue of the migration
in redemptive history utilising the proposed framework, yet
paying particular attention to the passages of Leviticus 19:33–37
and Acts 10:34–48. Emerging from the proposed biblical passages
is the notion that the migration of God’s people is an opportunity
for them to learn and understand the far-reaching implications of
God’s plans, purposes, nature and character within migrant
contexts. The chapter concludes by using the emerging notion
from the proposed texts to challenge the church to find ways to
respond effectively to migrants’ challenges.
When migration is to be taken as a process or human movement
in transit, it is characterised in this contribution by a particular
historic situation, known as the historic Jewish Diaspora, Jan du
Rand notes in ‘What can we learn from Paul, the Jew’s, migration
dynamics, to accommodate the stranger amidst the Jewish
Diaspora?’ (ch. 3). The research question investigated in this
chapter is what the apostle Paul’s role was to create xenophilia
instead of xenophobia. The Pharisee/apostle is mastering the
migration situation through the application of splangnizesthai –
taking care of the stranger. The social sciences have lately have
provided theological research with cultural, psychological and
socio-cultural insights to be fruitfully used. The crucial question
remains how the Diaspora Christians, coming from Diaspora Jews
and Hellenistic gentiles, were harmoniously facilitated in a Greco-
Roman situation. What was Paul’s role and action theologically
and culturally to accommodate both cultural groups? The Bible
8
Introduction
can be called a book of diasporas. Paul’s answer lies in the

diaspora dynamics he applied to bridge the cultural and religious
gap between Jewish and Greco-Roman cultures. He meticulously
and with a touch of adventure applied the following diasporic
dynamics: emphasising the identity of Israel; honouring the
authority of the Torah; taking the cultural, social and historical
context into consideration; focusing functionally on the
synagogues; participating in the development of communities
and households; respecting the role of assimilation and
accommodation; drawing theological links with the historical
Jesus; making use of the Septuagint translation; building
transcultural and religious relations between Jewish ethnicities
and Greco-Roman identities; and proclaiming the diaspora as a
reverse mission. Du Rand’s conclusion is that we can meaningfully
adopt from Paul’s diaspora dynamics in recent migrational
situations.
Nico Vorster, in ‘Migration and Christian identity: Theological
reflections on Christian identity reconstructions in new places
and spaces’ (ch. 4), uses identity to refer to the way people view
themselves in relation to the physical places and social spaces
within which they operate. Identity formation is an ongoing
process and self-definitions can change as a person is confronted
with transformative life experiences or changing environments.
This chapter examines the effect that global migrations have on
individual identity constructions from a theological perspective.
How does living in a new place and space, belonging to a new
society and being part of a community with a different set of
moral ideals or religious values influence the self-definitions of
immigrants? How should receiving Christian communities and
Christian immigrants respond to the challenges that migration
brings? The contribution consists of a diagnostic and a theological-
normative section. The diagnostic section consults identity
process theory as constructed by social psychologists, the
looking-glass theory of sociologists and migration systems
theory from migration studies to understand the complex
relationship between migration, religion and identity
9
reconstruction. It also discusses the findings of a number of

empirical studies done in various parts of the world on this topic.
The theological–ethical section uses Galatians 3:26–28 and
parallel passages in the Pauline corpus as a lens to understand
the essential characteristics of Christian identity. It then proceeds
to integrate the previously discussed social-scientific and biblical
insights into a Christian–ethical framework that provides
guidelines for receiving Christian communities and Christian
immigrants on how to respond to migration and identity
reconstruction within changing environments.
In ‘Human personhood and the call to humaneness in an
environment of migration: A Christian ethical perspective’ (ch. 5),
Koos Vorster notes that since Bonhoeffer introduced the
hypothesis of a ‘religionless Christianity’, the concept of ‘human
life’ has become a prominent point of academic discussion within
current theological–ethical discourse in public theologies,
especially regarding bio-ethics, eco-ethics and social justice. This
chapter endeavours to participate in the on-going debate by
taking into consideration certain related theological perspectives
as found in a Reformed paradigm. The research develops biblical
perspectives about the concept of human life according to
various interpretations of the classic text in the light of the
theology of creation, christology and pneumatology. These
perspectives are subsequently applied to contextual ethical
concerns relating to life matters. The central theoretical argument
of this chapter is that theological perspectives on the essentials
of life can offer positive and valuable contributions to ethical
discourses on the subject of life issues, bio-ethics, ecological
concerns and social justice. These essentials include especially
the breath, beginning, uniqueness, character and intention of
human life. To these can be added the hope for or in human life.
This much is clear, if people accept the call to follow Jesus
amidst the debate over Muslim immigration they will be quickly
flooded and overwhelmed by two realities, Matthew Kaemingk
notes in ‘Muslim immigration and reformed Christology’ (ch. 6).
10
Introduction
Firstly, the conflict will overwhelm them with its complexity and
scale. Any one issue or question within the conflict is more than
enough for a lifetime. One could dedicate one’s whole life to
antiracism, women’s rights and antiterrorism activities and never
actually solve any of the issues. Secondly, if Christians are not
already overwhelmed by the scope of the crisis, they will certainly
be overwhelmed by the scope of Christ’s call.
Christian disciples attempting to follow Jesus amidst the
debate over Muslim immigration can know that Christ does not
simply walk in front of them as a distant moral ideal; he walks
alongside them, as well. The moral and political paralysis one
feels, the sense of being overwhelmed by the size and complexity
of the crisis, is birthed from the mistaken notion that the Christian
– and not Christ – must somehow solve the issue.
In ‘The phenomenon of emigration of health practitioners in
South Africa: A Protestant perspective on global guidance for
the individual decision’ (ch. 7), Riaan Rheeder indicates that the
choice regarding emigration by the medical practitioner in the
context of South Africa is not without implications because of
the shortage of schooled health workers. The global community
is convinced the individual thinking about emigration should not
consider their own interests only, but also realise they have a
social responsibility, especially towards vulnerable citizens. The
principles of freedom and social responsibility as described by
the UDBHR are supported by Protestant ethics, but – different
from the UDBHR – Christian ethics point to the prioritising of the
interests of the vulnerable community.
Manitza Kotzé, in ‘A Christian ethical reflection on transnational
assisted reproductive technology’ (ch. 8), looks at the issue of
the utilisation of donors in reproductive technology and, in
particular, when this donation occurs across national borders.
Specifically, how the excluded become part of a system that
excludes them, not as beneficiaries, but through exploitation, and
in particular, how this affects migrants, is the unique contribution
that this chapter hopes to make. Kotzé offers a Christian ethical
11
response by focusing on the themes of covenant and solidarity

with the vulnerable. The covenant and solidarity with the
vulnerable are discussed as expressed in the work of liberation
theologians Russel Botman and Gustavo Gutiérrez, as well as in
the Accra Declaration.
The Pentecostal movement is historically known as pacifist
and directed at the marginalised, including the displaced, Marius
Nel notes in ‘Violence against the displaced: An African
Pentecostal response’ (ch. 9). Their impact was primarily among
the poor and reviled. Today, the refugee problem where victims
of war flee to guest countries where they at times experience
rejection and xenophobia, even from Christians, necessitates that
the Pentecostal movement reconsider its pacifist sentiment and
response to the displaced. Instead of remaining silent about
xenophobic attacks that mark the South African political scene
at the moment, it is argued that Pentecostals should employ
metaphors informed by their distinctive pneumatology that will
exchange in-bred fear for the stranger for philoxenia, the mutuality
of brotherly love. Christian hospitality as the embodiment of the
church as the body of Christ on earth counteracts the social
stratification of the larger society by providing an alternative
based on the principle of the equality and dignity of all and
creating faith communities where everyone is welcome regardless
of background, status, gender or race. When the church serves as
the hospitium of God, it will communicate a sharing, welcoming,
embracing and all-inclusive communality that is in the forefront
of efforts to welcome, house and relocate the alienated.
Johannes Eurich, in ‘Religious pluralisation and the identity
of diaconia in Germany’ (ch. 10), notes that the situation of
religious pluralisation constitutes a challenge for the diaconia
(understood as Christian social services operated by church-
based organisations) to open itself in terms of interreligious
dialogue and to develop corresponding concepts. What impact
does this change have on the attempt to form a diaconical
identity? And in what ways can this identity be presented under
12
Introduction
the condition of religious pluralisation? In this chapter, four

possible approaches are discussed in regard to their advantages
and challenges. Ways for the possible implementation into
practice are also thematised.
In ‘Life in transit: From exiles to pilgrims – A missiological
perspective on humanity’s global movement’, Naas Ferreira
states that nearly 4000 years ago God set humanity in motion
when He disturbed the man-made unity at the Tower of Babel
(Gn 11). This global journey of humanity over millennia has now
entered a very important and difficult final stage – the
establishment of the ‘global village of Babylon’. The processes at
work are unstoppable, irreversible and, to be honest,
unmanageable. The consequences for humanity are devastating.
This chapter wants to explore the ‘anticipation’ of the ‘next step’
contained in the theme ‘Life in Transit’. The purpose is to give
hope to ‘exiles’ by encouraging them to become ‘pilgrims’. This is
the contribution that Theology should make within the dawning
realities that urbanising humanity is facing today. The focus of
this chapter is not only on the consequences of humanity’s
historical and global movement, but on God’s purposeful and
redemptive movement within human history. But, more is at
stake. The missional perspective that really brings hope to take
this ‘next step’ is the call to ‘move with God’. This call is clearly
directed to the Christian Church that is, since the start of
humanity’s global movement, supposed to be a blessing to
humanity as a whole. Only ‘pilgrims’ who ‘move with God’ are
really in ‘transit’ – on their way to a final destination.
The chapters in this volume are all original research and have
not been published elsewhere. They contain a variety of
contributions from a number of disciplines on this important
theme. It is our hope that this volume will make a contribution to
scholarly deliberations, as well as to a more profound theological
and ethical reflection on the topic of migration. By offering new
and innovative investigations, new themes for debate and new
interpretations and insights into existing research, we hope that
13
a wide-ranging perspective on the theme of migration is

presented. Simultaneously, we remain conscious that the
experience of migration and the themes it raises are much more
extensive than one volume can contain. Accordingly, we hope
that this volume may play a part in the larger conversation on
matters surrounding migration and life in transit, within faith
communities and broader.
14
Chapter 1
‘Love Thy Sojourner

(by integrating them)’:
Ethical perspectives
from the Pentateuch
Albert J. Coetsee
Unit for Reformed Theology and the Development
of the South African Society,
Keywords: Migration; Sojourn; Sojourner; Pentateuch; Integration;

Ethics.
Introduction
Legal and illegal migration of people is a universal conundrum.
Never before has the world been confronted with this as in recent
How to cite: Coetsee, A.J., 2020, ‘“Love Thy Sojourner (by integrating them)”: Ethical
perspectives from the Pentateuch’, in M. Kotzé & R. Rheeder (eds.), Life in Transit:
Theological and Ethical Contributions on Migration (Reformed Theology in Africa Series
volume 2), pp. 15–45, AOSIS, Cape Town. https://doi.org/10.4102/aosis.2020.BK219.01
15
Love Thy Sojourner (by integrating them)
years.1 Inevitably, this leads to a plethora of reactions, ranging from

indifference to persecution. In South Africa (SA), my motherland,
migration has recently led to unprecedented xenophobic attacks
(South African History Online 2015). This impels us to seek an
answer to the question: how can the intricacies of migration and
the reactions it evokes be addressed?
Whilst this is most difficult to answer, many theologians try to
answer the question from the Bible. Fittingly, albeit unsurprisingly,
the New Testament is the focus of various studies on migration.2
A bit more unexpected (for some at least), is the vast and rapidly
growing amount of studies on migration from the Old Testament.
The first Testament has numerous references to ‘sojourners’, and
as such is a goldmine when it comes to the question of migration.
Most of these references are found in the Pentateuch, which,
among others, explicitly state how the people of Israel were to
treat sojourners. Although the laws concerning sojourners touch
on various topics, the golden thread found throughout is that
Israel was not to wrong or oppress the sojourner, but to love him
or her (e.g. Lv 19:34; Dt 10:19).
In light of this fact, this article aims to contribute to the
answer of how the intricacies of migration and the reactions it
evokes can be addressed by focusing on the Pentateuch. The
article starts off by defining the Hebrew words for ‘sojourn’ or
‘sojourner’. This is followed up by tracing the occurrence and
use of this concept in the Pentateuch. Next, the study zooms in
on the various laws concerning sojourners by grouping similar
laws together, discussing their content and deducing the ethical
principles underlying them.
1. According to the United Nations (UN) (n.d.), ‘more people than ever before live in a country
other than the one in which they were born’. The International Organization for Migration in
their Word Migration Report 2018 (2017:2) indicates that in 2015 ‘there were an estimated
244 million migrants globally’. The Migration Policy Institute (2017:n.p.) recons that as of
2017, ‘the number of migrants worldwide stood at almost 258 million’.
2. For recent scholarly publications, see among others Senior (2008), Dunning (2009), Prill
(2009), Aymer (2015) and Stenschke (2016).
16
Chapter 1
The aim of this study is to give an overview of what the laws of

the Pentateuch as a whole say about sojourners. For this reason,
the Pentateuch is treated as a unit, and the text investigated is the
final form we have today. Consequently, the aim of this study is
not to distinguish between the various possible layers or sources
of the Pentateuch, and the possibility that the concept ‘sojourn’
or ‘sojourner’ has different nuances in the different layers.3
Whilst it is indeed possible that the various Pentateuchal laws
concerning sojourners developed as the situation changed and
new legislation became necessary,4 all reconstructions remain
hypothetical. In any case, if there are developments or redactions
in the text of the Pentateuch, the later redactions would not
contradict the previous tradition or laws, but ‘translate’ it ‘for
a new context’, ensuring that ‘a common religious and ethical
thread runs through the various redactions’ (Glanville 2018a:31).
This article argues that the various laws concerning sojourners
in the Pentateuch are not aimed at goodwill, charity and the
alleviation of poverty only. Rather, these laws are aimed at
integrating non-Israelites into the history and religion of Israel.
In other words, the Pentateuch teaches that loving a sojourner
means integrating that sojourner into the complexities of his
or her new place of residence. The article ends by giving some
suggestions on how this can be done in the modern context.
3. For very informative studies in this regard, see Achenbach (2011:29–51), Albertz (2011:
53–70), Nihan (2011:111–134), and Ebach (2014). For a similar type of study that focuses on
Deuteronomy, see Glanville (2018a).
4. Van Houten (1991), for example, concludes that the law codes of the Hebrew Bible ‘envision
increasing inclusivism for the gēr over time’ (Glanville 2018a:7). Achenbach (2011:29) too
argues that the term ‘sojourner’ (‫ )גֵּר‬developed over time, as can be seen in the fact that while
Israel is initially commanded to protect the sojourner, they later enjoyed both protection
and participation, and finally religious integration. Similarly, Albertz (2011:53) argues that
‘sojourners’ (‫ )גֵ ִּרים‬are initially objects of social protection and charity, later ‘subjects of ritual
and religious obligations valid for all Israelites’ and later still ‘they seem to have been virtually
integrated in the Israelite religious community’. Glanville (2018a:2), who studies the ‘sojourner’
(‫ )גֵּר‬in Deuteronomy, argues along the same line; he sees a historical development from the
sojourner as vulnerable and in need of protection to the sojourner for whom displacement is
the dominant social concern.
17
The definition of the Hebrew word

for ‘sojourn’ or ‘sojourner’
The Old Testament primarily uses two word groups to refer
to the concept of ‘sojourner’ or ‘sojourning’, namely ‫ּגּור‬/‫גֵּר‬
and ‫שׁב‬
ָ ‫ּתֹו‬.
The root ‫ גור‬is found 176 times in the Masoretic Text: 84 times
as the verb ‫ּגּור‬,5 and 92 times as the noun ‫( גֵּר‬Martin-Achard 1:308;
Konkel 1:837; Kellermann 2:442).6 The root is primarily used to
refer to the act of or person dwelling for a definite or indefinite
time outside the borders of his or her own community of origin
(cf. Brown, Driver & Briggs 1977:157). The verb is mainly translated
as ‘to sojourn’, and the noun as ‘sojourner’.
The ‫ גֵּר‬in the Old Testament is usually someone who left his or
her homeland and blood relatives for a specific reason, mostly
economic or political (like famine or warfare), seeking livelihood
or protection in another community (Martin-Achard 1:308).7
The ‫ גֵּר‬is generally poor, and in need of protection similar to the
orphan or widow.8 By not being part of the original community,
he or she has no inherited rights, lacking the protection and
privileges of the native (Kellermann 2:443). Consequently, they
were ‘dependent upon the host population for charitable aid’
(Carroll 2013:447). Glanville (2018b) summarises their position
succinctly:
5. Of these 81 are in in the qal, while a hithpolel form appears three times.
6. All these sources indicate that the count excludes two other usages of the root ‫גור‬, namely
‘to attack, strive’ and ‘to be afraid’. For the possibility that these roots may have an original
connection, see Kellermann (2:440).
7. Achenbach (2011:30) gives a useful synopsis when he states that ‘[t]he reasons to look
for protection among foreign people can be the threat of hunger and starvation (cf. Gn 26:3;
47:4; 1 Ki 17:20; 2 Ki 8:1; Rt 1:1), war (2 Sm 4:3; Is 16:4), blood guilt (Ex 2:22) or the loss of the
traditional home (Jdg 17:7ff.; 19:1, 16) and family or legal conflicts’.
8. Various scholars refer to sojourners, widows, orphans and the poor as personae miserae.
18
Chapter 1
The strangers are in social limbo: on the one hand, they are free
and not enslaved; yet, on the other hand, they are without land and
meaningful connection. The strangers may be easily oppressed, as
they have no family members to come to their defence. (p. 602)
However, in hierarchical terms, the sojourner in the Old

Testament was viewed and treated as more than a foreigner
(‫ נָכ ְִרי‬or ‫)זָר‬.9 Unlike the foreigner, who is usually perceived as
dangerous and hostile (Konkel 3:109), the sojourner has settled
in a new community for some time, and consequently enjoyed
special status and a number of conceded rights (cf. Martin-
Achard 1:308; Konkel 1:837). This status and privileges were
based on the deep-rooted hospitality of the Ancient Near East
(Kellermann 2:443; Stigers 1:155). In light of these conceded
rights, some scholars opt for the translation of ‫ גֵּר‬as ‘protected
citizen’ (e.g. Kellermann 2:444).
More recently, a vast number of scholars have opted for the
translation ‘resident alien’ (Achenbach 2011:29; Albertz 2011:53;
Meek 1930:174; Nihan 2011:111; Van Houten 1991:16; Wöhrle 2011:82).
Other translations include ‘immigrant’ (Awabdy 2012:4; cf. Meek
1930:172), ‘dependent stranger’ (Glanville 2018a:5) or ‘vulnerable
person from outside the core family’ (Glanville 2018b:603).
Keeping these very informative studies in mind, the current
article opts to stick to the translation ‘sojourner’, because it is
the traditional translation found in various Bible translations, and
used in the vernacular.
In an effort to give a more nuanced view of the profile of
the sojourner in the Pentateuchal laws, a number of studies
have tried to determine the sojourner’s provenance. The most
9. Broadly speaking, the ‫ נָכ ְִרי‬was viewed as a ‘pure foreigner’ (Pitkänen 2017:141); someone
not ‘part of the religious community’ (Achenbach 2011:43); someone ‘who does not integrate
into Israelite society’ (Carroll 2013:447) or assimilate ‘into the community’ (Glanville 2018a:13).
Linking on to this, the ‫ זָר‬were ‘not willingly integrated as gerîm into the social-religious
community of Israel’ (Achenbach 2011:45); they were ‘considered as impure, uncircumcised,
or just unwarranted’ (Achenbach 2011:45). For a schematic presentation of the semantic
overlap between the concepts ‫ זָר‬,‫שׁב‬ ָ ‫ ּתֹו‬,‫גֵּר‬, and ‫נָכ ְִרי‬, see Block (1988:563).
19
common arguments are the following (as summarised by

Glanville 2018a:11–14):
• The sojourner is a refugee from the Northern Kingdom who
fled into Judah following the conquest or destruction of
Samaria by the Assyrians (Kellermann 2:445).
• The sojourner is a foreigner from a non-Israelite and non-Judahite
kingdom residing within Israelite territory (Awabdy 2012:281;
Ebach 2014:41; Van Houten 1991:108; cf. Albertz 2011:55).
• The sojourner is a displaced Judahite in the late 7th century
because of invasion or indebtedness (Bultmann 1992:55;
Na’aman 2008:277).
Of these suggestions, the argument that the sojourner is a
‘foreigner from a kingdom other than either Judah or the Northern
Kingdom’ is the position of most scholars (Glanville 2018a:11).10
This is also the opinion of the current study.
The second Hebrew word used to refer to ‘sojourner’ in the
Old Testament, is ‫שׁב‬ ָ ‫ּתֹו‬. Found 14 times in the Masoretic Text, it has
close parallels with the noun ‫גֵּר‬. Kellermann (2:448), for example,
says that it is not easy to determine the distinction between the
two terms, whilst Martin-Achard (1:308) indicates that ‫שׁב‬ ָ ‫ ּתֹו‬often
parallels ‫גֵּר‬. A preliminary investigation indicates that 11 of the 14
occurrences of ‫שׁב‬ ָ ‫ ּתֹו‬are found in combination with ‫ּגּור‬/‫גֵּר‬,11 which
supports the conclusions of these scholars.
However, the terms ‫ גֵּר‬and ‫שׁב‬
ָ ‫‘ ּתֹו‬are not simply equivalent’ (Nihan
2011:118). Nihan (2011:118) argues that ‘it seems that the term ‫תושב‬
refers to a foreigner living as the client of an Israelite household’
10. Glanville (2018a:267) himself argues ‘[a]gainst a growing consensus in the most recent
scholarship that the gēr is a foreigner’. He argues that ‘the term gēr in Deuteronomy simply
designates a vulnerable person who is from outside of the core family’ (Glanville 2018a:267).
However, he continues, ‘[m]any of those designated gēr were internally displaced Judahites,
some were non-Judahites/non-Israelites, and some may have been northerners who had fled
Assyrian invasion’ (Glanville 2018a:267).
11. Genesis 23:4; Leviticus 25:6,23,35,40,45,472; Numbers 35:15; 1 Chronicles 29:15; Psalms
39:12. The three exceptions are Exodus 12:45, Leviticus 22:10 and 1 Kings 17:1.
20
Chapter 1
(emphasis mine), because in various passages ‘the ‫ תושב‬is always

associated with the ‫שכיר‬, or “hired worker”’ 12 (Nihan 2011:118).
Consequently, the ‫שׁב‬ ָ ‫ ּתֹו‬was viewed as ‘somewhere between’ the
sojourner (‫ )גֵּר‬and the foreigner (‫( )נָכ ְִרי‬Pitkänen 2017:141).
Because of the semantic parallels between these two terms,
the usage and occurrence of the noun ‫שׁב‬ ָ ‫ ּתֹו‬will be investigated
together with ‫ּגּור‬/‫ גֵּר‬in the rest of this study. For differentiation in
this study, ‫שׁב‬
ָ ‫ ּתֹו‬will be translated as ‘client-sojourner’, and ‫ גֵּר‬as
‘sojourner’.
Whilst there are a number of unique usages of the concept
‘sojourn’ or ‘sojourner’ in the Old Testament (e.g. Jr 14:8),13 the
definition above fits the majority of references. The sojourner is
an outsider who is granted some conceded rights of the insider.
In the Old Testament the conceded rights that sojourners enjoyed
are found in the Pentateuch, to which this study now turns.
The occurrence and use of the

concept ‘sojourn’ or ‘sojourner’
in the Pentateuch
Of the 176 occurrences of the root ‫ גור‬in the Old Testament, a
staggering 101 (±57%) are found in the Pentateuch. More precisely,
of the 84 occurrences of the verb ‫ ּגּור‬in the Old Testament, 33 are
found in the Pentateuch (±39%), whilst 68 of the 92 occurrences
of the noun ‫ גֵּר‬are found in the Pentateuch (±74%).14 From these
12. Milgrom (2001:2221) argues that the word ‫שׁב‬ ָ ‫‘ ּתֹו‬is never attested independently, but only
in tandem with either’ ‫ גֵּר‬or ‫שכִיר‬
ׂ ָ . His observation is correct, with the exception of 1 Kings 17:1
(which in its turn seems to be an exception, since ‫שׁב‬ ָ ‫ ּתֹו‬seems to refer to a locality).
13. In Jeremiah 14:8, Yahweh is figuratively referred to as a sojourner. The people complain
that he is like a sojourner or traveller who does not care for the land he temporarily visits.
Since God is referred to with male pronouns in Scripture, the current study does the same.
14. For a study on the relationship between the noun ‫ גֵּר‬and the verb ‫ּגּור‬, see Kidd (1999).
Glanville (2018b:602) summarises Kidd’s findings by stating that ‘the verb tends to be used
in narrative texts and to refer to “specific events in the lives of concrete characters,” while the
noun gēr tends to be used in legal texts’.
21
statistics, the Pentateuch’s preference for the noun is clear.

However, when comparing the occurrence of the verb ‘to sojourn’
in the other corpora of the Old Testament, the Pentateuch still
outweighs them all.15
The occurrences of the root ‫ גור‬in the Pentateuch can be seen
in Table 1.1.16
From this table it is clear that the noun ‫‘ גֵּר‬is used almost
exclusively in legal texts’ (Glanville 2018a:6) and found frequently
in the book of Deuteronomy.
An investigation of the noun ‫שׁב‬
ָ ‫ ּתֹו‬indicates that 11 of its 14
(±79%) occurrences are found in the Pentateuch, as can be seen
in Table 1.2.
Of these 11 occurrences, seven are found in Leviticus 25, whilst
none are found in Deuteronomy. Moreover, as indicated in the
previous section, of the 11 references to ‫שׁב‬
ָ ‫ ּתֹו‬in the Pentateuch,
nine are found in combination (and close parallel) with ‫גֵּר‬.
TABLE 1.1: Occurrences of the root ‫ גור‬in the Pentateuch.
Book ‫ּגּור‬ 33x ‫ֵגּר‬ 68x Total
Genesis 12:10; 19:9; 20:1; 21:23,34; 9x 15:13; 23:4 2x 11x
26:3; 32:5 (MT); 35:27; 47:4
Exodus 3:22; 6:4; 12:48,49 4x 2:22; 12:19,48,49; 18:3; 20:10; 12x 16x
22:202 (MT); 23:93,12
Leviticus 16:29; 17:8,10,12,13; 18:26; 11x 16:29; 17:8,10,12,13,15; 18:26; 21x 32x
19:33,34; 20:2; 25:6,45 19:10,33,342; 20:2; 22:18;
23:22; 24:16,22; 25:23,35,473
Numbers 9:14; 15:14,15,16,26,29; 19:10 7x 9:142; 15:14,152,16,26,29, 30; 11x 18x
19:10; 35:15
Deuteronomy 18:6; 26:5 2x 1:16; 5:14; 10:18,192; 14:21,29; 22x 24x
16:11,14; 23:8 (MT);
24:14,17,19,20,21; 26:11,12,13;
27:19; 28:43; 29:10; 31:12
Note: Superscript numbers indicate the number of occurrences in a verse, where the number of
occurrences is greater than 1.
MT, Masoretic Text.
15. The verb is frequently found in the Prophetic Literature (26x), specifically Isaiah (8x),
Jeremiah (14x), Ezekiel (3x) and Hosea (1x).
16. This table was compiled with the help of the excellent Hebrew Old Testament concordance
of Lisowsky (1958:319, 331–332).
22
Chapter 1
TABLE 1.2: Occurrences of the noun ‫שב‬

ָ ֹ ֹ‫ ּתו‬in the Pentateuch.
Book ‫שב‬
ָ ֹ ֹ‫ּתו‬ 11x
Genesis 23:4 1x
Exodus 12:45 1x
Leviticus 22:10; 25:6,23,35,40,45,472 8x
Numbers 35:15 1x
Deuteronomy – –
Note: Superscript numbers indicate the number of occurrences in a verse, where the number of
TABLE 1.3: The referent of the concept ‘sojourn’ or ‘sojourner’ in the Pentateuch.
Groups Frequency Location
The patriarchs 14x Genesis 12:10; 15:13; 19:9; 20:1; 21:23,34; 23:42; 26:3; 32:5
(MT); 35:27; 47:4; Exodus 6:4; Deuteronomy 26:5
Non-Israelite 93x Exodus 3:22; 12:19,45,482,492; 20:10; 22:202 (MT); 23:93,
people 12; Leviticus 16:292; 17:82,102,122,132,15; 18:262; 19:10, 332,
343; 20:22; 22:10,18; 23:22; 24:16,22; 25:62, 352,40,452,475;
Numbers 9:143; 15:142,153,162,262,292,30; 19:102; 35:152;
Deuteronomy 1:16; 5:14; 10:18,192; 14:21,29; 16:11,14; 23:8
(MT); 24:14,17,19,20,21; 26:11,12,13; 27:19; 28:43; 29:10; 31:12
Other 5x Exodus 2:22; 18:3; Leviticus 25:232; Deuteronomy 18:617
ֹ Note: Superscript numbers indicate the number of occurrences in a verse, where the number of
MT, Masoretic Text.
Viewing ‫ּגּור‬/‫ גֵּר‬and ‫שׁב‬

ָ ‫ ּתֹו‬together, the 112 references to the concept
‘sojourn’ or ‘sojourning’ in the Pentateuch are predominantly
found in relation to two groups of people: it either refers to the
patriarchs, their family members and offsprings living in a country
not their own, or it refers to the non-Israelite people who lived
with Israel prior to and since the exodus, envisioned to live with
them in the Promised Land. This can be seen in Table 1.3.17
17. These exceptions include the following: (1) Moses’ son is called Gershom (‫)גֵ ְּרש ֹׁם‬, a word-play
on the noun ‘sojourner’ (‫)גֵּר‬, since Moses (Ex 18:3) and Zipporah (Ex 2:22) were sojourners in
a foreign land. (2) In a passage that elaborates on the redemption of property, the people of
Israel are referred to as ‘sojourners’ and ‘client-sojourners’ with the Lord (Lv 25:23), reminding
them that they are tenants of a land that ultimately belongs to God (cf. Wenham 1979:320;
Rooker 2000:306). (3) Deuteronomy 18, which contains laws concerning the provision for
priests and Levites, refers to Levites as ‘sojourning’ in a place (Dt 18:6), presumably since
they received no property with the allotment of Canaan (cf. Lundbom 2013:546, who refers
to their ‘client status’ which ‘makes them de facto “sojourners”’).
23
Not surprisingly, the first category is found mainly in Genesis.18

The patriarchs and their families are said to have sojourned in
various places not (yet) their own, mostly Egypt and the different
parts of Canaan. Linking on to this are the five occurrences of ‫מָגֹור‬,
a noun which, when it comes to the Pentateuch, is only found
in Genesis (17:8; 28:4; 36:7; 37:1; 47:9). Derived from the root ,‫גור‬
‫ מָגֹור‬refers to a ‘sojourning place’, namely a place of residence
that is not a native home (Konkel 1:837). With the exception of
Genesis 47:9,19 these references in Genesis describe the land that
the patriarchs were promised.
It is the second category that is striking. Of all the references
to the concept ‘sojourn’ or ‘sojourner’ in the Pentateuch, a
staggering 93 of the 112 references (±83%) refer to non-Israelite
people living with Israel.20 Even more striking, the majority of
these references — 89 of the 93 to be exact (±96%) — are found
in the laws of the Pentateuch. This means that with the exception
of a few references (Ex 3:22; Dt 28:43; 29:10; 31:12),21 when it
comes to non-Israelite sojourners living with Israel the Pentateuch
does but one thing: it stipulates how the Israelites were to treat
sojourners, describes the conceded rights they were to enjoy and
explains how Yahweh viewed them. It is to these laws that this
study turns to next.
18. For a study on references to sojourning in Genesis, see Kennedy (2011).
19. The plural form of the noun ‫ מָגֹור‬in Genesis 47:9 refers to (Jacob’s) ‘life-time’ or ‘life-span’.
20. Technically speaking, some of these references refer to Israel as sojourners in Egypt in
order to motivate the required conduct toward sojourners (e.g. Ex 22:20; 23:9; Lv 19:34; Dt
10:19; 23:8 [MT]). However, since the primary objective is prompting Israel to the correct
behaviour towards sojourners, the classification above can remain.
21. These references do not contain laws or stipulations regarding sojourners. Rather, they
are part of the narrative of the books of Exodus and Deuteronomy: (1) Prior to the exodus,
each woman was to ask a[n Egyptian] woman sojourning with her for silver and gold (Ex
3:22). (2) In Deuteronomy 28’s elaboration on the curses that would befall Israel if they break
the covenant, they are warned that the social order will be overturned: the sojourner among
them will rise higher and higher while they will become lower and lower (Dt 28:43). (3) The
concluding chapters of Deuteronomy make reference to the sojourner being present at the
covenant renewal ceremony (Dt 29:10) and the reading of the law in Moab (Dt 31:12).
24
Chapter 1
Laws concerning sojourners in the

Pentateuch
Having determined where specific laws concerning sojourners
are found in the Pentateuch, this section of the article zooms
in on what the Pentateuch stipulates concerning sojourners. The
89 references to the concept ‘sojourn’ or ‘sojourner’ in the laws
of the Pentateuch are grouped together in clusters of laws that
touch on the same subject.22 At each of these clusters of laws
the content of the specific laws are discussed, and the ethical
principles underlying them are deduced. Seven such clusters are
identified.
Laws concerning festivals and Sabbaths

Eighteen references are found for the concept ‘sojourn’ or
‘sojourner’ in the laws of the Pentateuch that touch on festivals
and Sabbaths. These include the following:
• The Feast of Unleavened Bread: In remembrance of the hasty
flight from Egypt, no unleavened bread was to be found in the
house of the native citizen (‫ ) ֶאז ְָרח‬and the sojourner during the
Feast of Unleavened Bread (Ex 12:19).
• The Passover: To commemorate Yahweh ‘passing over’ Israel
in his judgment with the 10th plague in Egypt, a sojourner was
allowed to keep the Passover, provided that he is circumcised
(Ex 12:48 [2x]).23 Moreover, the text emphasises that when it
comes to the Passover, there shall be but one law for the native
citizen and the sojourner (Ex 12:49 [2x]). This is reiterated in
Numbers 9:14 (3x), as well as the possibility for the sojourner
to participate in the Passover according to its statutes and
rules.
22. This modus operandi is also followed by Glanville (2018a:43). He motivates this by arguing
that ‘[l]aws within groups operate in harmony with one another’ (Glanville 2018a:43).
23. Enns (2000:251) correctly indicates that these ‘regulations concerning foreigners seem to
reflect the fact that non-Israelites left Egypt along with the Israelites’.
25
•• The Day of Atonement: Just like the native, the sojourner was
to express penitence (‫ ;הָנָע‬cf. Wegner 3:450) and to cease from
work on the Day of Atonement (Lv 16:29 [2x]).
•• Feast of Weeks: During the Feast of Weeks, everyone associated
with Israel — including the sojourner — was to rejoice before
Yahweh their God for his blessings in the form of the harvest,
remembering their deliverance from Egypt (Dt 16:11).
•• Feast of the Booths: Linking on to the Feast of Weeks, all of
Israel — including the sojourner — was to rejoice after the harvest
has been gathered during the Feast of Booths (Dt 16:14).24
•• The Sabbath: Both the fourth commandment of the Decalogue
(Ex 20:10; Dt 5:14) and Covenant Code’s laws on Sabbaths and
Festivals (Ex 23:12) stipulates that like the Israelite, his servants
and animals, the sojourner was to do no work on the Sabbath,
in order to remember God’s creative and redemptive acts.
•• The Sabbath Year: The yield of the land during the Sabbath
Year in the envisioned Promised Land was earmarked for the
Israelite, his slaves, hired workers, animals and the sojourner
living with him (Lv 25:6 [2x]).
Overall, these laws state that the sojourner was to participate in
the various festivals on Israel’s calendar. The solidarity between
Israel and its sojourners is emphasised. Glanville (2018a:267)
concludes that ‘[t]hrough pilgrimage feasting’ the sojourner ‘is
knit into the household and the clan grouping as kindred’.
The key to these laws is the covenant. The sojourner initiated
into the covenant by means of circumcision, and upholding the
covenant by keeping to its various stipulations and obligations,
24. When it comes to the participation of the sojourner in the Feast of Booths, some argue
that Deuteronomy 16:14 allows it while Leviticus 23:42 prohibits it. Kellermann (2:446), for
example, concludes that the sojourner is excluded from this feast since Leviticus 23:43
explicitly states that ‘all native Israelites’ (‫ש ָׂראֵל‬
ְ ִ ‫ ) ָכּל־הָ ֽ ֶאז ְָרח ְ ּבי‬are to dwell in booths. In my view,
Kellermann makes too much of an argumentum e silentio. Leviticus does not explicitly prohibit
the sojourner from participating in this Feast, but emphasises the Israelites’ obligation to
dwell in booths. A similar argumentum e silentio is made by Albertz (2011:61) when he states
that sojourners are not included in the Sabbath passages of the Holiness Code, and draws
certain conclusions from this.
26
Chapter 1
was allowed and consequently obligated to take part in them.

By becoming part of the covenant, the sojourner is viewed and
treated ‘as a native of the land’ (Ex 12:48). Circumcision was
the ‘external demonstration of acceptance into the covenant
community’ (Stuart 2006:307), or, as Wöhrle (2011:82) puts it,
it ‘legitimizes the participation of alien persons dwelling in the
land in the relationship to the God of Israel’ (Wöhrle 2011:82).
Consequently, ‘resident aliens, who became circumcised, would
be acknowledged as an equal part of the cultic community’
(Albertz 2011:64).
There is, however, one exception when it comes to the
Pentateuch’s laws on sojourners and festivals. Exodus 12:45
prohibits of the hired worker (‫שכִיר‬
ׂ ָ ) and client-sojourner (‫שׁב‬
ָ ‫)ּתֹו‬
from eating the Passover meal. This strikes one as strange, as the
same passage says that the sojourner (‫ )גֵּר‬may eat of it, provided
that he is circumcised (Ex 12:48). Two possible conclusions can
be drawn as follows:
• Most likely Exodus 12 distinguishes between the sojourner

who lives permanently in the land, and the client-sojourner
who does not (Wöhrle 2011:81). Because the client-sojourner’s
attachment to Israel is non-permanent (he or she could come
and go), he or she was not allowed to partake in the Passover
meal. The Passover was not meant for those simply visiting
or passing through (cf. Durham 1987:173; Milgrom 2001:2221;
Stuart 2006:308).
• Less likely the ‘client-sojourner’ (‫שׁב‬
ָ ‫ )ּתֹו‬in Exodus 12:45 refers
to an uncircumcised client-sojourner (Kellermann 2:446).
This would fit the prescription of Exodus 12:48, the overall
prohibitions and permissions of 12:43–49 and the positive
breath in which sojourners and client-sojourners are referred
to in other contexts.
Although the participation of sojourners in the Feast of First
Fruits (Lv 23:9–14) and the Feast of Trumpets (Lv 23:23–24) are
not explicitly stated, not too much of an argumentum e silentio
should be made. Rather, in light of the above, it is much more
27
likely that the sojourner incorporated into the covenant was

allowed and obliged to participate in all the festivals of Israel.
Laws concerning sacrifices

The concept ‘sojourn’ is referred to 17 times in the sacrificial laws
of the Pentateuch. These laws can be grouped together using the
following descriptors:
• Permission: A sojourner who sojourns with Israel, and who,
like the native Israelite, wished to bring a voluntary sacrifice to
the Lord,25 was commanded to do so (Nm 15:14 [2x]).
•• Place: Both the Israelite and sojourner were to offer their burnt
offerings and sacrifices at the entrance of the tent of meeting
(Lv 17:8 [2x]). Disregard of this stipulation resulted in being
cut off from the people.
•• Condition of sacrifice: For a burnt offering, an Israelite or
sojourner was to present a male animal without blemish
(Lv 22:18).
•• Result: Forgiveness for unintentional sins was acquired for
Israelites and sojourners through the sacrifice prescribed for
the transgression (Nm 15:26 [2x]).
•• Warning: Unlike unintentional sin, someone who sins
intentionally26 were to be cut off from the people, whether he
or she was a native or a sojourner (Nm 15:30).
•• One law: A number of statements in the sacrificial laws stipulate
that there were but one statute, one law and one rule for the
native Israelite and sojourner (Nm 15:15 [3x], 16 [2x]). This
includes laws concerning unintentional sins (Nm 15:29 [2x]), as
well as the laws surrounding the red heifer ritual (Nm 19:10 [2x]).
From the above it is clear that Numbers has pride of place when
it comes to sacrificial laws and sojourners (with 12 of the 17
25. Specific reference is made to an offering made by fire (‫שׁה‬

ּ ֶ ‫) ִא‬.
26. Literally, reference is made to someone doing something ‘with high hand’ (‫) ְ ּבי ָד ָרמָה‬, a
metaphor for deliberate or wilful disobedience to God’s commands.
28
Chapter 1
references, ±71%). These sacrificial laws once more underline the

solidarity between Israel and its sojourners. When it comes to
the sacrificial laws, Israel and the sojourner was ‘alike before the
Lord’ (Nm 15:15).
Strangely enough, the heart of Pentateuchal sacrificial laws,
namely Leviticus 1–7, make no reference to sojourners partaking
in sacrifices. In fact, it makes no reference to the concept ‘sojourn’
at all. However, this can be accounted for in different ways:
• The dating of Leviticus 1–7: Kellermann (2:447) indicates that
it could be that the laws contained in these chapters come
from an early period in Israel’s history when the sojourner ‘was
not allowed to participate in the cult’.27
• The aim and focus of Leviticus 1–7: I would argue that the
aim and focus of these chapters account for the apparent
lack of references to sojourners. Leviticus 1–7 elaborates on
the different types of sacrifices that Israel was to bring. The
weight of these laws falls on the different sacrifices and how
they were to be performed (with the aid of the priests), not
who were allowed to partake in them. Consequently, these
laws do not contradict sacrificial laws found later in the book
of Leviticus that do refer to and include sojourners.
Laws concerning food

Nine references to sojourners are found among the various dietary
laws of the Pentateuch. Seven of these are found in the laws of
Leviticus 17:10–16 against eating blood. Just like the native Israelite,
the sojourner was prohibited to eat blood (Lv 17:10 [2x], 12 [2x]).28
27. Kellermann (2:447) himself argues that in the late Priestly strata of the Pentateuch the
sojourner is ‘the fully integrated proselyte’, and that the laws in this strata are ‘also applicable
to the gēr, even if he is not explicitly named’. He, however, does not seem to view Leviticus
1–7 as part of the late Priestly strata.
28. Strictly speaking, this prohibition could be classified as a sacrificial law, since, according
to Leviticus 17:11, the blood was meant for atonement. However, since Leviticus 17:15 continues
29
The punishment for eating blood was excommunication. The proper

disposal of an animal’s blood by a native or sojourner was to pour
it out and to cover it with earth (Lv 17:13 [2x]). If a native Israelite or
sojourner happened to eat an animal that died a natural death or that
was killed by other animals, they were considered unclean, and had
to undergo the prescribed cleansing rites (Lv 17:15). Accordingly, just
like previous Pentateuchal laws discussed above, these laws state
that the same statutes apply for the native and sojourner. Unity is
on the foreground.
At first glance, however, there seems to be two exceptions.
The first is Leviticus 22:10, which prohibits the stranger (‫;זּור‬
probably referring to ‘layman’ or ‘lay person’), client-sojourner
(‫שׁב‬
ָ ‫ )ּתֹו‬or hired worker (‫שכִיר‬
ׂ ָ ) from eating of the holy food of the
priests. This, however, is no strange exclusion of client-sojourners.
According to Israelite law, the food of the priests were reserved
for the priests and their households (including those incorporated
into his family, like purchased slaves and slaves born in his
house). ‘No one outside the priest’s family’ — including the native
Israelite — was allowed to ‘eat of the food offerings dedicated
to the priests’ (Rooker 2000:277; cf. Achenbach 2011:46). This
included the client-sojourner who stayed with the priest for a
brief time (Hartley 1992:356). ‘Simply to live with the priest or to
work for him’ is ‘insufficient’ for access to his holy food (Wenham
1979:294).29
Deuteronomy 14:21 makes a stronger case of being an exception.
The verse prohibits the native Israelite from eating anything that
died a natural death. He or she was, however, allowed to give
it to a sojourner or to sell it to a foreigner (‫)נָכ ְִרי‬.30 This seems
to describe the prohibition of eating animals that died of certain causes, it seems best to
classify the whole as laws concerning food.
29. Milgrom (2000:1862) argues that the ‘hired worker’ is excluded from the holy food of the
priests since ‘his wages’ would ‘suffice to buy an adequate supply of nonconsecrated food for
their alimentary need’ (cf. Milgrom 2001:2222).
30. Deuteronomy 14:21 makes a socio-economical distinction between foreigners and

sojourners (Christensen 2001:293). Foreigners were usually ‘economically better off than
30
Chapter 1
to contradict Leviticus 17:15, which states that both a native and

sojourner who happens to eat something that died by itself was
considered unclean until evening, implying that neither were to
eat of it (cf. Lv 7:24).
Consequently, it seems that Deuteronomy, unlike Leviticus,
does not require the sojourner to avoid cultic impurity. The reason
for this may be traced to two interrelated themes found in the
book of Deuteronomy: the ideal vision of Israel, and the special
status of Israel (cf. McConville 2002:250–251). In Deuteronomy,
Israel is viewed as the ‘holy people’ of God, and Israel alone
(cf. Block 2012:350). Because sojourners and foreigners are not
part of the holy people, ‘they are not subject to the requirements
of holiness that are incumbent upon Israelites’ (Tigay 1996:140).
It seems like ‘the Deuteronomic legislators did not regard the
gērīm as members of Israel’ (Albertz 2011:55).
This reference would then underline the uniqueness of Israel.
Although various laws that apply to Israel also apply to sojourners,
and although various privileges given to Israel were also available
to sojourners, Israel remained the people of God.31
It is important to note that the motivation that the Israelites
were not to eat anything that died a natural death was not
hygienic, but cultic. The problem was that the animal was not
killed in the proper cultic fashion with the blood drained out.
This is why the animal could be given to a sojourner or sold to a
foreigner, which would have been impossible had the meat gone
bad (Craigie 1976:232; cf. Merrill 1994:238).
sojourners and could support themselves’ (Lundbom 2013:476). Consequently, the carcass
could be sold to them. Sojourners, on the other hand, were often poor and dependent on
the charity of others (cf. Tigay 1996:140), and thus the prescription that the meat could be
given to them.
31. Lundbom (2013:476) makes the very interesting reference to 11QT 48:6, which omits the
phrase ‘to the sojourner who is within your gates you may give it so he can eat it’. This would
then reflect ‘the law in Leviticus, where this provision does not exist’ (Lundbom 2013:476).
There are, however, no textual grounds in the MT to follow this reading.
31
Laws concerning charity

Nineteen references to sojourners and client-sojourners
are found in the laws of the Pentateuch that have to do with
charity. Strikingly, these laws are only found in Leviticus and
Deuteronomy.32 Of these 19 references nine are found in passages
that elaborate on the charity due to sojourners:
• Laws concerning produce meant for the poor (5x): Israel is
commanded to leave some of the produce of their fields and
trees for the sojourner. They were not to strip their vineyard
bare or to gather the fallen grapes (Lv 19:10; Dt 24:21), nor
were they to reap their fields right up to the edge or to gather
the gleanings (Lv 23:22; Dt 24:19). They were not to go over
their olive trees once they have beat them (Dt 24:20). Each
time it is said that the remnant was meant for the sojourner
and impoverished.33 This conduct is motivated by the blessing
of the Lord that will ensue (Dt 24:19), or the statement that
the Lord is their God (Lv 19:10; 23:22), making the source of
the command and therefore the necessity of obedience clear.
•• Laws concerning tithes (4x): The triennial tithes Israel was to
bring to their towns were designated for the Levite, sojourner,
fatherless and widow (Dt 14:29; 26:12,13). Doing this would
result in the blessing of the Lord. The same was true of the
annual first-fruits Israel was to bring to the sanctuary:
commemorating the hardships of Egypt and the goodness of
the Lord in the Promised Land, the Israelites were to rejoice in
the first-fruits before the Lord — he, the Levite and sojourner
among them (Dt 26:11).
To these laws can be added the laws concerning the Sabbath
Year (Lv 25:6 [2x]; see 4.1 above) which state that the produce
32. As indicated in Table 1.1, the noun ‫ גֵּר‬appears a staggering 20 times in the Holiness Code
(Lv 17–26).
33. Leviticus 19:10 and 23:22 say that it is meant for the ‘poor’ (‫ ) ָענִי‬and sojourner, while
Deuteronomy 24:19–21 states that it is for the sojourner, ‘orphan’ (‫ )י ָתֹום‬and ‘widow’ (‫)ַא ְל ָמנָה‬.
32
Chapter 1
of the land during the mentioned year was also meant for the
sojourner living with Israel.
The 10 remaining references to sojourners are found in
passages that exhort charity towards impoverished fellow-
Israelites. All of these references are found in Leviticus 25, which
envisions different scenarios where an Israelite brother becomes
unable to support himself financially:
• The first scenario is where an Israelite brother becomes
poor and is unable to support himself (Lv 25:35–38). If this
happened, a fellow-Israelite was to support him as though he
were a client-sojourner or a sojourner (Lv 25:35 [2x]). Israel
was to ‘be as generous to members of their own family who
are in need as they would be to aliens’ (Wenham 1979:321; cf.
Hartley 1992:440).34 Among others, the fellow-Israelite was to
aid them by taking no interest or profit from him.
•• The second scenario is where an Israelite brother becomes
poor and sells himself to a fellow-Israelite (Lv 25:39–46). If this
happened, the latter is exhorted not to treat him like a slave
(Lv 25:39), but like a hired worker (‫ )ריִכָׂש‬or client-sojourner (Lv
25:40). Instead of buying their fellow-Israelites as slaves, which
is prohibited, Israel was allowed to buy their slaves from
among the nations around them, or from the client-sojourners
that sojourned with them (Lv 25:45 [2x]).
• The third scenario is where an impoverished Israelite brother
sells himself to a prosperous client-sojourner, sojourner or
member of the sojourner’s clan (Lv 25:47–55; especially Lv
25:47 [5x]). If this happened, the impoverished brother was to
be redeemed by a wealthy family member, or, if he once more
grew rich, he could redeem himself. If this wasn’t possible, he
was to be released during the year of Jubilee.
34. Milgrom (2001:2207) has a different interpretation. He argues that Leviticus 25:35 warns
‘the creditor not to treat the debtor, who has forfeited his land and presumably still owes on
his loan, as a resident alien’.
33
Consequently, these laws do not contain legislation concerning

conduct towards sojourners, but conduct towards fellow-
Israelites who, because of poverty, were at socio-economical par
with most sojourners and client-sojourners. Nevertheless, these
laws do reveal something of the social standing of sojourners
and client-sojourners and the conduct of Israel expected towards
them:
• Israel’s call to ‘strengthen or support’ (‫ ; ָחזַק‬hiphil) their poor
brother as or like a sojourner and client-sojourner (Lv 25:35)
implies that Israel was to support sojourners and client-
sojourners. This is made explicit in various other laws (see 4.7
‘Laws concerning conduct due to the sojourner’ below).
• The command to treat an impoverished brother like a sojourner
or client-sojourner and not like a slave (Lv 25:39–40) not only
indicates that sojourners and client-sojourners by default
were not viewed as slaves, but also that sojourners and client-
sojourners were viewed as belonging to a higher social class
than slaves.
• That being said, Israel was allowed to buy slaves from among
the client-sojourners that sojourned with them (Lv 25:45 [2x]).
This indicates that, although client-sojourners were granted
various conceded rights of the insider, they were still viewed
as not of the same social class as the native Israelite. The fact
that explicit reference is made to the client-sojourners from
which Israel was allowed to buy slaves, and not the sojourner
in general, probably once more has to do with the non-
permanent state of residence of the client-sojourner (see the
discussion of Ex 12:48 in the ‘Laws concerning festivals and
Sabbaths’ section).
• A sojourner or client-sojourner could become quite wealthy,
and buy slaves (Lv 24:47).35
35. Scholars investigating the possible layers or redactions of the Pentateuch point to
Leviticus 25:47 and argue that the society portrayed in the Holiness Code (Lv 17–26) is
different from those in other parts of the Pentateuch. In the Holiness Code, sojourners were
no longer thought of as poor; rather, they could be quite wealthy (cf. Albertz 2011:58; Nihan
2011:117).
34
Chapter 1
• A sojourner and client-sojourner living with Israel were

bound to Israelite stipulations, specifically laws concerning
the Year of Jubilee (cf. Rooker 2000:310). This is made clear
by the fact that an Israelite brother who sold himself was
able to redeem himself from the sojourner or client-sojourner
when his financial position changed (Lv 25:48), or was to be
released by the sojourner or client-sojourner in the Year of
Jubilee.
Laws concerning justice

Deuteronomy contains three explicit references to the justice due
to sojourners:
• In the historical preamble of the book of Deuteronomy,
where Moses reflects on the appointment of leaders for
Israel, he refers to his charge that the judges of Israel should
judge righteously and impartially between an Israelite and his
brother or the sojourner with him (Dt 1:16).
• In the midst of the miscellaneous laws of Deuteronomy 24,
Israel is forbidden to pervert the justice due to the sojourner or
fatherless (Dt 24:17). This is motivated by the call to remember
their own hardship in Egypt and the redemption of the Lord
(Dt 24:18).
• The curses pronounced from Mount Ebal curses among
others anyone who ‘perverts’ (‫ ;נָטָה‬hiphil) the justice due to the
sojourner, fatherless and widow (Dt 27:19).
Again, unity is on the foreground: just like justice was due to the
native Israelite, it was due to the sojourner in Israel’s midst.
Laws that are the same for Israel and

the sojourner
Apart from laws concerning the Passover and sacrifices (see the
sections on ‘Laws concerning festivals and Sabbaths’ and ‘Laws
35
concerning sacrifices’), the Pentateuch also stipulates that the

following laws are the same for native Israelites and sojourners:
• Idolatry: No Israelite or sojourner was to sacrifice his or her
children to Molech (Lv 20:2 [2x]). Non-compliance had to be
met with death.
•• Sexual relations: Leviticus 18’s long list of unlawful sexual
relations are said to apply to both the native and sojourner (Lv
18:26 [2x]), with the warning that disobedience will result in
being cut off from the people.
•• Blasphemy: Both the sojourner and native were to be put to
death when he or she blasphemes the Lord’s name (Lv 24:16).
•• Retaliation: In a passage elaborating on the lex talionis, Israel
is explicitly exhorted to have ‘the same rule’—namely the same
rule of retaliation—for the sojourner and native (Lv 24:22).
•• City of refuge: In the midst of Numbers 35’s explanation of the
purpose, location and policies of Israel’s cities of refuge, Israel
is told that these cities are for the Israelite, sojourner and
client-sojourner guilty of unintentional homicide (Nm 35:15
[2x]; cf. Jos 20:9).
These eight references to sojourners once more underline the
solidarity between Israel and their sojourners.
Laws concerning conduct due to the

sojourner
Fifteen references to sojourners are found in laws that stipulate
the conduct expected of Israel towards sojourners. These are
arguably the most striking of all the laws concerning sojourners.
Fourteen of these references are found in laws that motivate
Israel’s conduct based on the fact that they themselves were
sojourners in Egypt:
• Twice the Covenant Code states that Israel was not to
wrong or oppress a sojourner, for they know the heart of a
sojourner because they were sojourners themselves in Egypt
(Ex 22:20 [2x] [MT]; 23:9 [3x]).
36
Chapter 1
• Part of the Holiness Code commands Israel not to oppress the

sojourner in their midst, to treat him or her as a native and to
love him or her as themselves, because they were sojourners
in the land of Egypt (Lv 19:33 [2x], 34 [3x]). Leviticus 19’s
law of loving their neighbours as themselves clearly includes
sojourners (Kellermann 2:449).
• Deuteronomy 10 commands Israel to love the sojourner because
they were sojourners in Egypt (Dt 10:19 [2x]). This command is
preceded by the statement that the Lord loves the sojourner, and
gives him or her food and clothing (Dt 10:18). From this Awabdy
(2012:255) concludes that Deuteronomy ‘infuses its distinctive
humanitarian compassion with the very character of Israel’s deity’.
• Deuteronomy 23’s list of those excluded from the assembly
calls on Israel not to abhor an Egyptian, because they were
sojourners in their land (Dt 23:8 [MT]). Although this passage
does not exhort Israel’s conduct to sojourners in general,
it does indirectly refer to their conduct towards Egyptian
sojourners.
In all of these passages the word-group ‘sojourn’ or ‘sojourner’ is
used against the salvation-historical backdrop of Israel’s exodus.
Linking on to these laws, although not referring to Egypt, Israel
is explicitly exhorted in the miscellaneous laws of Deuteronomy
24 not to oppress any hired worker, whether he or she is a fellow-
Israelite or sojourner (Dt 24:14).
The Pentateuch’s aim: Charity,

solidarity and integration
In the previous section, the various laws concerning sojourners in
the Pentateuch were discussed by grouping similar laws together,
discussing their content and deducing the ethical principles
underlying them. This section integrates these findings to
determine what these Pentateuchal laws concerning sojourners
say as a whole.36
36. Glanville (2018a) similarly distinguishes between the aim and outcome of the various laws
concerning sojourners found in Deuteronomy. For a summary of his conclusions, see Glanville
(2018a:265–271).
37
Charity
At first glance, various Pentateuchal laws concerning sojourners
have to do with charity:
• Israel was to leave some of the produce of their fields, trees
and vineyards for the sojourner and impoverished (Lv 19:10;
23:22; Dt 24:19, 20, 21).
• Israel’s triennial tithes (Dt 14:29; 26:12, 13), as well as the annual
first-fruits (Dt 26:11), were designated (among others) for the
sojourner.
• The yield of the Sabbath Year was meant for the native Israelite
and the sojourner (Lv 25:6 [2x]).
• Leviticus 25:35’s call to support a poor brother like a sojourner
or client-sojourner implies that Israel was to support sojourners
and client-sojourners.
These laws fit well with the definition given for a sojourner at the
beginning of this study, namely a foreigner who is generally poor and
in need of protection. The various laws that exhort Israel not to wrong
or oppress a sojourner (Ex 22:20 [2x] [MT]; 23:9 [3x]; Lv 19:33 [2x],
34 [3x]; Dt 24:14; cf. 10:18,19 [2x]), as well as the prohibition of
perverting the justice due to the sojourner (Dt 24:17; 27:19), imply that
the exploitation of sojourners was a real danger, and consequently
prohibited. Although there are indications that sojourners or client-
sojourners could become quite wealthy (indicated by being able to
buy slaves; Lv 24:47), this was not the norm.
Consequently, it is fair to conclude that the Pentateuchal laws
concerning sojourners are in part aimed at goodwill, charity and
the alleviation of poverty. This is all the more striking when one
compares these findings with modern legislation concerning
sojourners. Unlike some modern laws, the emphasis in the
Pentateuchal laws concerning sojourners is not punitive; the
emphasis falls on charity (Carroll 2013:457).
Solidarity
It would be a mistake, however, to conclude that Pentateuchal laws
concerning sojourners are aimed at charity only. A great number
38
Chapter 1
of laws concerning sojourners has to do with the solidarity that

was to exist between Israel and its sojourners. These laws make
it clear that stipulations that applied for Israel applied for their
sojourners as well. This is made clear by the following:
• The sojourner could and should participate in various festivals

and Sabbaths on Israel’s religious calendar (Ex 12:19, 48 [2x], 49
[2x]; 20:10; 23:12; Lv 16:29 [2x]; Nm 9:14 [3x]; Dt 5:14; 16:11, 14).
• The sojourner could and were to partake in various sacrificial
rites, with the same sacrificial prescriptions applying for them
and the native Israelites (Lv 17:8 [2x]; 22:18; Nm 15:14 [2x], 15
[3x], 16 [2x], 26 [2x], 29 [2x], 30; 19:10 [2x]).
• Both the native Israelite and sojourner were prohibited to
eat blood (Lv 17:10 [2x], 12 [2x]). The same guidelines for the
proper disposal of an animal’s blood applied to both (Lv 17:13
[2x]), and both were ceremonially unclean if they happened to
eat an animal that died a natural death (Lv 17:15).
• The same statutes concerning the prohibition of child
sacrifices (Lv 20:2 [2x]), unlawful sexual relations (Lv 18:26
[2x]), blasphemy of the Lord’s name (Lv 24:16), retaliation (Lv
24:22) and cities of refuge (Nm 35:15 [2x]) applied to both the
sojourner and native Israelite.
• Neither the native Israelite nor the client-sojourner were
permitted to eat the holy food reserved for the priest and his
household (Lv 22:10).
• Justice was to be served for both the Israelite and sojourner
(Dt 1:16).
Two explicit exceptions, however, are found among these laws:

Israel, who was forbidden to buy fellow-Israelites as slaves, was
allowed to buy slaves from among the client-sojourners that
sojourned with them (Lv 25:45 [2x]); and whilst an Israelite was
prohibited to eat anything that died a natural death, he or she
could give it to a sojourner (Dt 14:21). These laws reveal that
sojourners, despite being granted numerous conceded rights of
the insider, were still viewed as belonging to a different social
class compared to the native Israelite. Although not part of the
scope of the current article (because it does not form part of the
39
laws of the Pentateuch), this is affirmed by Deuteronomy 28:43’s

warning that covenant infidelity on the part of Israel will result
in the social order being overturned: the sojourner would rise
higher and higher, and Israel lower and lower. All of this underline
the fact that native Israelites were viewed as the unique and holy
people of God. The sojourner did not have the same status as
the native (Nihan 2011:116, 120–122); he or she remained a ‘liminal
figure’ (Glanville 2018a:265).
That being said, by far the majority of laws concerning
sojourners emphasise the unity that was to exist between Israel
and it sojourners. Consequently, one could argue that the social
relationship expected between Israel and its sojourners was one
of solidarity, although they were not considered to be of the
same social class.
Integration
Once more, to conclude that the laws concerning sojourners
in the Pentateuch merely emphasise solidarity between the
Israelites and their sojourners is only half of the truth. The
solidarity called for in the Pentateuchal laws seems to have a
much deeper purpose: the integration of sojourners into the
history and religion of Israel.
Some scholars have recently challenged this conclusion.
Albertz (2011:61–62), for example, argues that these laws
‘were not mainly interested in converting the resident aliens to
Yahwism’ or ‘to integrate aliens into the “people of God” as much
as possible’ (cf. Glanville 2018a:29). Rather, he argues that the aim
of these laws was ‘to create a juridical basis for a well-ordered co-
existence with the non-Judean part of the provincial population’
(Albertz 2011:62). This seems to be true. To argue that these laws
emphasise integration ‘as much as possible’ (Albertz 2011:62),
would be an exaggeration.
However, one cannot read these laws without reaching the
conclusion of some form of integration (cf. Glanville 2018a:266).
40
Chapter 1
This is made clear by reading these laws once more, but this time
listening to how they enable sojourners to share in Israel’s history
and religion:
• History: A number of festivals and religious days prescribed
in the Pentateuch, in which sojourners could and were to
partake, commemorate Israel’s exodus from Egypt (e.g. the
Feast of Unleavened Bread [Ex 12:19]; the Passover [Ex 12:48
{2x}, 49 {2x}]; the Sabbath [Dt 5:14]; the Feast of Weeks [Dt
16:11]). Per implication, by partaking in them the sojourner
commemorated Israel’s exodus. By so doing, Israel’s history
became their history.
•• Religion: A number of Pentateuchal laws concerning
sojourners incorporate sojourners into the religion of Israel by
allowing them to partake in the symbols and rituals of the
native Israelites. Among others, the sojourner was to express
penitence towards the Lord on the Day of Atonement just like
the native (Lv 16:29 [2x]); forgiveness from the Lord for
unintentional sins was acquired for Israelites and sojourners
through the sacrifice prescribed for the transgression (Nm
15:26 [2x]); just like the native, the sojourner was to express
thankfulness to the Lord for his provision during the Feast of
Weeks (Dt 16:11); and the Feast of Booths (Dt 16:14); just like
the native, the sojourner was to rest on the Sabbath Day and
to remember God’s creative and redemptive acts (Ex 20:10;
23:12; Dt 5:14); just like the native, the prescriptions of releasing
people during the Year of Jubilee — in order to remember that
Israel is the Lord’s servants He bought out of the land of Egypt
— applied for the sojourner and native (Lv 25:48). Moreover,
although not part of the laws of the Pentateuch (and
consequently not discussed above), explicit reference is made
to the sojourner being present at the covenant renewal
ceremony (Dt 29:10) and the reading of the Law in Moab
(Dt 31:12).
These references indicate that sojourners, who settled in the
community of Israel for some time, were to be integrated into the
41
history and religion of Israel (cf. Awabdy 2012:256).37 Integration

was achieved by means of the covenant, into which the sojourner
was initiated by circumcision (Ex 12:48). By becoming part of the
covenant, the sojourner was viewed and treated as a native of
the land. From then onwards the sojourner was to uphold the
covenant by keeping its various stipulations and obligations. This
is indirectly affirmed by the fact that a sojourner, by eating blood
or committing intentional sin, were to be cut off from the people
(Lv 17:10 [2x]; Nm 15:30).
In the light of this, the repeated Pentateuchal command to
‘love’ the sojourner gets a new nuance (Lv 19:34 [3x]; Dt 10:19
[2x]). On the surface it means to show charity or kindness to
people who generally experience hardship, remembering that
they themselves experienced hardship. At a deeper level it seems
to show the deepest kind of (theologically rooted) love known
in Israel, namely to share in Israel’s history and religion. This love
expected from Israel was rooted in the very character and actions
of the Lord himself: he showed this type of love towards Israel
by saving them from the hardships of Egypt (Lv 19:34; Dt 10:19).
Consequently, the love of the Lord for his people forms the basis
for their treatment of sojourners (cf. Awabdy 2012:283).38
As a result of this nuance on integrating sojourners, it comes
as no surprise that various scholars opt for translating ‘sojourner’
as ‘proselyte’ in various passages of the Old Testament (cf.
Kellermann 2:443; Martin-Achard 1:309). More recent studies,
however, have indicated that ‘nowhere in the Pentateuch are
the aliens treated in a way that would fit the proselytes of later
periods’ (Albertz 2011:67; cf. Kidd 1999:71; Nihan 2011:114). ‘[T]he
explanation of the term’ sojourner ‘by means of the later proselyte
seems, therefore, inappropriate’ (Kidd 1999:71). However, as
37. Awabdy (2012:256) concludes that the laws in Deuteronomy exhorts the people of Israel
to integrate sojourners socially and religiously (emphasis mine), and that this integration ‘is
presented as a byproduct of Israel’s election as the holy people of YHWH’.
38. Glanville (2018a:269) summarises this as ‘[a]n ethic of inclusivism … embedded in

Yahweh’s actions and character and in Israel’s own narrative’.
42
Chapter 1
Albertz (2011:67) argues, ‘it was easily possible to develop the

concept of proselytes’ on the basis of the Pentateuchal laws.
To sum up, the laws of the Pentateuch reveal that sojourners
were to be integrated into the history and religion of Israel.
Loving a sojourner in the light of these laws means integrating
that sojourner into the complexities of his or her new place of
residence.
Some suggestions on integrating

sojourners in the modern context
I would like to conclude by giving some suggestions on how the
Pentateuch’s nuance of integrating sojourners into Israel’s history
and religion can be applied to the modern context, especially by
the church, who views itself as the natural extension of the Old
Testament people of God.
But first, a caveat is required. Practical suggestions always run
the risk of being oversimplified. The danger of this in a matter as
technical, puzzling and emotional as legal and illegal migration
of people, is almost not worth the risk.39 Almost—were it not
for the urgent need of reality. According to studies conducted
by the United Nations (UN), the number of migrants worldwide
continue to grow (International Organization for Migration 2017).
Time is the essence. Practical advice is needed. Consequently,
the practical suggestions that follow are to be read in the light of
this caveat, and in the very words used to describe them: mere
suggestions aimed at being practical.
Applying Pentateuchal laws concerning sojourners to the
modern context seems to boil down to the following:
1. Show charity towards migrants: In general, migrants tend to
be poor and in need of protection. Show goodwill and charity
towards them.
39. For similar hesitance, see Carroll (2013:443).
43
2. Integrate migrants into society: Outsiders will remain outsiders

until they are integrated into the ways of the insiders. Migrants
are to become ‘part’ of the new society.
3. Ensure that the same laws and rights that apply to the
native apply to integrated migrants as well: Linking on to the
previous two, migrants tend to be exploited, because they are
not always protected by the laws of a new society. In light of
Pentateuchal laws, societies should ensure that the same laws
and rights apply to integrated migrants.
All three of these suggestions go hand in hand, with the one
building on the other. In my opinion, the majority of challenges
related to migration has to do with a failure of integrating
migrants into a new society. This, of course, goes both ways. On
the one hand, the receiving community may not want to integrate
migrants, and there may be no real support from the government
to do this. On the other hand, migrants may not want to be
integrated: they want a safe space to live without learning and
(at least partially) adopting the language and the culture of their
new homes. Carroll (2013:458) argues that ‘the expectation in
Israel surely would have been that sojourners would integrate
into that society linguistically, religiously, culturally, and legally’,
and that this is ‘a reasonable presumption of a host community’.
This is the same conclusion of the current article.
In my view, an ‘organic’ integration of migrants into new
societies must take place in order for these societies and their
individuals to prosper. Much more can and should be done by
individuals, support companies, governments and the church to
ensure that this happens.
Conclusion
The worldwide trend of migration seems to indicate that we
will always have sojourners with us. Integrating them into
new communities is no easy task. This study aimed to give an
overview of what the laws of the Pentateuch as a whole say about
44
Chapter 1
sojourners.40 This study may have ‘found’ in its interpretation

of these various texts ‘sentiments to suit’ its ‘own notions of
economic justice’, as Wells (2011:135) warns against. Nonetheless,
even accounting for this position, this much seems to be true:
taking as a departure point the various Pentateuchal laws that
envision the integration of non-Israelites into the history and
religion of Israel, much more can and should be done in our
modern context to integrate migrants worldwide into the cultural,
socio-economical and religious complexities of their new homes.
40. The aim of this study has been to focus on the Pentateuchal laws concerning sojourners.
From a Biblical Theological point of view, the Pentateuchal laws provide only part of the
Biblical revelation concerning sojourners. For a studies on sojourners from the New Testament
in the current publication, see Magezi and Du Rand.
45
Chapter 2
Migration of God’s
people as an opportunity
to learn and understand
God within the migrant
context: A perspective
from the books of
Leviticus and Acts
Christopher Magezi
Keywords: Migration theology; Migrants; Leviticus; Acts; Salvation;

God’s character and nature; Impartiality; God’s providence; God’s
plans and purposes; Church; Migrant context.
How to cite: Magezi, C., 2020, ‘Migration of God’s people as an opportunity to learn and
understand God within the migrant context: A perspective from the books of Leviticus and
Acts’, in M. Kotzé & R. Rheeder (eds.), Life in Transit: Theological and Ethical Contributions
on Migration (Reformed Theology in Africa Series volume 2), pp. 47–84, AOSIS, Cape Town.
47
Migration of God’s people as an opportunity to learn and understand God
Introduction and background to the

study41
It is incontestable that migration is one of the leading global
challenges, as people move freely from one country to the other
because of globalisation and improved technological
advancement (International Organisation for Migration [IOM]
2004:11; Liďák 2014:226; Monsma 2000:13–14; Martin 2008:1–6).
Cuterela (2012:137) defines globalisation as ‘the emerging of an
international network, belonging to an economic and social
system’. As a major cause of the growing international migration,
globalisation is aided by new technologies in communication and
transport systems (Cuterela 2012:137–147). Communication
technologies include traditional and new media platforms
(Cuterela 2012:137–147). These communication technologies are
used to establish social networks that make people aware of job,
entertainment and business opportunities in other countries.
New means of air, sea, road and railway transport42 make it
easier for people to travel both locally and internationally
(IOM 2015:2; Organisation for Economic Co-operation and
Development [OECD], n.d.:1–8; Sturm-Martin 2014:4). This means
that in the 21st century, the local is connected to the global
through globalisation, advanced communication and transport
technologies, which make it easier for people to access
41. Note: This chapter is part of a doctoral research that was undertaken at North-West
University (Vaal Triangle Campus). This section of the chapter represents more than 50%
reworking of the PhD work: ‘Theological understandings of migration and church ministry
models: A quest for holistic ministry to migrants in South Africa’, 2018, North-West University,
Supervisor: Prof T.C. Rabali.
42. I am aware that, currently, some people are still using some crude and dangerous
modes of sea transport and this results in them failing to reach their desired countries of
destination, as they perish during the migration process. Green (2016:1), a CNN news reporter
substantiates the foregoing notion by advising that the year 2016 witnessed approximately
3800 more Syrians, Afghans and Iraqis drowning in the Mediterranean Sea, as they tried
to escape from the wars in their countries. People from war-torn countries are left with no
choice, but to sail to the other parts of the world using smugglers’ ‘rickety boats’ that ‘should
never have sailed’ (Green 2016:1).
48
Chapter 2
information, as well as migrate to local and international

destinations.
The extent of migration in recent times is aptly described by
several authors (i.e. Martin 2013) and organisations (IOM 2015;
United Nations Population Division Department of Economic and
Social Affairs [UNPDDESA] 2015). For instance, the IOM (2015)
and UNPDDESA (2015) present a vivid picture of the extent of
international migration by stating that:
[T ]he number of international migrants worldwide has continued to
grow rapidly over the past fifteen years, reaching 244 million in 2015,
up from 222 million in 2010 and 173 million in 2000. (pp. 1, 8)
It is important to note, however, that one in seven people in the

world is a migrant (IOM 2014:1). In the Global Challenge of
Managing Migration, Martin (2013:2) states that from 1980 to
2010, the number of people who moved across international
borders increased by 117 million. In 1980, the number of
international migrants was 103 million and by 2010, it stood at
220 million. According to Martin (2013:2) ‘the number of
international migrants increased from 220 million to 232 million
by 2013’ and it is most likely to reach 400 million by 2050.
The United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR)
(2015:2) provides a clearer picture of the current extent of
migration by indicating that by 2015, 65.3 million migrants had
been forcibly displaced internally and internationally. If these
refugees were a nation, they would be the 21st most populous
country in the world. The intensity of international migration can
be further clarified when one considers the 2017 population facts
revealed by the United Nations Department of Economics and
Social Affairs Population Division (2017:1), which indicates that
‘[t]he world counted 258 million international migrants in 2017,
representing 3.4 per cent of global population’.
However, in 2018, I stated that when migrants arrive in a foreign
nation, they face multiple and complex challenges that can be
classified as physical, economic, spiritual, cultural, sociological,
environmental, security, legal and emotional or psychological
49
(Magezi 2018:329–231). In other words, when people migrate

from their countries of origin because of various push and pull
factors, they are subjected to a state of in-between, a place of
suspense (suspended being) and a place of nowhere, in which
they face multiple difficulties (Magezi 2018:329–231).
I also indicated that one major problem that surfaces is that
the Church of God, which should act as a mutually supportive
community to vulnerable people, such as migrants, is not
responding to these challenges in an effective manner (Magezi
2018:305–321). Cruz (2010:121), Longenecker (2010) and Wright
(2006) concur with me when they regard the church as a
mutually supportive community for vulnerable migrants and
recommend that theology should dialogue with the current
challenges that these migrants encounter. Reactive ministerial
and ecclesiological models that respond to the challenges of
migrants should be developed. Hence, in advancing a useful
intercultural theology of migration, Cruz (2010:121) poignantly
points out, ‘[i]ndeed, all theology participates in [God’s] story to
address the issue of the day or the signs of the times’. Regrettably,
in my article titled Migration crisis and the church: A response to
lacunae and considerations for Christian ministry engagement,
I state that (Magezi 2017):
Theology has to dialogue with current forms of arising issues. An
emerging problem indicates that while theology is expected to
dialogue with migration, scholars observe that theology has been
peripherally participating in shaping the discourse and responses to
migration crises. (p. 7)
It can be stated that the church is at the periphery of the migration

discourse because it possibly lacks migration theology to drive
its response to migration challenges. In 2018, I expressed the
need for a thoroughly worked out theology of migration to drive
church migrant ministries (Magezi 2018:305–321). I conducted a
qualitative research that involved interviewing various church
leaders in Gauteng province. The study established the fact
that the theological rationales that drive South African churches’
50
Chapter 2
structured and unstructured migrant ministries are limited in

many and different ways. Firstly, some current South African
church leaders premise and justify their structured and
unstructured migrant ministries on flimsy biblical–theological
foundational statuses of migration theology (Magezi 2018:314–
316). Secondly, for the same reason, some churches do not have
structured migrant ministries (Magezi 2018:316–320). In view of
the lack of biblical–theological foundational statuses of migration
theology to drive the Church to develop effective migrant
ministries, this chapter aims at developing one of the theologies
of migration theology that can possibly challenge the church to
design comprehensive and effective migrant ministries.
In order to accomplish its objective, this chapter initially
establishes a biblical redemptive historical approach as a relevant
framework of developing migration theologies that drive the
churches to establish effective migrant ministries. In view of the
flaws and strengths embedded in the biblical redemptive
historical approach, this section states the work of various
scholars, who are respectively supportive and critical of the
proposed framework and then proceeds to establish the
framework as a relevant and responsible approach to
understanding and developing migration theology. This is
because a biblical redemptive historical approach provides a
coherent-unifying approach, resulting in an appropriate and
constructive understanding of any particular issue in the Bible.
Having established the aforesaid, the second section utilises a
biblical redemptive historical approach to understanding and
developing migration theology in the Bible by focusing on
Leviticus 19:33–37 and Acts 9:32–10:48. In utilising the proposed
approach, the chapter will reveal that good and new perspectives
may be realised when people migrate into new contexts, that is
migration can be an opportunity for God’s people to learn to love
strangers (Lv 19:33–37) and to know the character and nature of
God better (Ac 9:32–10:48).
51
The third segment interlinks the aspect of divine permission of

the migration of God’s people, as a way of teaching them to
understand the doctrine of God’s providence within migrant
contexts. At this juncture, a brief indication of the challenges
associated with the doctrine of God’s providence will be given in
order to highlight the significance of the leading arguments and
findings in driving the churches’ effective migrant ministries, as
well as its implication on ministering to migrants and assisting
them to cope in a foreign nation. The chapter will conclude by
bringing some overarching arguments to the fore.
In search of a framework for

migration theology: A biblical
redemptive historical approach43
A relevant and responsible approach to understanding and
developing migration theology requires a constructive theological
model. In a 2018 article that I co-authored, we define a constructive
theological approach as a ‘functional theology that responds to
the needs of people’ (Magezi & Magezi 2018:1). That is, a
constructive and sound theology refers to theology that is useful
and capable of addressing people’s needs (Magezi & Magezi
2018:1). The constructive approach is not concerned with the
issue of right or wrong, but about the extent of justifiability. It is
also concerned with making effort to determine whether a
theological thinking could be biblically sustained. At stake in a
constructive approach is the question: does the approach
represent God as presented in the Bible? The notion of a
constructive Bible framework is closely related to what Louw
(2014:276) calls speaking appropriately on God within different
contexts (representative speaking). Selecting the constructive
43. This section is also available in some other articles, in which the same author advances a
biblical redemptive historical approach as an important framework for analysing migration
from a biblical perspective.
52
Chapter 2
approach from multiple others is like choosing food from a buffet

table. One selects that which meets one’s intentions and goal.
However, within an academic context, the selected approach
should be rigorous.
There are also other sound approaches apart from the one
suggested by Louw (2014). Braaten (1989:2) identifies three
different contexts that influence humanity’s reference to God
today, namely, the ecclesial, the academic and the secular. Louw
(2014) encapsulates Braaten’s (1989) three modes of God’s
language as follows:
The first mode is that of the academic. Its concern and inquiry is
to speak about the character and being of God; Braaten calls it a
descriptive monological approach. The second refers to the dialogical
mode of prophecy and proclamation, i.e. speaking for God, which a
prescriptive task. The third is the liturgical mode of speaking to God
in prayer and praise that implies an acsriptive approach. (p. 276)
However, the fourth approach, namely, ‘to speak appropriately on

God within different contexts (representative speaking)’, that
Louw (2014:276) adds to Braaten’s (1989) three modes of God’s
language, is critical to this study because, in theology (Louw
2014):
Whether we speak about, of, for, to or on God, our main task is
hermeneutical, i.e. to determine the significance of God-talk with
regard to the human quest for meaning. (p. 276)
Accordingly, linking with Louw’s (2014) approach of appropriately

speaking on God, this chapter proposes a biblical redemptive
historical approach in developing a theology of migration that
drives church migrant ministries. The utility of this approach lies
in the fact that it is a coherent-unifying methodology that results
in an appropriate and constructive understanding, as Louw
(2014:276) rightly argues.
Nevertheless, I am conscious that a biblical redemptive historical
approach has been criticised by several theologians, notably Baker
(2010) and Kessler (2013). Baker (2010:277–228), in the book titled
53
Two Testaments, One Bible, presents the proposed approach as

having a tendency of reducing the Old Testament to a secondary
position in a manner that is not compatible with mainstream
theological positions. In Baker’s (2010) view, this is problematic
because the authority of the Old Testament is not based on
whether it is more or less authoritative than that of the New
Testament. Instead, it is based on its function that is similar to that
of the New Testament, because both testaments are the
fundamental documents of Christian faith. Both testaments reveal
God as constantly reaching out to people (Baker 2010). The main
misunderstanding of the historical redemptive approach is its
claim that the Old Testament should be interpreted in the light of
Jesus (Baker 2010). Likewise, in the book titled Old Testament
Theology: Divine Call and Human Response, Kessler (2013) concurs
with Baker (2010) for breaking away from the redemptive historical
approach and arguing for the New Testament resonances of Old
Testament Theology as acceptable modes of dealing with the
relationship between the Old and New Testaments.
Given the abovementioned critique of Baker’s (2010) and
Kessler’s (2013) biblical redemptive historical approach, it is
possible that theologians who opt to use this approach in
analysing migration from the biblical perspective can be labelled
as retaining a fundamentalist reading of Scripture (Pelikan
2003:4) or employing a pre-critical Bible usage of reading into
the biblical text. Pelikan (2003:4ff.) refers to a fundamentalist
reading of Scripture as a view that perceives 19th-century
modernist theologians to have misinterpreted or rejected certain
key scriptural doctrines, especially the doctrine of the inerrancy
of Scripture. Many fundamentalist theologians and churches
(sometimes called conservative evangelicals) have utilised a
fighting style to the historical and theological methodologies
that have negative implications on their evangelical doctrinal
positions (Pelikan 2003:4ff.). Given this, Pelikan (2003:4)
understands fundamentalism as a term that generally refers to
‘Protestant Christians opposed to the historical and theological
implications of critical study of the Bible’.
54
Chapter 2
Nonetheless, it is important to note that the theologians who

subscribe to a redemptive historical approach in analysing the
Bible are overcritical of methodological frameworks of examining
Scripture, such as the historical critical approach, which looks at
the development of the biblical text (Pereira 2015:2). This is
because such an approach is not capable of providing adequate
relevance for the theological task (Pereira 2015:2). Klingbeil
(2003:403) and Pereira (2015:2) underscore the fact that this
critical approach lacks relevance to Christians because it tends
to imprison the text in the past, therefore, failing to bridge the
gap between the past and the present. At this juncture, it can
be argued, in concurrence with Pereira (2015:2) that the
aforementioned weakness of the historical critical approach has
resulted in Carson (2010) acknowledging Pattison, who avows
that:
This minute, historical, critical and analytical perspective has yielded
many benefits, but it has also had the effect of making it very difficult
to integrate specific textual insights with broad theological concerns,
or with Christian life in general. (p. 340)
Indeed, this serves to underscore that no approach is devoid of

inherent weaknesses, as has been seen from the critiques of the
redemptive historical and historical critical approaches.
At this point, it is significant to state that this chapter does not

follow the redemptive historical approach simply to oppose the
historical and theological implications of the critical study of the
Bible or reduce the Old Testament to a secondary position.
Instead, the biblical redemptive historical approach is utilised as
one of the theological lenses that can be used to understand
migration in the biblical context, as well as develop a theology of
migration that would challenge the church to respond effectively
to migration challenges. Regardless of its weaknesses, as
highlighted above, it is important to note that the biblical
redemptive historical approach is also defined and supported by
many scholars as an appropriate way of reading the Bible, as the
ensuing subsection will establish.
55
The conceptualisation of a biblical

redemptive historical approach as an
important framework for analysing
migration in Leviticus 19:33–37 and
Acts 9:32–10:48
A biblical redemptive historical approach is a method of reading
the Bible that helps pay special attention to the storyline of the
Bible, namely: creation, fall, redemption and consummation. Vos
(1980:7–13), a biblical theology lecturer at Princeton Seminary
from 1893 to 1932, and Gaffin (2012), are some of the few leading
proponents of the biblical redemptive historical approach. In
building upon Vos’s (1980) conception of the redemptive
historical approach, Gaffin (2012:92) endorses the redemptive
historical approach as the best methodology of interpreting
scripture by articulating that ‘history is revelation and develops
six elements of the redemptive-historical approach’ and strongly
maintaining that the ‘outcome of these elements is that Jesus
Christ is the culmination of the history of redemption’.
Gaffin (2012:91–92) proposes six elements of the redemptive
historical approach, as follows:
1. The Bible should always be interpreted in view of God’s self-
revelation (in word and deed) in creation.
2. God’s redemption or revelation is historical.
3. Jesus Christ, in his person and work, centred in his death and
resurrection (e.g. 1 Cor 15:3–4), is the culmination of the history
of redemption (revelation).
4. The subject matter of revelation is redemption, meaning that
revelation—excluding prefall, pre-redemptive revelation in
Eden—is the interpretation of redemption, as revelation either
attests or explains, describes or elaborates.
5. Scripture is self-revelation, not somehow less revelation.
6. And finally, hermeneutically, revelation is the interpretation of
redemption.
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Chapter 2
The significance of Gaffin’s (2012:109) six elements of the biblical

redemptive historical approach lies in the fact that ‘salvation
resides ultimately, not in who God is or even in [divine utterance],
but in [divine acts] in history, once and for all, in Christ’. Gaffin’s
(2012) redemptive historical approach can be summarised as
advancing the study of any particular topic in the Bible, in view of
the doctrines of creation, fall and redemption, with their
culmination in Christ.
Torrance (2008:45) advances the redemptive historical
approach as an appropriate method of studying the Bible and
treats the Old and New Testaments as a single unit that finds its
fulfilment in Jesus Christ’s person and work. However, even when
covenant theology is considered, I agree with Horton (2011:45),
Torrance (2008:44) and Kruger (2007:2) that Christ is the one
who fulfils the Old Testament covenant promises that God
designed to achieve through Abraham and his descendants (the
Israelites) as covenant people. Christ is the centre of the
redemptive historical approach because the Old Testament looks
forward to the fulfilment of the redemptive promises in and
through Christ, whilst the New Testament looks back to the
promises of the redemptive history that culminate in Christ
(Torrance 2008:45).44 However, there are many covenants and
promises that God enters into with the human race as a means of
fulfilling covenantal promises that are part of the first gospel
promises in Genesis 3:15. The redemptive role of Israel is intrinsic
in the centrality of the Abrahamic covenant (Gn 12:1–3, 15, 17) and
its promises that have their fulfilment in the God-man, Jesus
Christ, who inaugurates a new covenant (Lk 22:20b; Torrance
2008:48).
44. Torrance (2008:45) argues that ‘the centre of gravity is in the incarnation itself, to which
the Old Testament is stretched out in expectation, and the New Testament looks back in
engulfment. This one movement throughout the Old Testament and New Testament is the
movement of God’s grace in which he renews the bond between himself and man in such a
way as to assume human nature and existence into oneness with himself’.
57
The Abrahamic covenant was particular and universal in nature

(Torrance 2008:51). Its particularity is hinged on promises of land
and numerous descendants, which are promised to Abraham and
his physical descendants. On the other hand, the universal aspect
refers to God’s designation of Abraham’s covenant to embrace all
nations (Torrance 2008:51). Wells and Zaspel (2002:276) concur
with the aforementioned point when they identify a ‘mathematical
unity’ and a ‘teleological unity’ with regards to the Old Testament
covenants. The former refers to the progressive nature of the
covenants and the latter to the contribution of each covenant to
‘the fulfilment of redemptive history’ (Wells & Zaspel 2002:276).
However, even in that conception, Wells and Zaspel (2002)
advance the Abrahamic covenant as offering an overview of
redemptive history in the following profound and penetrating
way:
From the [New Testament], we can see that the Abrahamic Covenant
spoke of two distinct peoples, Israel and the church, that would
experience two kinds of redemptive histories with two covenants to
guide them. They stand in typological relation to one another. One
would experience a physical and national redemption, starting with
deliverance from Egypt and guided by the Old or Mosaic Covenant.
The other would experience a spiritual, transnational redemption,
starting with deliverance from sin and guided by the New Covenant.
(p. 277)
God renews the Abrahamic covenant with the descendants of

Abraham, namely, Isaac (Gn 26:3–5) and Jacob (Gn 32:9–12;
35:12). The covenant is also cited in Exodus 2:24 and 6:4–5 as the
basis for God’s deliverance of the Israelites from Egyptian
bondage. Further, God renews the covenant with Israel, as a
priestly nation of God that is unmeritoriously chosen (out of
God’s grace and love), to venture into a covenantal relationship
with God (Ex 19:1ff.). This signifies the Sinai covenant, in which
Israel is to act as the mediator of God’s salvation to the human
race (Is 9:1–7, 49:6; Kruger 2007:2; Torrance 2008:45, 58).
However, given the doctrine of universal sin for the whole human
race, Israel is part of the predicament of sin that makes it
58
Chapter 2
impossible for her to operate as a light to the nations. Kruger

(2007) understands this well and affirms thus:
The covenant between God and Israel is a personal relationship of
the deepest, most intimate order, in which the Lord is doing the
impossible — overcome the contradiction between fallen humanity
and Himself and establishing real communion, union and oneness.
(p. 2)
The role of Israel is ultimately fulfilled by the God-man, Jesus

Christ, who is a sinless representative of humanity (Magezi &
Magezi 2017:5ff.). That is, God’s redemptive history, particularised
in Israel, but designed to embrace all humankind, is fulfilled by
Jesus Christ. This biblical redemptive historical approach looks
forward to the return of Christ in his second coming (Parousia) to
consummate his salvation for humankind (cf. Bavinck 2006, as
quoted by Bolt 1983:76). This implies that this proposed approach
recognises Christians as living in the interim period, in which they
are saved from sin and all its consequences by Christ’s redemptive
work, but still await the return of their saviour (Jesus Christ) to
bring everything to its completion.
In view of the aforementioned discussion, a biblical redemptive
historical approach can be summarised as advancing the study
of any particular topic in the Bible in view of the doctrines of
creation, fall and redemption, with their culmination in Christ. In
2018, I specifically advanced the biblical redemptive historical
approach as an appropriate method of studying biblical narratives
of migration by contending that (Magezi 2018):
In studying migration, we prefer a historical redemptive approach
because migration is widespread in the Bible and that what the Bible is
saying on migration has unity. Thus, one needs a redemptive historical
approach to the matter because it helps to bring out the relationship
of anything that the Bible touches on with its central message or the
so-called bigger picture. In other words, the redemptive historical
approach helps to mainstream anything that the Bible teaches on,
whereas other approaches tend to allow for many of the things to be
studied as if they are peripheral to the central message of the Bible.
(p. 28)
59
Given this, a biblical redemptive historical approach, as established

in this section will be utilised to develop a theology of migration
from Leviticus 19:33–37 and Acts 9:32.
The migration of the Israelites into

Egyptian bondage to learn how
they should treat people from other
nations: A perspective from Leviticus
19:33–37
In approaching Leviticus 19:33–37, one would agree with Kiuchi
(2007:15) that Leviticus follows the book of Exodus. This shows
that Exodus and Leviticus are interconnected books (Kiuchi
2007:15; Rendtorff 1996:22–35). In concurrence with Rendtorff
(1996) and Kiuchi (2007), Matthews (2009:12) states that these
two books are interrelated in the sense that Leviticus ‘continues
the prior account in Exodus 40:34, 35 that describes the
completion of the tent of meeting at Mount Sinai’. It is important
to note that scholars largely consider Leviticus as a book
comprising a set of laws that stipulate the proper relationship
that should exist between God and Israel, as a redeemed and
covenant people of God (Matthews 2009:12). Pertaining to the
relationship between God and Israel, Leviticus brings forth the
notion that God is the one who governs the moral conduct of
the Israelites, because the book commences by giving precedence
to God’s Word (Lv 1:1; Matthews 2009:12).
Meyer (2013:1) notes that there is debate about the division of
the book of Leviticus. However, many scholars understand
Leviticus as providing emphasis on the cultic or ritual and ethical
lives of the Israelites. Meyer (2013:1) indicates that scholars divide
the book of Leviticus into two sections, namely:
1. Leviticus 1–16, which focuses on rituals.
2. Leviticus 17–26, which focuses on ethics (holiness code),
among other things.
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Chapter 2
However, regardless of the debate on the division of Leviticus,

one would argue that, in the unfolding of God’s redemptive plan
and purposes for humankind, the rituals in Leviticus confront the
Israelites with God’s desire to dwell with them, as it was from the
beginning, as portrayed in the creation narrative of Genesis 1–2 in
which God creates Adam and Eve and moves them into the
Garden of Eden. The sanctuary rituals remind the Israelites that
God can dwell with them as long as they maintain their purity by
abstaining from sin. The rituals of sin and guilt offerings outlined
in Leviticus 4–5 are meant to provide the means for the Israelites
to gain God’s forgiveness from their sins. It should also be
understood that these rituals are ordained to reveal God’s love
and grace for the Israelites. The offerings for the purification of
the Israelites from their sins in Leviticus 11–16 are necessary for
God to continue to dwell in the tabernacle, which is in the midst
of the covenant people.
It can be advanced, together with Milgrom (2004:175, 213–315)
and Knohl (1995:180–186), that in Leviticus 17–26 holiness is
treated as a very broad concept. From a redemptive historical
approach, the ethics in Leviticus 17–26 are crucial in making Israel
a distinctive nation that has a special relationship with God, and
a role to play in the redemption of all nations. Israel is supposed
to be a distinct nation that reflects the character of God by
practising holiness, so that other nations could understand God’s
desire for all people to live in harmony in their communities and
societies. The cultic rituals and ethics in Leviticus seem to help
the Israelites to understand the fact that the God who desires to
rescue the world through them, as the vehicle of that great
redemption, is holy and, as such, desires righteousness in all
aspects of life. Thus, as the Israelites are in transit from Egyptian
bondage, God speaks to them through Moses in order to regulate
their worship and ethics. The cultic rituals and ethical laws are
aimed at preserving certain commitments and confessions that
would enable the Israelites to understand their role as a holy
people of God, who are saved to bring God’s salvation to other
nations.
61
Matthews (2009) also correctly draws attention to the

aforementioned matter by stating that:
[T]he importance of Sinai for the setting of Leviticus shows the
strategic magnitude of the revelation that God gave regarding worship
and holy living. It was the revelation of promise and command. (p. 17)
Leviticus 19:33–37 is, therefore, considered as one of the most

crucial passages that amplify the picture of the Israelites’ divine
obligation to respect and care for the aliens among them.
A considerable number of biblical scholars (Matthews 2009:175;
Milgrom 2000:1704; Kiuchi 2007:360–361; Radner 2008:213;
Schwartz 1999:359) understand Leviticus 19:33–37 as confronting
the Israelites with ethical instructions about the way they should
treat the vulnerable among them, including foreigners. This
passage of Leviticus does three important things, namely:
1. it forbids the Israelites from mistreating the aliens among
them (Lv 19:33)
2. it shows how the Israelites should treat migrants among them
(Lv 19:34)
3. it justifies why the Israelites should care for the aliens among
them (Lv 19:34b, 37b).
Like Exodus (22:21–27; 23:9) and Deuteronomy (10:12–22),
Leviticus 19:33–37 also views aliens in the Israelite society as
powerless or weak people (Milgrom 2000:1705). Kiuchi
(2007:360) and Schwartz (1999:359) make a pertinent assertion
that God expects the Israelites to treat aliens the same way they
treat native-born Israelites and as they love themselves. These
two injunctions indicate that the Israelites are expected ‘to
overlook the stranger’s status and deal with him as though he is
a compatriot’ (Kiuchi 2007:361). It would be logical to agree with
Kiuchi’s (2007:360) view that although Leviticus 19:33–37 seems
to stand outside the section of Leviticus 19:3–32, it is important
to note that the injunction to love one’s neighbours, as indicated
in Leviticus 19:18, is extended to resident aliens among the
Israelites. In Schwartz’s (1999:359) view, by loving the alien the
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Chapter 2
same way as a native-born Israelite (Lv 19:34a) or as they love

themselves (Lv 19:34b), the Israelites are urged not to cause
distress for the aliens among them or in the Promised Land of
Canaan that they will inherit.
Just like in Exodus (22:21–27; 23:9) and Deuteronomy (10:12–22),
the motivation for the Israelites to care for the aliens among them
in Leviticus 19:33–37 is rooted in their history and experience in
Egyptian bondage (Lv 19:34c). By appealing to the former
experience of the Israelites as aliens in Egypt, it seems God had
migrated them into Egyptian bondage to allow them to have a
taste of the excruciating experience of being aliens. God uses this
experience to teach the Israelites to live as his ideal nation who
are ordained to take God’s redemption to all the nations. The
experience also shows the Israelites expectations from God with
regards to the treatment of aliens. It is unfortunate that some
commentators do not view the migration of the Israelites into
Egyptian bondage from this perspective, perhaps because they
do not view migration from a redemptive historical approach.
From this approach, God’s call for the Israelites to remember their
pain in a foreign land can be discerned. It also illustrates the fact
that God uses the hardships of migration to cultivate a new
mindset in the Israelites and teach them to understand the kind of
mercy, love and justice they should show to any aliens among
them. Whilst in Egyptian bondage, the Israelites are severely
mistreated, so they should not let the aliens among them have
the same experience. Unlike the Egyptians, the Israelites should
treat the aliens among them in the way they would have loved to
be treated by the Egyptians. By treating the aliens among them
justly, the Israelites would be showing that they are a distinct
nation of God that reflects the holy and righteous character of
the Almighty, so that other nations could perceive the ideal way
that God expects aliens to be treated. In so doing, Israel fulfils its
redemptive role as a light to the nations (Is 49:6).
Furthermore, by bringing to memory their former experience
in Egypt, God wants the Israelites to know that the Almighty is
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primarily a compassionate God who stands with the vulnerable.

In the midst of their oppression in Egypt, the Israelites
eventually remember that the God, with whom they had
entered into a covenantal relationship, cared for the vulnerable.
In commenting on Deuteronomy 10:12–22, which shares similar
ethical injunctions and motivation with Leviticus 19:33–37,
Brueggemann (2001) adds that the experience of the Israelites
in Egypt is grounded in the knowledge of God, who executes
justice for the vulnerable or needy. In this way, ‘Israel’s
distinctive work, in response, is the economic practice of
hospitality and justice that will prevent other vulnerable
outsiders from sliding into the wretchedness of slavery through
indebtedness’ (Brueggemann 2001:131–132). Work (2009:220),
who also comments on Deuteronomy 10:12–22, notes that God
calls on the Israelites to protect the foreigners among them ‘by
making Israel’s story of Egyptian servitude a point of
commonality with all of Israel’s powerless’. However, in the
midst of the powerlessness of the Israelites as aliens in Egyptian
bondage, God demonstrates redemptive mercy to them. The
mercy that God demonstrates to the Israelites during their
bondage in Egypt is not confined to them alone; instead, it is
for all the vulnerable. Given this, the Israelites have to extend
that same mercy to the vulnerable among them, namely:
widows, orphans and aliens. Likewise, in a comment on
Deuteronomy 10:12–22, Merrill (1994) posits that:
[T]he mercy to be extended to the widows, aliens and orphans was
a reflex of the mercy of God, who in a mighty act of redemptive and
protective grace brought helpless Israel out from Egyptian bondage
(v. 18, cf. 5:15, 6:12, 21; 8:14, 10:19, 15:15). … memory of the Lord’s
goodness to them [Israelites] should have evoked corresponding
blessings from them to the weakest members of the community.
(p. 323; [author’s added emphasis])
The abovementioned commentators of Deuteronomy 10:12–22

concur with Kiuchi (2007:361), who helpfully observes that the
former bondage of the nation of Israel is mentioned in Leviticus
19:33–37 in order to reinforce the necessity for the Israelites not to
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deprive the strangers among them of freedom. The Israelites had

had an unpleasant experience in Egyptian bondage, so God forbids
them from subjecting the foreigners among them to such kind of
injustice. God cares for the Israelites during their time as migrants
in Egypt and later redeems them from oppression. God also shows
the same care for the vulnerable among the Israelite society. By
commanding the Israelites to care for the aliens among them, God
is not making the former repay a debt for their redemption from
Egypt. Instead, the Israelites are demonstrating the mercy and
love that arises from their experience as former slaves in Egypt, as
well as adopting God’s compassion for the aliens as God had
demonstrated to them (Israelites) when they were in Egyptian
bondage. This implies that their memory of Egyptian bondage and
knowledge of a compassionate God, who upholds justice for the
aliens, should be the basis for the Israelites to exhibit compassion
to the aliens among them. In adopting and reflecting God’s
compassionate character for the aliens, the Israelites become
distinct from other nations, which are then expected to emulate
the Israelites and change from their evil ways.
As the Israelites live according to God’s laws and standards in

the proposed respect, they can partake and fulfil their role in the
unfolding of God’s redemptive purposes and plans for humankind.
Here, we can learn that good and new perspectives for God’s
people may come from the hardships caused by migration, such
as the Israelites experienced in Egypt, and inculcate renewed
perspectives of God’s compassionate nature. That is to say, the
migration of the Israelites to Egypt, which results in them
experiencing oppression and slavery as aliens, is an opportunity
for them to learn how to love the strangers among them. This
aspect becomes clear in Leviticus 19:33, when God uses the
Israelites’ bitter experience as aliens to teach them how to love
and relate to the strangers among them. Thus, it can be concluded,
in concurrence with Bedford-Strohm’s (2008) comprehensive
summary below, that the commandment of Leviticus 19:33–34 is
promoted by God:
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Firstly, the commandment is emphasized as comprehensible and

accessible from Israel’s own experience: ‘You know how it feels to be
foreign and discriminated against. Therefore, treat the foreigner just
like you would want to be treated if you were in the same situation!’
Secondly, the reasoning for the commandment culminates by
referring to God himself: ‘I am the Lord your God’. Adopt the cause
of all foreigners just like I. (p. 41)
Migration as an opportunity
for God’s people to learn new
things about the character of
God: A perspective from the
Book of Acts
An overview of the Book of Acts in view of
migration in redemptive history
In the Book of Acts, the migration of early Christians, as a result
of the persecution of the church, leads Peter to learn new things
about the impartiality of God, with regards to salvation. However,
before delving into Peter’s migration, it is crucial to give an
overview of how the Book of Acts treats migration in redemptive
history. In his work, entitled Migration and Mission According to
the Book of Acts, Stenschke (2016) argues that:
According to Acts, many early Christian missionaries served in places
that were not their places of origin, voluntarily or by force: the disciples
ended up in Jerusalem and eventually at the ends of the earth. Others
had come to Jerusalem from elsewhere even before encountering
the gospel and ministered throughout the Eastern Mediterranean
world as they became involved in mission. Early Christian mission is
closely related to migration and dislocation, voluntary or by force, led
by the Spirit and for the sake of the gospel. Repeatedly missionaries
had to flee in order to avoid persecution. Despite the tragedy and
suffering involved, there were also great opportunities, which were
readily seized: the gospel moved forward. A final section reflects on
the significance of this portrayal for the church and its mission in the
21st century. (p. 129)
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It is important to note that the migration of the followers of Christ

to various places to proclaim the gospel is not a new phenomenon,
as Acts attests (Stenschke 2016:132). After his resurrection
(before his ascension), Jesus meets with his disciples in Galilee
and charges them to wait for the Spirit, after which they would
go and preach the gospel to Judea, Samaria and the rest of the
world (Ac 1:8; Stenschke 2016:132). The command to migrate and
tell all the nations about the gospel is a pervasive teaching, as
seen in Matthew 28:19–20 and Mark 16:15. Nevertheless, after
Jesus’ ascension and the fulfilment of the promise that the Holy
Spirit would dwell upon his followers, as happens on Pentecost
day (Ac 2), the Book of Acts proceeds to unfold how the
proclamation of the gospel to Samaria, Judea and the rest of the
world is accomplished by Jesus’ followers in the contexts of their
migrations (Stenschke 2016:132). In unfolding the fulfilment of
Jesus’ command for the disciples to migrate with the gospel
to all the nations, the Pentecost day is central in illustrating
that point. Stenschke (2016:132) argues that the people who
experience the descending of the Holy Spirit on Pentecost day
are Jews from Jerusalem and the Diaspora. In this case, Acts 2:
9–11 indicates ‘fifteen regions or ethnic groups’ that are present in
Jerusalem on Pentecost day.
The foregoing argument is buttressed by Stenschke (2016:132),

who plausibly declares that all the tribes of Israel were present
‘[t]o witness the coming of God’s eschatological Spirit on Israel,
gathered and restored in Jesus and the community of his
disciples’. Acts 2:5 substantiates this point by avowing that God-
fearing Jews from every nation under heaven witness the
descending of the Holy Spirit on the day of Pentecost. Acts 2:41
also recounts the conversion and baptism of some of the people
who witness the Pentecost event, even as Peter gives his
evangelistic sermon (Ac 2:14–41) in defence of the disciples of
Jesus who had been accused of being drunk, as they spoke in
glossolalia (Ac 2:13). Stenschke (2016:132) argues that some of
the people who are converted and baptised are diaspora Jews,
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who then return to their host countries and spread the gospel. In
other words, the return of the diaspora Jews to their countries of
residence also facilitates the spread of the gospel. However, it
seems the great migration of Christians to the various parts of
the world takes place because of the persecution that occurs
after the death of Stephen. This point is illustrated by Stenschke
(2016:136), who argues that the first ‘Christian missionaries are
migrants who had come to Jerusalem and who now [had] to
leave as refugees’ as a result of the persecution of the church
after the death of Stephen (Ac 8:1ff.).
It is through this forced migration, which results from the
persecution of Jesus’ followers in Jerusalem, as Acts 9:32–10:48
reveals, that Peter ministers in places beyond Jerusalem, such as
Lydia, Joppa and Caesarea. When Peter migrates to Caesarea, he
ends up learning about God’s racial impartiality in relation to the
call for salvation. The following subsection will now establish the
aforesaid point.
How Peter learns of God’s

impartiality regarding the salvation
of humankind in a migration context:
A perspective from Acts 9:32–10:48
Acts 9:32–10:48 reveals that Peter ministered in places beyond
Jerusalem, notably Lydia, Joppa and Caesarea. After ministering
extensively in Jerusalem, Peter adopts a new mode of ministry
whereby he migrates to new places and continues to ministers
there. The other disciples, such as Phillip, do likewise (see Ac
8:26ff.). Peter’s ministry makes a huge impact in places such as
Lydia and Joppa, where he heals a paralytic man (Aeneas) who
had been bedridden for eight years (Ac 9:33–34). In bringing this
miracle to bear on the advancement of God’s kingdom, it is
apparent that all those who witness it immediately believe in
Jesus Christ (Ac 9:35). Through Peter’s migration, there is a
numerical extension of God’s kingdom beyond Jerusalem, as we
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Chapter 2
witness the conversion in Acts 9:35. Soon after this, Peter migrates
to Joppa, where God’s grace and sovereignty are manifested
through miracles that lead many into faith. On arrival in Joppa,
Peter raises Tabitha, who had been known for looking after the
needy (Ac 9:36–43).
Peter also migrates to Caesarea, where he comes in contact
with Cornelius, a Gentile man. This is a very dramatic story in
which God is revealed to Cornelius and Peter, respectively.
Cornelius is a God-fearing centurion of the Italian Cohort in
Caesarea. He is also generous to the poor and prays regularly, as
Acts 10:2 attests. God tells Cornelius to send messengers to
Joppa to bring Peter, who is staying with Simon the tanner, whose
house is by the sea (Ac 10:3–6). Here, we perceive Cornelius’
obedience to God because he explains his dreams to two of his
servants whom he afterwards sends to fetch Peter from Joppa.
As Cornelius’ servants journey to Joppa, God is revealed to Peter
as he prays on the roof of Simon the tanner’s house. It is in this
vision that God directs Peter to migrate to Caesarea, where he
preaches a sermon that results in the conversion of Cornelius and
many other people in his household (Stenschke 2016:140). To put
it differently, Peter migrates to Caesarea to preach the redemptive
gospel of Jesus Christ so that his remnant people among the
Gentile nations can be saved, as we perceive in the conversion of
Cornelius and many other Gentiles (Ac 10:34–48).
However, it is significant to note here that because of his

migration to Caesarea, Peter gains a deeper understanding of
God’s character. Through this encounter, Peter learns that God
has no favouritism. In his own words, Peter affirms that, ‘[t]ruly I
understand that God shows no partiality, but in every nation
anyone who fears [God] and does good is acceptable to [God]’
(Ac 10:34). This implies that Peter learns a lesson that he otherwise
would not have learnt if he had not migrated (because of
persecution) to minister salvation to the Gentiles, whom he used
to consider as unclean (Stenschke 2016:140). Thus, at this point it
can be argued that the migration experience, although it might
69
be because of persecution, enables God’s people to gain a better

understanding of the nature of God.
Bassler (1985:549) argues that Acts 10 is Peter’s first sermon
to a Gentile audience and it results in the conversion of Cornelius,
as the initial Gentile convert to Christianity, according to the Book
of Acts. Peter is summoned from Joppa to Caesarea to confer
with the centurion, Cornelius, a devout man worships God and is
generous in his support of worthy causes. Peter is willing to go to
the home of this prominent Gentile because of a vision he had
experienced earlier, during his midday prayers. When Peter meets
Cornelius, the former is convinced of the latter’s sincerity. Peter
immediately preaches a short sermon. However, in this article,
the content of the sermon matters45 less than the fact that Peter
migrates to Caesarea and gives his first sermon to a Gentile
audience, resulting in the salvation of Cornelius and many other
Gentiles. The conversion of the Gentiles in Acts 10:34 enables
Peter to learn new things regarding God’s salvation to humankind.
This incident challenges Peter’s old conviction that the gospel
of Jesus Christ was for the Jews alone. Instead, the fundamental
paradigm shift is that Jesus is the saviour beyond the house of
Israel, as Bond (2002) asserts:
Peter’s sermon to Cornelius challenges their [Jesus’ disciples’]
understandings about what it means to follow Christ. The radical
gospel of peace challenges our own notions of what it means to
belong to a privileged religious community with the exclusive truth
about the way of salvation. (p. 80; [author’s added emphasis])
This implies that the conversion of Cornelius forces Jesus’

disciples to rethink their mission and comprehend that the gospel
is for both the Jews and the Gentiles who believe in the salvific
45. In order to understand the content of speeches and evangelistic sermons in the book of
Acts, one should visit Strandenae’s (2011:341–354) work that seeks to identify the lessons
that can be learnt about the missionary preaching in the Early Church, from the missionary
speeches in Acts. The work further examines the missiological implications of these
speeches. Here, the structure, main content and messages of these speeches are dealt with
in a comprehensive manner.
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Chapter 2
work of the Lord Jesus Christ. Thus, they realise that they are not
supposed to deny baptism to people who would have received
the gift of the Holy Spirit (Matera 1987:63). In other words,
Cornelius’ conversion causes the disciples of Jesus to redefine
the boundaries of the church. They learn that the church or family
of God includes people from Gentile ethnic groups. Thus, it can
be argued that, if it were not for his migration to Caesarea, Peter
would not have thought that the Lord Jesus Christ embraces and
saves non-Jews as well.
Nevertheless, it is significant to note that, in the Old Testament,

the inclusion of people of Gentile ethnic origin is a major theme,
which is consistent with the Abrahamic covenant. Torrance
(2008:51–58), and Magezi and Magezi (2016:7) dwell on the
Abrahamic covenant in order to highlight the significance of its
relationship with the nation of Israel in its universal role of bringing
salvation to all humankind. The aforementioned scholars argue
that the Abrahamic covenant is particular and universal in nature.
On one hand, the particularity of the covenant is that it has
promises solely pertaining to Abraham and his biological
descendants (Israel) (Gn 12:1–2). On the other hand, the universal
aspect of the covenant is that it has a universal promise, in which
Abraham and his descendants are destined to be a blessing to
all nations (Gn 12:3). This clearly indicates that although God
promises some specific blessings to Abraham and his physical
descendants (Gn 12:2), it is apparent that the Abrahamic covenant
embraces people from all nations; therefore, it is both ‘particular
and universal’ in nature (Torrance 2008:51–58). In the Old
Testament, the universal aspect of the Abrahamic covenant is
witnessed many times, as many people of Gentile ethnic descent,
such as Rahab (Jos 2:1–21 cf. Mt 1:5a), and Ruth (Rt 1–4; cf. Mt
1:5b), are saved and incorporated into the leading lineage of Israel
and, subsequently, play significant roles in the advancement of
Jesus’s genealogy. The significance of the foregoing is that, even
in the Old Testament, the Israelites both welcome and incorporate
aliens into their community, as long as the latter give up their
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pagan gods and acknowledge the God of Israel as the only

true God.
At this juncture, one can argue that Bassler (1985:549) and

Matera’s (1987:62–66) perception of Cornelius’ conversion as a
new dispensation of grace is questionable, if one looks at the Old
and New Testaments as a single story. In addition, as I have
already established, the conversion or salvation and inclusion of
Gentiles into God’s family is a major theme in the Old Testament.
Torrance (2008:45), Gaffin (2012:109) and Vos (1980:7–13) concur
with the aforementioned conception when they advance the
redemptive historical approach as an appropriate method of
studying the Bible, as it treats the Old and New Testaments as a
single unit that finds its fulfilment in Jesus Christ’s person and
work. Given the aforementioned, the underlying question is: why
does Peter appear surprised about the conversion of Cornelius if
the inclusion of the Gentiles into God’s salvation or family has
been a consistent theme in the Old Testament, which he could
have read many times? In responding to this question, Lotz
(1988), in his essay titled Peter’s wider understanding of God’s
will: Acts 10:34–48, attempts to give reasons for Peter’s
misconception of salvation, which he learns in a migrant context.
Lotz (2008) explains that Peter’s misunderstanding arose from
the fact that he:
[W]as brought up in a strict tradition that precluded even having a
meal or fellowship with someone from another tribe or nation: ‘You
yourselves know how unlawful it is for a Jew to associate with or to
visit anyone of another nation’ (Acts 10:28). Suddenly all of Peter’s
understanding of God is challenged in a dream concerning the
kind of food he should eat. The Lord challenges his religious beliefs
concerning clean and unclean foods. This distinction separated him
from the Gentiles. Now in a vision the Lord says, ‘It is not for you to
call profane what God counts clean’ (Acts 10:15, NEB). (p. 201)
However, the above assertion underscores the fact that Peter’s

misunderstanding of God’s salvation for humankind is not
consistent with scripture because the Old Testament writings
clearly spoke of God as the God of all the nations (cf. Ps 68:32,
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72; Ezk 38). Indeed, this aforementioned understanding of God

as the God of all nations or people is in line with the Old
Testament’s notion of salvation in which Israel welcomes and
incorporates aliens into her community, as long as the latter give
up their pagan gods and acknowledge the God of Israel as the
only true God to be worshipped. However, because of space
constraints in this chapter, the aforementioned question is left for
any further research that seeks to understand Peter’s
misunderstanding of the salvation for humankind, that God first
announces in Genesis 3:15 and continues to promise to accomplish
through the Abrahamic covenant or promises (Gn 12:3). This
covenant is fulfilled by the God-man, Jesus Christ, in the New
Testament. Avowing the aforesaid is an acknowledgment that
God’s redemptive promise for all nations or people through
Abraham is renewed with his (Abraham’s) descendants. The
redemptive promise is reintroduced to Isaac (Gn 26:3–5) and
Jacob (Gn 32:9–12; 35:12). The covenantal promises are also later
cited in Exodus 2:24 and 6:4–5 as the basis for God’s deliverance
of the Israelites from Egyptian bondage.
However, regardless of the aforementioned conception, the
superseding point is that Acts 10:34–48 presents Peter in a
migrant context, in which he learns that salvation and the
forgiveness of sin are freely available for everyone who believes
in Jesus Christ (see Ac 10:43). In other words, it is within a migrant
context that Peter learns that Jesus’ redemptive work is not
limited to saving the Jews alone. Instead, it embraces all people
who believe in Jesus Christ. This is why Strandenae (2011:351),
whose analysis of all the 80 speeches in Acts argues that the
evangelistic sermons to the Gentiles in the Book of Acts, such as
Acts 10:34–48, reveal that salvation is for both the Jews and the
Gentiles, who should believe in the God-man, Jesus Christ, who
lived, suffered, died, resurrected and ascended to the heavenly
realm, and is expected to come back in the end times to judge
the living and the dead. This means that the aspect of God’s
salvation, that is equally available for both Jews and Gentiles,
should not point one in the direction of universalism because the
73
predominant phrases ‘faith in Christ’ and ‘being in Christ’ are key

to understanding the basis of God’s salvation for all people.
Having established the aforementioned, the predominant point
that this section advances is that Acts 10:34–48 reveals that the
inclusive nature of God’s salvation can be learned within migrant
contexts. Linking this notion with the doctrine of God’s providence
that shall be discussed below, it can be argued that God allows
the migration to be associated with pain, sorrow and suffering, as
experienced by the Israelites and Peter, so as to advance the
redemptive plan and purposes for the world.
It is important to note that God does not only allow Christian
migration to happen so as to unleash his redemptive purposes
and plans for humankind. In 2018, I argued that the centripetal
and centrifugal concepts are crucial in understanding the mission
of the church in the Bible (Magezi 2019:5–10). I argued that the
book of Joshua reveals a centrifugal concept of mission that
envisages a situation where sinners migrate to where God’s
people are in order to get saved (Magezi 2019:5–10). The books
of Ruth and Joshua reveal a centripetal concept of mission that
envisages a situation in which God’s people (Christians) migrate
to faraway places, where there are people who do not know God,
for the purposes of advancing his kingdom (Magezi 2019:5–10).
This chapter will not delve into the aforementioned conversation
again. Instead, it argues that the concepts of migration in
redemptive history emerging from Leviticus 19:33–37 and Acts
10:34–48 are embedded in the doctrine of God’s providence, that
will be discussed below, which advances that the perfect-
sovereign God allows various factors of migration to take place,
so as to unleash redemption for humankind. That is, in interlinking
the doctrine of God’s providence with the insights arising from
the discussed passages of Scripture, I will argue in the ensuing
section that the individual and corporate factors for migration
may, in this case, also receive a more than human aspect in God’s
providential control of everything that has to do with human
beings in light of the fulfilment of redemptive plans and promises
for the world.
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Chapter 2
The interrelationship between the

doctrine of God’s providence and the
notion that good-new perspectives
about God may emerge because of
migration
The assumption that new insights about how to love strangers
(Lv 19:33–37) and understand the inclusive nature of God’s
salvation for both Jews and Gentiles (Ac 10:34–48) emerge as a
result of migration (Lv 19:33–37) challenges one to bring the
doctrine of God’s providence to bear in this discussion. McClintock
(1968:707) explains the doctrine of God’s providence and affirms
that the word providence is not in the Bible. This doctrine is
commonly used to signify the biblical notion of ‘the wisdom and
power which God continually exercises in the preservation and
government of the world, for the ends which [God] proposed to
accomplish’ (McClintock 1968:707). Sproul (2000:4) concurs
with McClintock (1968:707) by defining the doctrine of God’s
providence as the doctrine that signifies the aspect of ‘God’s
involvement in the world and in the daily affairs of our lives’. The
aforementioned delineations of God’s providence are brought
together to argue that the doctrine of God’s providence focuses
on ‘God’s support, care and supervision of all creation, from the
moment of the first creation to all the future into eternity’ (Tenney
1975:4).
The doctrine of God’s providence is against the deistic
worldview or the Greek cosmological thinking that perceives God
as the creator of a self-governing and law abiding world, but is
not directly involved in guiding and shaping its course of destiny
(Horton 2011:39–40, 341–344). Thus, the doctrine of God’s
providence is against the dogma of deism that presents God as
distant from the events of the world, therefore, portraying all
worldly activities as uncontrollable and without any element of
God’s purpose (Harvey 1964:66). This understanding creates a
disjunction between God and creation and, consequently, results
75
in the denial of the central Christian dogmas such as incarnation

and atonement (Torrance 1996:34–35). Hebrews 1:3 challenges
the deistic worldview by presenting Jesus Christ, fully God
himself, as the one who holds the world together and sustains it
by his power. This indicates that there is no disjunction between
God and creation. Therefore, contrary to possible popular opinion,
there is significant credibility in Sproul’s (2000; c.f. Horton
2011:350–360) argument that the doctrine of God’s providence
affirms that human beings:
[D]o not live in a closed, mechanistic universe where everything
operates according to fixed natural laws. Rather, God is the cause
of everything in the universe and everything that takes place in the
universe. That is, God not only created but also sustains and governs
… creation. (p. 11)
Nevertheless, Sproul’s (2000) understanding of God as the one

who is responsible for everything in the world is problematic
because it tends to project God as the causal agent of natural
disasters and other bad things that happen in the world. That is,
in our context of migration, Sproul’s (2000) understanding would
mean that God wills wars, famines and oppression to force people
to leave their homes so that they may learn about the inclusivity
of God’s salvation, which would compel them to love the stranger
and God. In responding to this, one can argue that suffering is
outside of God’s plan, instead, it is a foreign power that emerges
from the devil and human disobedience to God’s moral will
(Caesar 1999:88; Christensen 2016:1–27; Kunhiyop 2012:55–59;
Navigatori & Sikharulidze 2015:5–267). Both human beings and
the Satan (Lucifer) were originally created perfect by God, yet
capable of sinning because they were created with free will to
choose what is right or good (Christensen 2016:1–27; Maltz
1988:63–73). The devil sinned against God and he became the
opponent of God and his mission is to influence people to turn
away from God’s will (Maltz 1988:63–73; Navigatori & Sikharulidze
2015:5–267).
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Chapter 2
However, this chapter will not delve into discussing the origin
of Satan, because there are many contending theories on that
subject (Jonker 2017:348–366; Navigatori & Sikharulidze 2015:5–
267). Instead, the problem lies in the issue of the free will that
both human beings and the devil were originally created with.
This aforesaid notion of human free will creates an irreconcilable
tension between God’s sovereignty and human responsibility
(Christensen 2016:1–27). Indeed, if God created human beings
with the capacity to choose evil instead of good, this can be
taken to imply that God created the possibility of evil and this
critique can be intensified when the aspect of the foreknowledge
of God is considered. That is, with the doctrine of the
foreknowledge of God in mind, one can argue that God created
human beings with the capacity to choose God’s will or bad
things. However, by divine foreknowledge God knew that human
beings will chose evil over good. This can be taken to mean that
God planned sin and evil to happen in the world before the
foundation of the world. Consequently, by implication, God can
be understood as the causal agent of factors of migrations that
are beyond people’s control. Such factors include: natural
disasters, wars, human rights violation and religious persecution
that cause involuntary migration for many people across the
globe. Given this, Ferguson (2010:261) understands the problems
associated with the doctrine of God’s providence as inescapable
because it cuts across many theological disciplines such as
systematic, philosophical and pastoral theologies, whilst raising
critical existential issues that people struggle with.
With this in mind, the ensuing subsection attempts to

conceptualise a balanced understanding of the linkage between
the doctrine of God’s providence and the perspectives that
emerge in Leviticus 19 and Acts 10 because of migration in
redemptive history. This conceptualisation also ascertains God’s
presence in the hardships that both Christians and non-Christians
encounter because of migration.
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A balanced understanding of the

linkage between the doctrine
of God’s providence and the
perspectives that emerge in
Leviticus 19 and Acts 10
I do not subscribe to the view that God causes factors of migration
such as natural disasters (i.e. famine), persecution and wars in
order to force people to migrate so that they can learn new
perspectives about how to love strangers and the impartiality of
God in salvation. This view is not consistent with Scripture.
Instead, it can be argued that chaotic factors of migration, such
as the natural disasters that create pain and suffering for many
people are caused by the devil, whilst the economic instabilities,
political instabilities, persecution, wars and many others are
caused by human beings when they choose to turn away from
God’s will through mismanagement of economy, greed and
hunger for power. In saying this, I advance that the devil is always
on a mission to influence people to turn away from God’s will in
the aforesaid ways. This conception is interlinked with the notion
that the perfect-sovereign God does not associate with evil (i.e.
suffering is not inside of God’s plan) (Ps 92:15; 1 Jn 1:5). Instead,
God allows painful migrations for both Christians and non-
Christians so as to unleash his redemptive purposes and plans
for the world.
This is an important conception because it does not view God
as the causal agent of these calamitous factors that cause people
to involuntarily migrate to new places, where they encounter
hardships. One example of forced migration in Scripture is the
sojourning of the Israelites to Egypt as a result of famine
(Gn 46–47). This migration later on leads to bondage (Ex 1). The
conception does not take away God’s involvement in the evil
things that happen in the universe. Here, a clarification has to be
made that God is not involved as a causal agent of the factors of
migration that are associated with pain and sorrow of people.
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Instead, God’s involvement lies in allowing and controlling the

occurrence of evil things in order to accomplish the redemptive
purpose (McClintock 1968:707). That is to say, the doctrine of
God’s providence proposed in this chapter perceives the existence
of the devil who causes painful migrations for people. However,
God’s wisdom and power preserve and govern the world, in order
to accomplish divine purposes (McClintock 1968:707).
The fact that God allows evil to happen, but does not cause it,
is substantiated by the narrative of Job 2, in which the devil asks
permission from God to afflict the righteous Job (Navigatori &
Sikharulidze 2015:67). Only after God grants permission does the
devil commence to afflict Job (Navigatori & Sikharulidze 2015:67).
This means that Satan is powerful and active, but has no authority,
unless when granted by God (Navigatori & Sikharulidze 2015:67).
The devil may be a roaring lion looking for someone to devour
(1 Pt 5:8) but cannot attack where God forbids. In this case, God
does not cause Job to suffer, but simply allows it to happen as a
way of making Job a better person. With this in mind, I argue that
the individual and corporate factors for migration may, in this
case, also receive a more than human aspect in God’s providential
control of everything that has to do with human beings as a
means of fulfilling the redemptive promise for the world.
Nevertheless, I am aware of the possibility of an argument that if
the sovereign God, who is in control of everything in the world,
allows the devil to unleash suffering in the world, the same God
may be perceived as the causal agent of suffering. This stems
from the reasoning that if God does not permit evil to happen,
then the evil things that cause many people to suffer would not
occur. I recognise that the aforesaid issue is a mystery that
humanity cannot resolve at this interim period of Christianity
because humans are not all-knowing like God and, therefore,
cannot ascertain the deepest reaches of God’s redemptive
purposes (I Cor 2:11).
Having established the abovementioned, I am cognisant of the
actuality that many Christian and non-Christian migrants suffer
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hardships, either because of the factors of migration, or in their

new homelands (migrant hosting nations). As they groan, the
hapless migrants always seek to understand God’s presence in
their suffering and this threatens their sense of God’s care and
love for them (Harold 2018; Tavard 2003). As Harold (2018)
asserts:
If God orders and overrules all things, and God is love, how are we
to understand so much disorder, suffering, and evil? And how should
we relate divine governance to our scientific way of thinking? (pp. 6,
707–718)
From a Christian perspective, it can be argued that life in this

world is a cosmic battlefield because of the kingdom theology of
now but not yet. Currently, Christians are in the kingdom of God,
but it is not yet fully realised because the whole creation is
eagerly waiting in expectation for the parousia of Jesus Christ to
consummate salvation for Christians (Rm 8:19) and take them to
a new heaven and new earth in which there will be no more evil
or suffering (Rv 2:1–4). The fact that the devil still has power
(though given by God) in this interim period of Christianity is
indicated in 1 Peter 5:8, which shows that the adversary still goes
about seeking victims. Revelation 12:10 also reveals that the devil
is not yet already a defeated foe (Caesar 1999:88). However, as
established before, the pain experienced by Christians is not
permanent. Such suffering stems from two sources, namely, the
devil and the consequences of the Christians’ own choices as
they use their free will. Caesar (1999) notes that:
Far from being the cause of suffering in the world, God has undertaken
to guarantee that its presence will not be permanent. The horror of
the means [God] has devised gives insight into the offence which sin
and suffering are to [God] and also the value [God] places upon the
safety and happiness of … creation. (p. 87)
Notably, as Christians wait for Christ to come and consummate

salvation for them, it follows that at this interim period of
Christianity, believers continue to suffer because of the existing
tension between good and evil. As Christians suffer, they should
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realise that God does not leave them alone (Heb 13:5). Instead,
through the dynamic presence of the Holy Spirit in their lives,
God is always closer to the Christians than they are to God
themselves. Torrance (2009) unswervingly contends for Christ’s
continuous solidarity with Christians through the presence of the
Holy Spirit (at this overlapping of ages) in the ensuing manner:
[I]t is through the Spirit that things infinitely disconnected —

disconnected by the ‘distance’ of the ascension — are nevertheless
infinitely closely related. Through the Spirit, Christ is nearer to us than
we are to ourselves, and we who live and dwell on earth are yet made
to sit with Christ in heavenly places, partaking of the divine nature in
him. (p. 294)
It is important to note that God is faithful and will not allow

believers to go through any form of suffering that they cannot
bear. Further, God cannot allow believers to suffer without
providing them with a way out of it (1 Cor 10:13). Stated differently,
God will not allow Christians to suffer without giving the sufficient
grace to sustain them through those excruciating moments.
Among many other things, suffering moulds Christians’ moral
characters as they seek to be more Christ like (Caesar 1999:75).
Christians need to continuously hope that Jesus Christ intervenes
in their predicaments. Jesus Christ, who is the high priest and
mediator between God and humanity, empathises with believers
in their suffering and weaknesses because he knows how it is to
suffer as a human (Heb 4:15). This is why Romans 8:28 assures
Christians that in all things (i.e. good times and bad times), they
should be cognisant of the actuality that God works for the good
of those who love the Almighty and have been called according
to divine purposes.
However, in keeping in touch with the redemptive historical
approach, it can also be argued that the God who desires all
people to be saved (1 Tm 2:4) allows hardships to happen in order
to bring salvation to non-Christians. The aforesaid notion can be
substantiated by the centrifugal concept of mission in the Bible
that envisages a situation where sinners migrate to where God’s
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people are, so that they may be saved (Magezi 2019:5–10). This way,

it can be maintained that God does not hide when Christians and
non-Christian migrants are suffering because these sufferings can
be providentially used to advance the redemptive purpose.
In my view, the above-established theology of migration, that
does not perceive God as the causal agent of the painful factors
of human migration, is one of the migration theologies that yield
deep insights into the practice of ministering to migrants, who
may have been painfully uprooted, thereby suffering significant
losses in the process. Firstly, this perspective makes it possible
for vulnerable migrants (Christian and non-Christian) to trust
God as their source of comfort. Secondly, it also gives the
migrants assurance in God’s ability to make all things work
together for the achievement of his good plans and purposes.
Thirdly, the perspective challenges Christians to embrace
migrants who approach church and non-church spaces
because God allows their migrations for a purpose that people
are sometimes not cognisant of. In other words, the perspective
challenges the church to develop migrant ministries that render
material and spiritual support to both Christian and non-Christian
migrants. Spiritual support to Christians includes counselling and
other forms of spiritual care, whilst spiritual support for non-
Christian migrants involves the ministering of salvation, alongside
acts of charity. This is premised on the understanding that God
has a purpose to accomplish through migrants’ experiences,
some of which are associated with great pain, sorrow and loss.
Summary and conclusion

In conclusion, this chapter attempted to respond to the need for
migration theologies that drive churches’ effective migrant
ministries. It utilised the biblical redemptive historical approach
as a relevant and responsible methodology of understanding
and developing migration theology because it provides a
coherent-unifying approach, which leads to appropriate and
constructive understanding of any particular biblical issue. As a
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result of utilising the proposed approach, the theme that

pervasively emerges is that, among other things, God allows
migration to happen so as to give the migrants an opportunity to
learn and understand the nature of God within migrant contexts.
From the perspective of Leviticus 19:33–37, it can be perceived
that God allows the migration of the Israelites to Egypt so that
they may share the painful experience of being aliens. God uses
the Israelites’ painful experience as aliens in Egypt to teach them
how they are supposed to treat any aliens among them. In
expanding the aforementioned point, I argue that the painful
experience that the Israelites undergo whilst in Egyptian bondage
is meant to inculcate in them empathy for the aliens, as they
would be able to identify with them by recalling their own former
slavery as aliens in Egypt. This way, the Israelites would be
compelled to treat the aliens among them humanely.
What emerges from Acts 9:32–10:48 is that Peter gains new

insights into the character and nature of God, something that
he would not have acknowledged if God’s grace and divine
providence had not allowed him to migrate to places where he
could minister salvation to the Gentiles, whom he had considered
as unclean. Given this, it is logical to maintain that, through
migration, God teaches people to understand divine providence
within migrant contexts. Indeed, because migration is an
opportunity to learn and understand new things about God, it
follows that human migration should be treated positively
because it is God who allows people to migrate for the purpose
of teaching them about God’s character, as well as the divine
redemption plans for the world.
It can be surmised, thus, that the perspective of the migration

as an opportunity for people to learn and understand God’s plans,
purposes, nature and character within migrant contexts, as
established from the passages of Leviticus 19:33–37 and Acts
9:32–10:48, is very important as it yields rich insights for
ministering to migrants. This perspective makes it possible for
vulnerable migrants to focus on God as their sole source of
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comfort. It also gives the migrants assurance in God’s ability to

make all things work together for the salvation of humanity.
Furthermore, the perspective challenges the church and,
consequently, Christians to embrace the migrants who approach
church and non-church spaces. In so doing, the church will be
developing effective migrant ministries. This gesture can be
expressed in two main ways; giving materially and bringing the
unsaved to salvation by preaching the gospel. All the acts of
charity should be premised on the knowledge that God allows
migration to happen in order to fulfil some divine purposes.
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Chapter 3
What can we learn

from Paul, the Jew’s,
migration dynamics,
to accommodate the
stranger amidst the
Jewish Diaspora?
J.A. (Jan) du Rand
Keywords: Diaspora; Paul; Migration; Torah; Israel.

‘Now the Lord said to Abram, “Go from your country and your kindred
and your father’s house to the land that I will show you”’. (Gn 12:1)
How to cite: Du Rand, J.A., 2020, ‘What can we learn from Paul, the Jew’s, migration
dynamics, to accommodate the stranger amidst the Jewish Diaspora?’, in M. Kotzé &
R. Rheeder (eds.), Life in Transit: Theological and Ethical Contributions on Migration
(Reformed Theology in Africa Series volume 2), pp. 85–120, AOSIS, Cape Town. https://doi.
org/10.4102/aosis.2020.BK219.03
85
What can we learn from Paul, the Jew’s, migration dynamics
Actuality and purpose

By common consent it can be said: Migration and Diaspora
define times. The World Bank rightly calls migration one of the
determining forces of the 21st century. The settlement of millions
of Diaspora migrants is understandably raising acute socio-
economic, political, security, legal, cultural and religious
challenges (cf. Grüber 2015:254).
A prominent question to be investigated is the interpretation of
life in transit within a theology of migration (cf. Castles, De Haas &
Miller 2014:63). This brings us to the realities of the possibility of a
theological and ethical message on migration, and in this case, the
apostle Paul and the Jewish Diaspora as historical manifestation of
migration. Judith Grüber (2015:84) states the borders have become
places of God-talk and every border offers his own life-giving God-
talk. The question remains how can the gospel be given a voice in
a particular context. That was the same question Paul had to
answer in a diasporic situation. ‘The cultural memory preserves the
store of knowledge from which a group derives an awareness of its
unity and peculiarity…’ (Assmann 1995:130).
The research field opens up more than one research question.

Who is Paul when it comes to caring for the stranger in a typical
Diaspora Hellenistic Greek or Judaistic context? What could be
the reason(s) for Paul’s successes, making use of particular
migration dynamics amidst the Jewish Diaspora? Why in the
theological sense does Paul prefer Antioch to Jerusalem? Was
Paul an apostolic revolutionary concerning his euangelion? What
was the role of the Diaspora Jews themselves? Is it legitimate to
call the church an institutional migrant (Phan 2016:854)? What
were the influences of the Septuagint (LXX) translation and the
Greek language, in a diasporic situation?
The overarching research purpose of this contribution is to
identify Paul’s migrational dynamics in assisting biblical and
Reformed Theology. I am not proposing legislative political
solutions or economic panaceas.
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Recently, when describing Diaspora as migration, the emphasis

rather falls on the prominence of sociological issues, mobility,
cross-border interactions, human equality and multiculturalism
(cf. Barclay 2006:25; Theissen 1979:72; Meeks 1983:694).
The New Testament Pauline scholar John Barclay declares
that the purpose is rather to explore how Diaspora Jews
developed their Judean identity by engaging with Hellenistic
‘pagan’ culture. Because of globalisation, migration in the format
of the Diaspora can be interpreted as theology in action (Bab-
Rafael & Sternberg 2009). In this way, migration as program
of moving becomes the carrier of Diaspora as process
(cf. Berthomiere 2015:14; Barclay 1995:96).
This brings us to the issue of methodology. Regina Polak
(2014:13) pleads for a practical theological approach in the
perception of presence as a locus theologicus. According to
biblical testimony this presence is understood as the space of
God’s presence and activity.
Diaspora and Pauline research has come to less dogmatic and
more secure historical reconstructions. A. Saldarini (1991) and
E.P. Sanders (1990) have shifted the boundaries of Pauline
Diaspora research to move in a more disciplined, collaborative,
publicly and accessible direction by directly using Josephus and
Philo more often. N.T. Wright (2005:38–139) develops his
methodology within the framework of a single great narrative of
the exile, known as the exodus. Wright (2005:175) correctly says,
that Paul is living in a continuous story going back to Abraham,
calling it the Pauline hermeneutical metanarrative. William
Berthomiere’s methodological view is that the word Diaspora on
its own needs a compliment like cultural Diaspora (cf. Cohen
1989:28), fear Diaspora and virtual Diaspora (Berthomiere
2015:16). The same author is a strong proponent of the fact
that the reason for the Jewish Diaspora relates to globalisation
and transnationalism (2015:17). The theologian Daniel Groody
(2009a:299) argues against the very important ‘image of
God’ prism to theologically develop a theology of migration.
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Vhumani Magezi and Christopher Magezi (2018:8) criticise

Groody and implement the image of God statement into the
development of a diagnostic and ministry framework.
Dorottya Nagy (2014:404, 2015:203) describes migration as
locus theologicus with its own context. She sees methodological
nationalism as an ideological orientation. Snyder (2012:52), in
thought-provoking research proposes the ‘performative’ or
‘praxis’ model of following the migration theology by means of a
‘pastoral circle’ or ‘practical-theological spiral’. The cycle begins
with ‘current experience’, identifying the situation, leading to the
second cycle, namely ‘cultural/contextual exploration, working
with social and other non-theological disciplines. The third cycle
is “theological reflection”, trying to understand the situation and
church practices from the perspective of critical faithfulness. The
fourth and final cycle is to repeat the spiral’ (cf. Osmer 2008:11).
Susanna Snyder (2012:139f., 163f.) calls the migration or
Diaspora example of Ezra-Nehemia an ecology of fear, and the
biblical examples of Ruth and the Syro-Phoenician woman are
ecologies of faith (cf. Phan 2016:858).
The historical Jewish Diaspora as a

space of migration
The definable Diaspora situation
The dispersion (Diaspora) of Jewish people from their homeland
to foreign lands (host lands) can be forced or deliberate. The
Greek noun diaspora, meaning ‘sowing’ or ‘scattering’ derives
from the composite Greek verb dia-speirõ: ‘to disperse’, ‘to
scatter’, ‘to separate’ (Betz 2008:48). The Jewish translators of
the Hebrew Bible into Greek (LXX) gave to the translation a
prominent soteriological significance. The word diaspora occurs
12 times and diaspeirein 40 times in the LXX. Not even the Hebrew
words gôla and galût [exile’, ‘deportation’, ‘expulsion’, ‘the exiled]
are translated by diaspora because gôla and galût are instead
used for the Babylonian exile. The word diaspora is used in the
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LXX, meaning ‘exile’ (Jr 25:4; cf. Is 11:12; Ezk 20:23; Zph 3:10). The
same word diaspora occurs twice in the New Testament (Ja 1:1 &
1 Pt 1:1) referring to Jewish Christians residing outside their
homeland Palestine.
The ancient world was characterised by continued movements
of people in transit (Franklin 2006:4; Levit & Khagram 2008:37).
Large communities of Jews were living outside their original
homeland (cf. Bray 1996:53; Padilla & Phan 2013:399). The Jewish
community in Antioch was the largest in Syria (Josephus
Antiquitates Judaicae 12. 3.1). After the Jewish war in 66–70 CE
the Jewish communities in Diaspora in Antioch heavily suffered
under the Romans. In some circles, the concepts diaspora and
exile are not seen as synonymous. The prophets interpreted them
as closely related (cf. Safran 1991:12, 1999:264).
It is clear that the New Testament uses the concept Diaspora
differently, referring to churches outside Palestine (1 Pt 1:1; Ja 1:1).
Acts 8:4 describes Diaspora as an opportunity for mission. Ellen
van Stichel (2012:432) sees migration and diaspora as a structural
dimension of the world we live in. As such it can be called ‘a sign
of the times’ a challenge to renew humanity and to proclaim the
gospel of peace.
Meaningful research definitely has to start with the historical
migrations self, also known as exiles in the 8th century CE. After
Solomon’s death, his kingdom broke in two. The Northern
kingdom sunk more and more into idolatry and immorality (cf. 2
Ki 17:14–18). Jeroboam, the next king was diverting from faith into
apostasy. Assyria conquered the Northern kingdom in 722 CE
and took 27 000 Israelites by force and settled them along the
Euphrates river in Media whilst Assyrians from the cities around
Babylon in turn tried to colonise Israel. This Diaspora brought a
negative connotation to the covenant people of God, dispersed
among the Assyrians.
The Southern kingdom of Judah suffered exile to the East of
Babylonia and the South of Egypt. The temple in Jerusalem was
stripped of treasures and all the mighty men of valour, craftsmen
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and the smiths were forced into Diaspora. Only the weak and
poorest people were left in the land (2 Ki 24:12–14; Jr 52:29–30).
By the Edict of Cyrus in 538 CE many of the Israelites return to
their homeland, but not all of them.
At that stage the concept Diaspora referred to the people
dispersed, the country in which they were dispersed and the act
of dispersion itself. From then on the leaders would do their best
to keep up the continuity with past Jewish history and values.
Therefore, the existence of the temple and the functioning of the
priesthood and the ritual procedures became of importance. The
Torah was still honoured as one of the pillars of strength to guide
the people of God’s identity and social existence. Priests and
Scribes became central agents of preservation of the Tora and
the identity of the people of God. The religious leadership would
later take up position in the Sanhedrin, the Jewish Counsel.
To come back to the definition of Diaspora: diaspora is the
situation and migration process, resulting in Diaspora. Daniel
Carroll (2008:24, cf. 2013:23) characteristically sees migration
and Diaspora as the key metaphor for understanding the Christian
faith and distinguishes the Missio Dei in Genesis, a Diaspora
people in mission, immigrants in the Old Testament Law and the
Missio Dei.
Diasporic people are defined by being in-between two places,
by a transitive zone of interdetermination. They are in-between
departure and arrival; both being places of belonging (Barber
2017:156; Saffrey 2007:318). In the case of the Jewish Diaspora,
loyalties to the Torah, the temple, the Sabbath and ritual rules
and circumcision still functioned to keep up the Jewish identity.
The discussion around definitions of Diaspora has to add the
idea of the church planted by Paul in different diasporic areas as
the starting point for a new depiction of being church of Christ
(Nanos 2005:228). I am convinced that Paul understood the relation
between Diaspora and mission, respecting the faith of others, the
Jews, to work with them and to take the message to the world.
Marcion did not understand the solidarity as well as differences in
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the Diaspora concerning the Torah and Prophets. Marcion wanted

to reject all Jewish scriptures from the New Testament.
It is the synogogue, the covenant and Jewish identity that
marked the work of Paul.
There were more than one Diaspora: the Western Jewish
Diaspora and the Eastern Jewish Diaspora. The greater part of
the Western Jewish Diaspora disappeared and a very small part
remained. Paul was involved in the Eastern Jewish Diaspora
(Santos 2009:8). It is remarkable, and Paul knew it, that early
Christianity first spread in those areas where there was a stronger
Jewish presence (cf. Edrei & Mendels 2008:124).
Hans Barstadt (1996:52f.) said the Babylonian exile never
occurred in the manner described in biblical texts and the life in
Palestine did not undergo drastic change in the 6th century CE.
This view was rejected but led to intensive research (cf. Barstadt
1996:43; Smith 1989:64; Ahn 2011:76). The Old Testament’s
eschatological hope according to the prophets is not merely a
return from Babylon but rather the world wide ingathering of
Israel. He resettled Samaria with people from Babylon, Cutvah,
Avva, Hamath and Sepharvaim for the sake of economic
productivity. After the Jews returned home in 539 CE a large
portion still lived in Diaspora outside of their homeland (cf. Wright
2013, vol 1:268f.).
The situation of a Diaspora may differ from one Diaspora to
another (cf. Smith 1990:82). The conquest of Judah by Babylon is
an example of a derivative forced form of migration with particular
consequences for those in Diaspora (cf. 2 Ki 24:10–17). The events
of 586 when Jerusalem was destroyed and the Judeans were
transported to Babylon fall under the category of purposive
forced migration. People who voluntarily flee to escape tyranny,
oppression and poverty similar to those whose flight with
Jeremiah to Egypt in 582 CE is an example of responsive forced
migration (Lim 2016:12). Applied to Paul’s Diaspora, his audience
fit into the last category with its own implications (cf. Kymlica &
Banting 2010:47).
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According to Michel Laguerre (2013:67f.) transnationalism has

made research aware of the connection between the homeland
and Diaspora enclaves (cf. Levit & Khagram 2008:42; Bab-Rafael
& Sternberg 2009:62).
Some Diaspora spaces according to

the Old and New Testament
The diasporians create what the sociologist Avtar Brah (1996:48;
cf. Aymer 2010:14) calls ‘Diaspora space’. He further says: ‘A
Diaspora space is that place where multiple subject positions
are juxtaposed…’ In light of this definition and in order to reach
the tangent point of sincere contact between the Galilean
Teacher and the Diaspora Jew, the following examples of
selected Old and New Testament spaces of Diaspora and
migration are just mentioned.
The whole Bible is a book of migration and Diaspora. Without
detailed reflection, the mentioning of people involved in events
of migration serves as groundwork for further research. The
purpose is to verify notice of the world of Paul through the LXX
and oral traditions. The writings of the Qumran community in
more than one respect reflects the same exegetical traces as
those in the Diaspora. The Jewish faith and identity that shaped
Christian understanding flow to and from the creation narratives
(cf. Mantovina & Tweed 2005; Tidball 1993:889).
With reference to the Old Testament on migration and
Diaspora, the proper Diaspora space to start with is the imago
Dei text in Genesis 1:26, ‘[t]hen God said, “Let us make man in our
image, after our likeness”’ (ESV). Maruskin (2009):
We are all part of God’s great plan of migration [and have an own
migration story] or can trace our roots back to ancestors traveling
from one land to another. (p. 15)
It did not take long before Adam and Eve were exiled and became
Diaspora people. In Diaspora the sons Cain and Abel were born,
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and when Cain killed his brother Abel (Gn 4:8–16) he was also
sent into Diaspora.
Because of the people of God’s attitude, corruption and floods

of violence, God planned a great flood. Because of the flood,
Noah and his family became migrants in transit, people without a
real destination. The whole creation went into Diaspora and
populated the earth (Gn 10–11).
Let us emphasise the heart of God’s creation. God created

man ‘imago Dei’. This expression has become the tangent point
of Christian anthropology. In Daniel Groody’s discussion he
introduces his viewpoint to emphasise the differences in social
identities of migrants and refugees’ spiritual identities. He
names the refugees, migrants, forced migrants, immigrants,
undocumented migrants, Diasporians and internally displaced
persons, the alien (cf. Gn 3:23–24), up to the vision of the New
Jerusalem in Revelation 21:1–4.
The expression imago Dei is not just another label but a

profound way of describing human nature from a biblical and
reformational viewpoint. It names the personal and relational
nature of human existence (Horevitz 2009:752). Even the word
alien is in this sense dehumanising and obfuscated the imago Dei
(Groody 2009a:645). The result of being created to the image of
God brings freedom and Christian balance to those in Diaspora.
It emphasises the connection between human dignity, social
justice and work (Grüber 2015:255).
The theological content of imago Dei mentioned in Genesis is

realised in the New Testament in the perfect embodiment of
imago Dei in Jesus Christ. Therefore, we can theologically speak
of the imago Christi. Jesus is God’s communication with the
Diaspora people. The eschatological implication of imago Dei is
overwhelming. The people of God, based on imago Dei, are
already preparing for another spiritual Diaspora from this world
to the New Jerusalem.
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God provided clear instructions to Israel concerning strangers

and aliens. We read in Exodus 22:21, ‘Do not mistreat the alien or
oppress him for you were aliens in Egypt’. The same theme is
referred to in Leviticus 19:
When a stranger sojourns with you in your land, you shall not do
him wrong. You shall treat the stranger who sojourns with you as the
native among you, and you shall love him as yourself, for you were
strangers in the land of Egypt: I am the Lord your God. (vv. 33–34)
The same laws were applied to sojourners as to the natives of

Israel (Ex 12:49).
The best known migration story explains the migration of the
people of God from slavery and injustice to freedom and a new
life, told in the book of Exodus. The little baby Moses could be
called an ‘unaccompanied allied undocumented child’. When
Moses, after killing an Egyptian, fled to Midian, God called him to
lead the Jewish people to freedom in Canaan.
‘The story of uprooted people [of God] continues throughout
the Hebrew Bible’ until they were sent into exile, a Diaspora
described in the writings: ‘Kings, Chronicles, Esther, Jeremiah,
Isaiah, Ezekiel and Amos’ (Maruskin 2009:22). In 605 CE Daniel
and his friends were taken to Babylon, as well as Ezekiel and
Isaiah. Psalm 137 sketches the negative Diaspora experience of
the refugees, ‘[b]y the rivers of Babylon – we sat down there and
we wept when we remembered Zion’.
To conclude this part of the argumentation, it is necessary to
only mention some examples, illustrating principles, connected
to migration and Diaspora. Noah and his family went into Diaspora
without knowing the destination (Gn 9). Abram and his family
were settling in Haran when God spoke to him, ‘[g]o from your
country and your father’s house to the land that I will show you’
(Gn 12). They became migrants into and out of Canaan, moving
to the hill country on the East of Bethel and later on to Egypt.
Finally, Abram settled by the oaks of Mamre in Hebron (Gn 13).
The principle is that the people of God are destined to be in
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transit. The deliberate movement of the people of God away from

slavery and injustice is the best known ‘in transit’ story among
the forced or deliberate diasporas (cf. Lim 2016:9; Ahn 2011:19).
Susanna Snyder (2012:139f.) has come up with the distinction

between an ‘ecology of fear’, referring to the negative side of
attitude towards the stranger and alien. It is part of the narrative
of the return of Judah who were in exile to their homeland. Ezra,
the priest and Nehemiah, an appointed governor, were sent
back to rebuild the Jerusalem temple. They and the golah
community tried to come to terms with the crisis of the exile as
Diaspora and to rebuild their lives (cf. Heimburger 2015:3). In
their excitement and passion for the Torah they repeatedly made
the call for the dismissal of all foreign wives in unambigious terms
(Ezr 9:1–4, 10–12). This episode is a harsh example of xenophobia.
The line between inclusion of the stranger and imperialism as
shown by Ezra and Nehemiah is very thin (cf. Holmgren 1987:75;
Boyarin 1994:27–28).
We find another context concerning the stranger in the Old

Testament, called by Snyder (2012:163ff.) an ‘ecology of faith’. This
reality is open to and welcoming the stranger in a compassionate
way. The prominent examples are the narrative of Ruth in the
Hebrew Bible and the Syro-Phoenician woman in the Gospel of
Mark 7:24–30 (cf. Magonet 2007:157; Carroll 2015:186).
The New Testament narrative begins with a Diaspora or

migration story. Jesus was truly a stranger in transit (Groody
2009b:304). He came from heaven, from the outer limits of
human thinking and became for man the Refugee Christ. When
the news broke that King Herod wanted to destroy the child, his
parents fled to Egypt — strangers in transit in Diaspora.
The most compelling argument Jesus gave for caring of the
stranger is found in Matthew 25 when the Son of God says:
[F ]or I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave
me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was
naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me,
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I was in prison and you visited me … Truly I tell you, just as you did it
to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did
it to me. (vv. 35–41)
The heavenly visitor in transit, Jesus of Nazareth, taught about

the love of God and the neighbour but added a totally new
command—to love your enemy. With this call there is no room
left for a ‘them and us’ mentality. The parable of the Good
Samaritan in Luke 10:33f. illustrates the real Diaspora message
towards the Samaritan stranger whom the Israelites historically
hate (McKnight 2004:384).
The Book of Acts is filled with examples of Diaspora and
migration. The clearest comes to the foreground in Stephen’s
speech (Ac 7). With the disruption and consequences of the
apostles witnessing of the gospel, also comes the opportunity
that migration can be the platform for Paul and his helpers’
missionary endeavour (cf. Stratton 1997:317). The miracle of
Pentecost was witnessed by local Jews from Jerusalem but also
by Jews, visiting Jerusalem from the Jewish Diaspora. These
visitors from the Jewish Diaspora spread the gospel throughout
the world, particularly to the East (cf. Stenschke 2013:146,
2017:132). Stephen gave a summary of Israel’s history according
to Acts 7, by concentrating on the migration and Diaspora
moments. This speech has to be compared to Paul’s sermon to
the Diaspora Jews according to Acts 13:14–52 in the synagogue
of Antioch in Pisidia. It boils down to the many crucial events in
Israel’s history outside their own land.
We have to study the phenomenon of Diaspora through the
lens of the migratory, exiled and marginal people (Ott 2012:83).
The typical designation for the land of Israel outside of their
homeland is to be in Diaspora. These Jews were bound together
by the calendar. They have the Sabbath, 7th day off, fear of the
Torah, Passover and their spiritual home was Jerusalem. Van
Engen (2006:30) says the Diaspora is to be presented as a
fundamental method of God’s mission to the nations (cf. Carroll
2013:12).
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In Ephesians 2 (cf. Gl 3:28) we read:

For through Him we both have access in one Spirit to the Father.
So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are fellow
citizens with the saints and members of the household of God.
(vv. 18–19)
We have to remember that the Jesus movement remained within

Judaism with ‘addenda’ of appropriate ways to identify and to
instruct the non-Jewish members (cf. Olson & Zetterholm
2003:211, Zetterholm 2009:162). It becomes theologically clear
that in the New Testament the hermeneutical ‘new Israel’ has
given to the concept Diaspora a new soteriological and
eschatological meaning.
One contour from the New Testament that cannot be left out
is the reference to ‘resident and visiting aliens’ in 1 Peter (cf. Janse
van Rensburg 1998:579ff.). This ‘label’ paroikoi ‘as title is
transformed to a proud self-identification…’ (Janse van Rensburg
1998:580). God uses the social status of the paroikoi to God’s
own glory although it may sound like a derogatory title in
everyday life of the Diaspora situation.
Paul the Jew in the Jewish Diaspora

situation
Was Saul of Tarsus a Jew or a Hellenistic Diaspora figure with
Jewish roots? The answer to this research question will guide the
researcher to the so-called Pauline Diaspora Dynamics, typical of
the apostle Paul’s facilitating answer to handle the difficult
relationship between the Jewish religion and the new Christian
hermeneutics. We have to paint Paul in the Diaspora colours,
which means the Diaspora allows him to imagine, think through
and wrestle with issues of social, economic and gender identity
and traditions (cf. Dunn 1999:178, 2005:74). Ronald Charles
compares some recent views handling this issue: Jonathan Smith
(1990:53) puts forward the comparative enterprise, meaning to
deconstruct kaleidoscope-like rigid historical realities but is
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interested in a continuum of social relationships interacting

together in a destabilising Diaspora space (cf. Hurtado 1993:3).
When Paul is compared with Josephus, both of them were
typical Diaspora figures, both living in the Roman Empire. Ronald
Charles describes them (Charles 2014):
What emerges is a tension between repudiating and assimilating,
resistance and complicity, independence and dependence,
admiration and resistance, acceptance and challenge, subverting
and reinscribing the imperial system through very gendered Greco-
Roman rhetoric. (p. 114)
But Paul was less culturally assimilated than Josephus. Paul was
viewed by the Judeans as a dangerous apostate who deserved the
synagogue punishment (2 Cor 11:24). The other well-known figure
Philo has been immersed in is Hellenized Judaism. Philo never
ceased to be a dedicated Jew, just like Paul (cf. Deines & Niebuhr
2004:60). Paul’s social integration and participation in different
networks like families and congregations allowed him to develop a
sense of belonging in this diasporic world. And he had to accept
cultural diversity (cf. 1 Cor 7:19 & Gl 3:28). In his efforts to adapt
shapes of people, redrawing the ‘insider’ and ‘outsider’ spaces, he
himself as Jew, is shaped in this Greco-Roman social culture.
For many amongst the Jerusalem congregation, Paul was seen
as an apostate from the law, certainly after the Apostle Convent
(48 CE in Jerusalem) which ended in compromises. It was still
said of Paul among the Jewish Christians that he is apostasia tou
nomou according to Acts 21:21. This must have been a rude
moment for Paul, the deeply rooted Diaspora Jew. A group called
the Ebionites agree that the world was made by God but Jesus
was a mere man (cf. Lüdemann 2002:91). Paul’s answer to this
campaign was in writing according to Philippians 3:
I was circumcised on the eight day, of the people of Israel, of the tribe
of Benjamin, a Hebrew born of Hebrews; as to the law a Pharisee, as
to zeal, a persecutor of the church, as to righteousness under the law,
blameless. (vv. 5–6)
If anyone can boast being of Jewish origin, Paul can do the same.
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Combined with this, Paul who like a typical Jewish boy, was
also taught to work with his hands, attended Jewish schools
and later the Pharisee school of Hillel to have learnt the typical
Jewish rules of exegesis and the way to think like a Jew
(Lüdemann 2002:95). Paul follows the a minor ad maius
exegetical method like in Romans 5:15, 17, illustrating the
difference between Adam and Jesus. We can claim that Paul
was a theologian before his conversion. Segal (1990:117), the
Jewish theologian, is of the opinion that Paul’s conversion to
Christianity could be seen by some as his apostacy from early
Judaism. K. Stendahl (1977:231) held the earlier view that Paul’s
Damascus experience should be called a call and not a
conversion. In the same debate, D. Boyarin (1994:12) sees Paul
as an advocate of an universal religion which transcends both
mentioned options.
Galatians 3:28 is taken as the characteristic Pauline view.

Similar to Boyarin, M. Nanos finds a less radical Paul according to
his letters. According to Nanos (1996:336) Paul is not arguing for
a law-free gospel but rather a law-observant one for Jews and a
law-respectful one for the Gentiles (cf. Witherington 2000:256;
Sanders 1977:48).
My conclusion would be that the reception of the Spirit was

the decisive and defining feature of Paul’s Diasporic life ‘in Christ’.
Paul’s ethics was at the beginning of his Christian career as an
apostle of Christ purely Jewish (cf. 1 Th 4:2–12), directly taken
from the Hebrew Bible, translated into Greek, called the
Septuagint. Love for one’s brother (cf. 1 Th 4:9) can directly be
taken from Leviticus 19:18 (cf. Meeks 1993:47). The well-known 1
Corinthians 13 is a famous example of Jewish Ethics (Lüdemann
2002:105; cf. Senior 2008:29).
N.T. Wright (2005:82, 89) calls Paul the Shammaite-Zealot

(contrary to Steve Mason 2016:432–452, 1993:129) and the
great narrative of Israel in exile, the people in waiting, ‘[t]he
pre-70 Pharisees were much concerned with purity and their
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underlying issue was actually political’. Those Pharisees were

revolutionary according to Wright and that explains Paul’s the
zealot’s attitude in his crusades against the Christians.
Compared to the writings of Josephus and Philo Paul was a
moderate under Gamaliel.
The kind of diasporic apologetics by Josephus’ Antiquities of
the Jews illustrates the real character of the Diaspora Jews as
people of peace. The recent Jewish interpretation of Paul by the
Jewish Pinchas Lapide and Stuhlmacher (1984:204ff.), Hyam
Macoby (1991), Alan Segal (1990), Daniel Boyarin (1994) and
William Campbell (2002, 2006), to name but some, confirm Philo
and Josephus’ views. In the bigger picture, the transformation of
Saul the Pharisee to Paul the apostle of Christ involved some
serious transformation (Mason 1991:46). Paul could be called the
Diaspora apostle in transit.
Christianity in its earliest beginnings is part of Judaism. But at
a certain point they develop a consciousness that takes them
outside of the social orb of Judaism. This branch of Christianity
probably became a separate Diaspora community. According to
the Johannine writings this group could fit in to 1:2 John where
John mentions the group who:
[W ]ent from us, but they were not of us; for if they had been of us,
they would have continued with us. But they went out, that it might
become plain that they all are not of us. (v. 19)
Paul’s plan and program can be called Diaspora dynamics.

Through his dynamic involvement as a Diaspora Jew Paul did not
recast Christian theology in new categories derived from the
Hellenistic cultural phenomena as philosophy, mystery cults or
Gnosticism. And his perceptual statements about the Law do not
refer to Torah observance as religious Jewish experience but to
the ‘special laws’ like circumcision, kasrut and Sabbath. (Perkins
2009:7). These pastoral remarks by Paul are never to be taken as
anti-Jewish (cf. Howard Kee 2000:21ff.). Being a Diaspora Jew, he
will never destroy his roots.
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Paul facilitates the Diaspora situation

through his migration dynamics:
Paul’s migration dynamics and Israel
Paul’s migration dynamics refer to his actual involvement to solve
migration issues by making use of a variety of resources and his
own ingenuity.
A serious question that tested Paul’s loyalty, being a Jew and
Israelite himself, is foregrounded in tensions during the Diaspora
between the Jews from Israel and the Diaspora Jews (Jacobs
2006:259). Paul discusses Israel in depth more than once (Gl 6:16;
Rm 9–11; 2 Cor 3:7, 13). It is fitting to start this short discussion by
quoting Galatians 6:
For neither circumcision counts for anything, nor uncircumcision, but
a new creation. And as for all who walk by this rule, peace and mercy
upon them, and upon the Israel of God. (vv. 15–16)
This reference to Israel is the first comment on the church as ‘the

new Israel’.
This apostle Paul, the Diaspora Jew, brilliantly handled the
challenges of bridging the gap between Jewish and Gentile
cultures as well as facilitating the receptance of strangers through
Diaspora dynamics (Frey 2012:293; Fredriksen 2015:647).
Paul’s strength lay in his willingness to learn from the histories,
cultures and religions from a variety of ideologies in a Greco-
Roman diasporic situation (cf. Gruen 2002:57). He persisted in his
opinion that Israel is the chosen people, the covenant people of
God. In that sense he upheld the Torah and managed the newcomers
with respect. He understood the concept Israel culturally, religiously
and socially and that Israel and the Gentiles would become one
body. We find the blueprint in Ephesians 2:
For through Him we both have access in one Spirit to the Father. Then
you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are fellow citizens
with the saints and members of the household of God …. (vv. 18–21)
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Gentiles and migrants no longer have to become proselytes but

are directly taken up in the ‘household of God’. Paul still respected
his Israelite roots but redefined the meaning of the Torah,
circumcision, food regulations and festivals of his national soul.
He redefined Israel by emphasising the essential religious
meaning of Israel (cf. Barclay 2016:3–36). By using the LXX, Paul
found common grounds between Jews, Gentiles and strangers
who were able to speak Greek. The new definition of the covenant
people is not ethnically determined but a religious entity (cf. Rm
3:29; 17:28–29).
In the broader picture, Paul as Diaspora Israelite ties together
the twin aspects of his universal commitment, to be an agent of
salvation to the nations as well as the restoration of Israel. In
other words, he acts as the apostle to the Gentiles for the sake of
the salvation of Israel. William Campbell (1992:445) has come to
the following conclusion, ‘thus, Israel cannot achieve restoration
until the fullness of the Gentiles, and the Gentiles cannot
participate in the resurrection without the prior restoration of
Israel’ (cf. Rm 9–11). This is God’s ultimate purpose to which Paul
abides by being an Israelite. This means that Paul has become
part of God’s judgment and mercy through the reality of the
faithful remnant (Rm 9:22–29; 11:2–6). According to Romans 9–11
God has failed in his purpose for Israel (Rm 9:6). Therefore, God,
the divine potter, uses the Diaspora Israel who came through
calling (Rm 9:7–8) to display his purpose with the Gentiles.
Migration dynamics and the law

(Torah)
A ‘Torah-free’ Paul is not true at all (Nanos 2009:17). Paul went so
far as to call the Torah ‘spiritual’ (Rm 7:14) and part of the covenant
people of God’s obedience. He observed the Torah unambiguously
according to the halakhic conventions (cf. 2 Cor 11:22; Gl 2:15;
Phlp 3:3–6; 1 Cor 7:17, 24). Paul’s opinion and comments on the
Law is complex.
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One may ask whether the Law then has to be seen as contrary
to the promises of God. Paul discusses the meaning of the
covenant and observing of the Law in Galatians 2:16–21: The Law
does not annul the covenant ratified by God. What then is the
function of the Law? Paul is convinced that no one can do what
the Law requires (Rm 3:19), only faith brings righteousness,
not the Law (Rm 4:1–5). This is Paul’s background to his sayings
about the Law.
Paul answers the serious question: why then the Law? (Gl 2):
For through the Law I died to the Law, so that I might live to God…I
do not nullify the grace of God for if justification were through the
Law, then Christ dies for no purpose. (v. 21)
Paul was convinced that no one, Jew or Gentile fully does what
the Law requires (Rm 3:19). But God reckons Abraham to be
righteous. Only faith brings righteousness (Rm 4:1–5, 13; cf.
Thielman 1993:382).
Paul was a Judaistic Jew, loyal to the Tora without all the
interpretations and addenda on circumcision, food laws, Sabbath
observance and Jewish festivals. Being influenced by the
Hellenistic Judaism he could honestly welcome strangers and
newcomers in the Diaspora. That is why the other apostles found
it difficult to understand Paul at the Apostle Convent in
Jerusalem. On the one hand Paul had to be awake of Jewish
ethnocentric exclusivism and on the other hand of Gentile liberal
antinomism. Paul, the eschatological apocalyptically oriented
Pharisee, was facilitating the Law to make it user-friendly for the
Hellenistic Jews.
Paul linked up with the Old Testament view on the justification
by faith and made it the powerful meeting point between Jews
and Gentiles. It lies in the eschatological expectation of a new
dimension of the Messiah who already came and who will come
again. Such a view is not particularly Jewish but also universalistic.
In this sense, Paul’s Christology becomes Soteriology when he
calls the Gentile nations ‘adelfoi in the Spirit’. To solve the
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problem, the Law may have more than one context: a Jewish
restoration context and a Greco-Roman Hellenistic context (cf.
Thielman 1993:386). In the words of John Barclay (2016:141),
‘tolerance has its limits in any community which wishes to
preserve its identity …’. A Jew stays a Jew and a Greco-Roman
believer stays a Greek although they have become one in Christ!
They do not have the same past but they have the same future.
The Diaspora dynamics of the Torah lies for Paul in the
eschatological significance of the Torah. The Torah is directly
related to God by linking the Messiah to the Son of God who
came and will come again (Loader 1984:14, 1993:5–6).
By collecting money for the church in Jerusalem (1 Cor 16:1–4;
2 Cor 8–9) Paul once again grappled with the problem of
defending places for the Jews and Gentiles in the kingdom of
God, during, what he calls the final hour (cf. Vorster 2007). An
applicable German idiom jumps to my mind: ‘keep the flame
burning, but do not worship the ashes’.
Migration dynamics in a particular

social context
The Diaspora space in which Paul had to facilitate the life of
strangers was ‘… the intersectionary of Diaspora, border, and
(dis)location as a point of confluence of economic, political,
cultural and psychic processes’ (Brah 1996:68). The Diaspora
space is thus a place that is perpetually in flux, constituted of
multiple, fragmented identities. In such a social context Paul had
to dig deep into his Diaspora dynamics to organise the Diaspora
space of the Jewish Diaspora (Matovina & Tweed 2005:64).
Social context includes complicated issues like gender, sexuality,
race, economic status, education, religion-conceived as dynamic
contested by those who moved in and also by those who are
defending the hostland (Charles 2014:130). This social context of
Diaspora could be seen as a locus of vulnerability (O’Neill
2009:103) but also as a locus of transformation of migrants.
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In my opinion, Paul sees it as a locus theologicus for the

understanding of faith. Therefore, ‘migration is a microcosm of
the Christian belief in dying to live’ (Scheffer 2005:32). Cultivating
the virtue of hospitality to the stranger or Diaspora alien is thus
no more a superogatory act of charity but for Paul a place of
salvation, revealing the relationship with the sacred (cf. Vorster
2004). Paul’s social commitment with strangers was that of
xenophilia (love of the stranger) in his Diaspora dynamics. His
task was to shape the xenoi kai paroikoi [strangers and aliens] to
come home in ‘the household of God’ (Rm 16:10, 11, 14, 23).
Paul’s social commitment was not only the conversion of
individuals but the formation of communities and in particular
households (cf. Stowers 1984:716).
The Diaspora synagogue as source

of social dynamic
The question remains as to what Paul implemented to reach his
diasporic goals. The answer is the synagogue. According to Philo
(Leg. Gai. 132 and Spec. Leg. 2. 62) there were 11 synagogues in
Rome and many in Alexandria, Ostia, Sardis and Delos (cf. Ac 9:2;
13:5; 14:1; 17:10, 17; 18:4–7, 19–26; 19:8). On entering a city, Paul’s
mission strategy was to make contact with existing social
networks, so he made his way to the synagogue to meet Diaspora
Jews. Paul also admitted Gentiles to the synagogues. The
synagogue was the centre of community life and Jewish identity,
reading of Scripture, prayer, educational, social, political,
economic and judicial life of the community (cf. Olson 2014:420).
The synagogue provided to Paul a legal and social platform
for his message. It was also the locus of xenophilia, exegetical
sermons on texts from the LXX and the expansion of the Christian
churches. The relationship between Jews and non-Jews was
meaningful: Christianity was seen as a sect within Judaism, being
legally protected under the Jews. Synagogues played a major
legal and educational role in Paul’s missionary Diaspora program.
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Migration dynamics in a typical

Diaspora urban environment
Paul effectively made use of urbanisation as result of the Jewish
Diaspora. His mission moved away from a predominantly Palestinian
and rural movement to the cities. Hock (1980:52) made calculations
and concluded that Paul travelled nearly 16 000 km on his missionary
journeys with the assistance of Roman roads as part of the Pax
Romana (cf. Ac 13:1–3; 14:26–27; Gl 2:11). Antioch in Syria was Paul’s
early city base for his operations because Antioch was on the main
thoroughfare from Rome to the Persian border and beyond to the
East. With 250 000 people Antioch had a long-standing Jewish
population that also had a meaningful effect on Paul’s missionary
work (cf. Collins 2000:75) The cities Laodicea, Hierapolis and
Colossae were cities of trade and were very prosperous.
Ephesus was the governmental city and Paul spent three
fruitful years in that city. At that stage in history it is estimated
that 5–6 million Jews were living in Diaspora. Paul used the
opportunities being provided by city living. The religious stage
was already populated by numerous cults worshipping the
Olympian gods, venerating the emperors, mystery religions or
oriental deities. All these cults contributed to the economy.
Understandably syncretism was very common in the Diaspora.
With the common language Greek and the location of the trade
routes the spreading of the good news suited Paul and the
apostles. The urban cities were main players in Paul’s dynamics
to accommodate the strangers.
The dynamics in the development

of communities
Paul was excited to co-operate with different communities in the
cities. The dynamics of the common language Greek in the Greco-
Roman cities contributed to group awareness of identity and
maintaining cohesion. Paul organised new Jewish and non-Jewish
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migrants to integrate with these communities. It was easy for

Paul to propagate the Christians as ‘children of God’ and ‘brothers
and sisters’. Through the metaphor of family together with body
language, Paul fostered the strength of the Communitas, an
organised relationship with a strong sense of belonging. They
practiced hospitality and believed in the ‘life in the Spirit’
(Rm 12:3–8; 1 Cor 12:1–30; Eph 4:7–13). Paul excitedly cooperated
with these Communitates but from time to time external conflict
came to the surface (cf. Ac 14:22; 1 Th 2:14–20; 2 Tm 3:10–14).
Such conflict can positively strengthen the group’s boundaries
against a common enemy (Du Rand 2017:110ff.; Rabinovitch
2012:92ff.). Paul used conflict to make the group attractive for
strangers and newcomers. Some of these groups developed into
the inevitable, institutions that became powerful, softening the
boundaries between the Christians and the Gentiles.
Migration dynamics in the household

The household was a large inclusive community, including the family
but also the slaves, helpers, friends, partners or clients, all of them
involved in common commercial or agricultural enterprise. Paul
strongly appealed to the families to be kind to the stranger and alien
(cf. Rm 16:4; 1 Cor 1:11; 16:19; Col 4:15). The father or patriarch of the
household shaped the social relations of this group. Paul worked
with the patriarch whose influence was of great value to the program
by which strangers were incorporated by Paul. Gerd Theissen
(1979:46ff.) calls this relationship a ‘love-patriarchies’, focusing on
the role of the patriarch of the household (Myers 2007:199). We
have biblical examples of household conversions and baptisms (cf.
Ac 16:15, 31–34; 18:8; 1 Cor 1:16) (cf. Girgis 2011:69).
Migration dynamics in cooperation

with voluntary associations
The Roman government viewed Judaism for legal purposes as a
voluntary association. The Christian communities were also seen
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as voluntary associations with a degree of exclusivity about them.

Many of these associations joined Paul’s Christian movement
(Horrell 2001:299).
A sub-group, formed by a theory called cognitive dissonance
(Tidball 1993):
[H]ypothesizes that when a particular belief held by a group, is
subjected to specific disconformation, the members of the group
may not ease their mental discomfort (or dissonance) by giving
up the belief, but rather by holding it more firmly and vigorously
propagating it in the hope that others will come to share it too.
(p. 891)
This definition fits the Christian gospel preached by Paul. The

early church in Jerusalem was disappointed to say the least,
when the kingdom did not arrive. This was an important belief
that could not be realised. Wayne Meeks (1983:37–58) proposes
that an apocalyptic movement provides relief from cognitive
dissonance.
Assimilation, acculturation and

accommodation in migration
dynamics
John Barclay (1996:79) is of the opinion that making a distinction
between a Palestinian Diaspora Judaism and Hellenistic Diaspora
Judaism is no longer viable. Paul’s Diaspora dynamics handled the
distinctions. With assimilation he refers to the level of integration
and social interaction. Acculturation is facilitated by Paul, referring
to the linguistic, educational and ideological aspects of strangers
and local people. The third surface in this scenario is accommodation,
by which the Jews reinterpret their Jewish traditions that could
lead to the accommodation of the Hellenistic culture. The Greco-
Roman cities played a major role (cf. Groody 2015:56). Paul worked
hard to ‘trans-late’ the one culture into another. In the end, the
gospel gained grounds. Gentiles even found the synagogues
attractive and stimulating to attend.
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Migration dynamics and the Jewish

identity
With all the newcomers to the cities, Paul, the Jew, worked
respectfully to define the identity of the different cultural groups.
Paul himself strongly used the style of oppositional pairings in
the identifying process. Take for example the pairing ‘believers’
and ‘unbelievers’ (2 Cor 6:15) or ‘light’ and ‘darkness’ (1 Th 5:1–11;
Eph 5:6–14). In this way Gentile converts broke with their ancestral
customs. Hostility from outsiders contributed to the formation of
Christian identity. This generated a pervasive sense of social
difference, meticulously used by the apostle. Trebilco (2012:164)
named four features of Jewish belief, marking the Diaspora Jews’
identity from the rest: Diaspora Jews worship the one God of
Israel; the dietary laws were prominent and kept by the Diaspora
Jews; circumcision has constituted a strong affirmation of the
Jewish identity; the Sabbath observance is another characteristic
marker for the identity of Jewish Diaspora Jews.
Together these strands of Jewish identity enabled the Diaspora
Jews to survive and was applied by Paul to distinguish the Jews
from the new Jesus movement.
The historical Jesus in Paul’s

migration dynamics?
So many theological scholars have declared with passion that
Paul and the historical Jesus never met. They may be right or
wrong but the recent author has to differ from this general
viewpoint. Paul could have seen the historical Jesus in Palestine
and the glorified and resurrected Christ on his way to Damascus
in 34 CE. According to a timeline Jesus was probably born in
6 CE and Paul in 4 CE. When Jesus died in 33 CE at the age of
39 years, Paul was 29 years old. As one of the brilliant students in
the Pharisee school of Hillel, Paul would take notice of the acts
and words and court case of Jesus which filled the whole
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Jerusalem. Not to be seen by the Sanhedrin, Paul at some point

saw and probably met Jesus. That is what an intelligent student
like Paul would do.
Paul was absolutely convinced that God had called him to be
an apostle (cf. Gl 1:1, 12; 1 Cor 15:1–11). The Damaskus incident is
probably the most powerful moment for further use by Paul as an
apostle of Jesus Christ (Ralston 1990:204). According to 1
Corinthians 15:7–10 we read: then he appeared to more than 500
brothers at one time, most of whom are still alive, though some
have fallen asleep. After that he appeared to James, then to all
the apostles. ‘Last of all, as to one untimely born, He also appeared
to me’ (1 Cor 15:7–10). For the sake of honour and authority these
texts have the purpose to proof the resurrection as well as to put
Paul himself within the reliable Jesus tradition (Lüdemann
2002:168). Other passages in Paul also highlight his ‘encounter’
with Christ (cf. 1 Cor 9:1; Gl 1:15–17; Phlp 3:8 & 2 Cor 4:6).
John Ashton (2000:32ff.) compares Jesus and Paul to a
shaman, referring to persons who at their will can introduce these
spirits into themselves and use their power over the spirits in
their own interest. Another parallel would be with the mystics,
practising Merkabah mysticism. Gerd Lüdemann emphasises the
close relationship between Paul the apostle and Christ and the
Spirit. This is illustrated in Romans 8:9–11. I conclude with verse 11
of Romans 8:
If the Spirit of Him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, He
who raised Jesus from the dead will give life to your mortal bodies
also through his spirit which dwells in you. (v. 11)
Paul’s experience of the Spirit, and being touched by the Spirit,

means that he was being moved by Christ (Lüdemann 2002:181;
Stegemann 1987:228). Between the Galilean Teacher Jesus and
the Diaspora Jew Paul, was a bridge, called tradition and spiritual
proclamation!
Paul’s theology and ethics heavily rest on the crucified and
resurrected Christ. It seems that Paul replaces the concept
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‘kingdom of God’ with ‘the righteousness of God’ as a sine qua

non of salvation. In this remark lies Paul’s Diaspora theological
dynamics. Therefore, the meaning of Matthew 7:12 is the core of
Paul’s migration ethics, ‘[s]o whatever you wish that others would
do to you, do also to them, for this is the Law and Prophets’.
Some more related questions have to be answered. Did Paul
use the same traditions of Jesus in his missionary work? When
Paul confesses Jesus Christ as Lord and the prominent role of the
Holy Spirit, he is thinking of the resurrected one. The crucified
Jesus is the same Christ who will return again. Paul said in
1 Corinthians 1:23, ‘but we preach Christ crucified, a stumbling
block to Jews and folly to Gentiles’. Paul writes quotations of
sayings of Jesus (cf. Rm 8:3; Col 1:22; 2:14–15). In Paul’s speech at
Miletus to the elders of Ephesus (Ac 20:35) he could have referred
to the words of Jesus, ‘it is more blessed to give than to receive’.
When paging to Romans 12:14, we read, ‘bless those who
persecute you; bless and do not curse them’. These words are
just allusions to Jesus’ command in Matthew 5:44, ‘love your
enemies and pray for those who persecute you’. These allusions
may be seen as derived from the Jesus tradition, in oral as well as
the written format.
Within the framework of his Diaspora dynamics of love for the
neighbour and xenophilia, Paul’s presentation was strikingly
different but also similar to Jesus’s explanation. Both Paul and
Jesus were devoted Jews with a vision in accomplishing their
missions. Both have the same eschatological destination in their
views to convince Jew and Gentile to accommodate the newcomer
to the Diaspora situation.
At the centre of Jesus’ message figures the kingdom of God
and in the core of Paul’s, the righteousness of God. In the words
of Gerd Lüdemann (2002):
The unavoidable conclusion is that these two men, Jesus and Paul
had very different visions of the role function of religion in human life.
For Jesus, faith was primarily a spiritual posture that would enable
people to live together in mutual respect and support. For Paul,
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it was the way to ensure personal salvation. For both Persons

there is admiration and resistance, acceptance and challenge to
accommodate the stranger and alien. (n.p.)
Paul’s conclusion speaks for itself (Rm 14):

For none of us lives to himself and none of us dies to himself. If we
live, we live to the Lord and if we die we die to the Lord. So then,
whether we live or whether we die, we the Lord’s. (v. 7)
The Septuagint (LXX) as migration

dynamic and Paul’s use of scripture
When we proceed to the meaning of language and Paul’s own
typical hermeneutics as Diaspora dynamic, we have come
intellectually, ideologically and spiritually to the heart of the
Diaspora apostle’s strength. Paul knew and spoke both Aramaic
and Greek and could help himself in Hebrew. In the Mediterranean
world of the 1st century CE there were no such exclusive entities
as ‘pure Judaism’ and ‘pure Hellenism’, only a confluence of both
(Campbell 2002:184; cf. Davies 1981:76; Stenschke 2014:596).
Paul’s Tarsus-birth and youth’s historical identity is fused into

a cross-cultural fertilisation. This universalistic characteristic of
Paul is worth a lot and would attract strangers and aliens
(Campbell 2002:186).
It is clear from his letters that Paul intensely studied Jewish

hermeneutics under Gamaliel (Ac 22:3) as well as legal studies.
The rules for scriptural exegesis would probably have been on
the agenda in the Jewish schools of Tarsus. Paul’s structure of
argumentation is with dialogues in the Rabbinical style (cf. Dunn
1998:13). The two most popular interpretative Jewish methods
are a minori ad maius, like in drawing the contrast between Adam
and Christ (Rm 5:15, 17). The second is analogy (cf. Rm 4:3–8, an
example of the righteousness of Abraham). Gerd Lüdemann
(2002:74) goes as far as to call Paul a theologian even before his
conversion and calling (cf. Maruskin 2006:14).
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Paul used the Targumîm (Aramaic translations) and the

Rabbinic Midrash (Rabbinic commentary). Paul is also familiar
with the seven Rabbinic rules (Middōt) of exegesis compiled by
Hillel the Elder. During his study programme under Gamaliel,
Paul became familiar with pesher (prophecy containing
mysteries in need of explanation; cf. Ac 2:17–21), allegory
(symbolic meaning of a text; cf. Gl 4:24–31) and typology
(comparisons between Old Testament and New Testament
individuals and institutions) (cf. Payne 2012:69). Paul often
reinterprets a text in the Midrash style, for example, Deuteronomy
30:12 quoted in Romans 10:6, ‘who will ascend into heaven…?’
and further distorts it by an explanation, ‘that is to bring Christ
down’. We often recognise the Rabbinic style and mode of
exegesis. Therefore, Paul also basically taught his Gentile
converts two Jewish truths to live by: Jewish monotheism and
Jewish Ethics (cf. Lüdemann 2002:99).
The basis of all Jewish Ethics, being taught to the Gentiles, is

summarised in this sentence, ‘thy will be done, on earth as in
heaven’ (Matt 6:10b). When we move to 1 Thessalonians 4:2–12 we
recognise Paul’s Jewish Ethics when he emphasises sanctification,
Holy Spirit, love for the brother and love as lifestyle. The ethical
basis lies in sanctification, guiding the believer to live in love and
peace of mind. Paul’s catalogues of virtues and sins often agreed
in format pretty closely with pagan parallels, except in two areas:
idolatry and certain sexual practices.
The Jewish monotheism and ethos of sanctification, striving

toward God’s will, convinced many migrant Jews and Gentiles to
become part of God’s household. Paul’s homiletic strategy of
proclaiming the gospel could be called a diasporic format, driven
by a theological zeal and enthusiasm for the cross and resurrection
of Jesus (Bird & Sprinkle 2008:356; cf. Rivera-Pagan 2012:584).
The LXX translation has become a powerful tool of Paul in his

missionary work and his contribution to make xenophilia work
(Meyers 2007:206).
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Paul’s transcultural and inter-religion

approach and migration dynamics
As a Jew who valued his ancestral traditions despite travelling in
Gentile territory, the apostle Paul has arrived in Athens, the idol-
city. When the Epicurean and Stoic philosophers heard this
Diaspora Jew the Areopagus Council invited Paul to put his case
at the Areopagus. It was a prestigious invitation to the most
venerable institution in Athens. Paul was extremely excited to
participate and to tell the Athenians about the true knowledge of
God. He also saw it as an opportunity to pave the road for
transcultural and inter-religion relations. His sermon was not
received well. Paul’s wording and citations were Hellenistic and
the emphases were biblical, particularly the call to repent and to
submit to the knowledge of God (Jewett 2003:562). The Athenian
Areopagus Council dismissed Paul as unworthy of serious
consideration. Paul had greater inter-religion successes in
Antioch, Cyprus, Lystre, Derbe, Philippi, Corinth and Ephesus.
There was an incident in Antioch when Peter prior to the
arrival of the Jerusalem elders of James, ate with non-Jews but
later withdrew when the Jerusalem elders arrived. Peter did not
understand the difference between Jerusalem and the Diaspora
Antioch (Charles 2014:146). The ‘circumcision’-group from
Jerusalem had the perception that the Jewish Diaspora under
the leadership of Paul, was in general lax and unorthodox. Paul
did the right thing to step up as the apostle to the nations to
defend his hard-earned missionary work among the Hellenist
Jews. Ethnicity and geography seem to have been constantly in
tension in Paul (Malina & Neyrey 1996:48–52). The Diaspora
dynamic in this instance lies in Paul’s loyalty to his Jewish roots
as well as to the Gentile converts.
Like Jesus, Paul shows his respect by accepting the three most
important disciplines of Judaism: giving, prayer and fasting. We
have to remember that national identities are historical constructs
diachronically constituted by exchanges with people bearing
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differences (Rivera-Pagan 2012:586). Paul is led by the Diaspora

as a structural dimension of globalisation (cf. Cruz 2008:372).
Activating missionary perspectives

through migration dynamics
Paul’s commitment after the Damaskus episode was to be a
missionary of Jesus Christ. From a missiological perspective
Diaspora Jews and Gentiles have to choose between two
possibilities: to see themselves as victims of the Diaspora process
(cf. Ps 137) or to feed the self-understanding to become active
agents of the mission of God. John Corrie (2014:14) calls this
process ‘Reverse Mission’. Escobar (2003) puts it as follows:
[T ]here is an element of mystery when the dynamism of mission does
not come from people in positions of power or privilege, or from the
expansive dynamism of a superior civilization, but from below, from
the little ones … . (p. 83)
Migration dynamics active in the

Diaspora church in transit
The idea of the church in Diaspora has produced the slogan
sacramentum mundi which means the church must move out of
the selfish ghetto into the open world of a pluralistic society. The
community of Jesus Christ is in transit through the Diaspora. In
that sense, Paul and the church are missionaries through the
Spirit, God’s mission to the nations (Rhodes 1998:78).
Migration dynamics in an
eschatological perspective
A prominent aspect of Paul’s Diaspora Theology and Ethics
according to his letters, is the framework of eschatology. Paul’s
eschatological perspectives provide the background and
framework, constituting his message. Paul’s theology and ethics
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have a diasporic eschatological focus, the hope that the nations

one day will come to worship the Creator (cf. Is 56:3–7). The
context of Pauline eschatology can be linked to the Jewish
apocalyptic literature which also fits into the central theme: the
triumph of God in this world (cf. Beker 1980:355). This overarching
theme is also emphasised by Barclay (2016:48) who underlines
the eschatological themes ‘now’ and ‘not yet’ as typical Jewish
apocalyptic material.
In recent discussions of Pauline eschatology, we find emphasis
on the expression: Maranatha (1 Cor 16:22). It can be taken as a
Diaspora eschatological prayer, calling for the future parousia of
the Lord. According to Paul’s interpretation of the relation
between the first and second coming of the Lord, he focuses on
the Messiah Jesus Christ who died and was resurrected from
death and expected to live again. Christians from Jewish as well
as Gentile origin could agree with this interpretation of Paul. The
Founder of Christianity shared this view with the Diaspora Jewish
and Hellenistic Christians in his letters.
In a sense the hope of the world from the perspective of the
kingdom of God resides with immigrants and the Diaspora
strangers in transit. God has chosen the church to be a missionary
eschatological priesthood and a holy nation to proclaim God’s
kingdom on this earth (Van Engen 2006:19).
Paul’s own life narrative ‘in Christ’ as

migration dynamic
The most powerful Diaspora dynamic used by Paul in his letters,
is his personal participation in Christ’s faithfulness. The upside-
down honour of Jesus is a model of his own life. In other words,
it was not theological belief in Jesus as Messiah that moved
Diaspora Jews to depart from their Jewish religion but a new
birth in Christ (Lieu 2004:74; Scott 2017:24).
It was well-known in the Diaspora space that Paul’s pistis
Christou [belief in Christ] story is the core when he describes
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Jesus and also when he gives a presentation of his own biography.

When we page Paul’s letter to the Galatians, we find the real
Diaspora content, incorporating his own life story with that of
Christ the resurrected (cf. Harvey 1985):
•• 1:16: After presenting himself as the slave of Christ, a dishonoured

position in 1:10: Paul announces that ‘… the Son was revealed
to him’.
•• 2:19: ‘I am crucified with Christ’: Paul participates in Christ’s
death.
•• 3:1: ‘It was before your eyes that Jesus Christ was publicly
portrayed as crucified’: Paul sees himself as a graphic portrayal
of the crucified Jesus.
•• 4:14: ‘[Y]ou received me as an angel of God, as Christ Jesus …’:
The Galatians treat Paul as they would treat Jesus.
•• 6:17: ‘[F]or I bear on my body the marks of Jesus’: Paul’s own
body is a reminder of Jesus’ faithful suffering. He is Christ’s
slave by earning the Master’s brand, that are the scars earned
by preaching the gospel. (p. 83)
Paul’s life narrative is through participation in Christ’s story. This
is the heart of his preaching to the Diaspora Jews and Gentiles. It
is obvious that Paul suffers with Christ through the Spirit, the
power of God, whom the Galatians received because of Christ
(Rm 3:1, 2). ‘Paul is the founder of the church, all the more so
since the Jerusalem mother church was eradicated in 70 C.E …’
(Lüdemann 2002:214).
Reflection and conclusion

More than one answer has been initiated for the research question
as to how Paul achieved the assimilation, acculturation and
integration (Barclay 2016:94) of the Jewish and Greco-Roman
Diaspora migrants. The main issue in this contribution is that
Paul’s Diasporic condition was undisputedly the central issue to
his life, mission, theology, letters and social involvement. The
Diaspora was at its best a destabilising space with border issues
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and communities in socio-religious and social realities, to be

replanted and redefined by Paul.
The gravest struggle for Paul was the inner struggle within
himself between the Jewish Pharisee and the Christian apostle to
the nations. He had no economic or political power, only the
authority of Christ in a 1st-century Greco-Roman world. To
interpret Paul only within the context of ancient Judaism would
produce biased results. The same can be said of conducting
research on him only within the Christian context. The Diaspora
context and Paul’s existence within the Jewish Diaspora heightens
his rhetoric, Theology and Ethics. Single issues like the Antioch
episode, his calling near Damascus, the Apostle Convent and the
collection for the poor in Jerusalem influenced his zeal and
developed his socio-religious ideals.
Paul redeployed Judaism with Jesus, the Christ, the telos of
the law and he proclaimed with enthusiasm the death and
resurrection of Christ to the ends of the earth. His message of the
Messiah and the eschatological destiny connected strangers
from Jewish and Gentile origins. His message of glory to God and
righteousness in belief, became weapons of mass salvation.
Concerning Paul’s role in the Diaspora as distinctive migration,
forces the researcher to get behind the mind of Paul himself. He
understands himself as a representative of Israel who is called by
God and not by humans to be an apostle (Gl 1:1). As researchers
and readers, we are also in flux, intuitive, and participating in the
process of people in transit, worldwide. As an apocalyptic prophet
Paul knows well that he is living in an in-between time and that
this world is not ‘home’ and that the Roman Empire is transient
whilst the power of God is already dawning.
Paul’s temporal solution, according to 1 Thessalonians 4:13–
5:11, is to wait for the parousia. For Paul the parousia was imminent.
During the interim period, the urgency of splangnidzesthai
focuses on an ethos of basic human equality and freedom in
Christ, applied as a relative priority of the migrant as well as the
resident.
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James Dunn (1998:713) summarises Paul’s theology as a

dialogue on different levels. The first level is to my opinion the
most important level in the process, to let Paul teach us about the
accommodation of strangers: it is a dialogue between himself as
he had been and to some extent still was, and himself on the
Damascus road and again himself, as he grew in faith and had
become a missionary for Christ (Dunn 1998:714). Such a dialogue
can never be simply descriptive but is interactive. The Pauline
text is a performative text, forcing the reader to actively react.
What strikes me time and again, being the apostle to the Gentiles,
Paul still remained the Jew.
Paul’s appeal to his converts is striking, ‘do not think of
yourselves as paidia (children) but as teleioi’ (full-grown, mature;
cf. 1 Cor 14:20; Phlp 3:12–15). In his Theology and Ethics Paul
proposed as an alternative apocalyptic anthropology. And in this
kainē ktisis (new creation; 2 Cor 5:17) the believer is transformed
by dependence on the Spirit who is the source of wisdom and
moral qualities that constitute growth in Christ. Paul’s answer to
a vulnerable diasporic situation as Jew and Christian lies in the
implementation of his Diaspora dynamics, used by the apostle to
facilitate real freedom for every stranger.
Paul concentrated on being a passionate Israelite, obeying the
Torah, respecting the temple and synagogue, references to the
earthly Jesus, the Septuaginta translation, the pax Romana,
transcultural and interreligious missionary work, the role of
Diaspora mission, the role of languages Greek and Aramaic, the
collection for the poor in Jerusalem and the splangnizesthai
toward the migrants.
Paul also redefined freedom in Christ and Christian living as
well as the meaning of freedom in Christ for immigrants of Jewish
and Gentile origin. In the Diaspora migrants became part of the
process of transformation and acculturation and hope, living
between the death and resurrection of Christ and Christ’s parousia.
But when the human subject becomes the norm of freedom, it
always tends to extend its own territory (Schnelle 2007:599).
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Instead, liberation from the bondage of sin and the Law, the flesh
and death only comes with freedom in Christ (Gl 5:1).
For the Jew, Paul, Christianity is Christ. Christ shows what God
is like; defining God’s spirit, enabling the Diaspora migrant in
transit to live the ‘new life’ in Christ through the Holy Spirit.
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Chapter 4
Migration and
Christian identity:
Theological reflections
on Christian identity
reconstructions in new
places and spaces
Nico Vorster
Keywords: Migration; Identity; Galatians; Church; Identity process

theory; Migration systems theory.
How to cite: Vorster, N., 2020, ‘Migration and Christian identity: Theological reflections on
Christian identity reconstructions in new places and spaces’, in M. Kotzé & R. Rheeder (eds.),
Life in Transit: Theological and Ethical Contributions on Migration (Reformed Theology in
Africa Series volume 2), pp. 121–141, AOSIS, Cape Town. https://doi.org/10.4102/aosis.2020.
BK219.04
121
Migration and Christian identity: Theological reflections
Introduction
The first two decades of the 21st century can be described as a
period of mass migration.46 At no time in human history have as
many people been displaced as a result of forced migration, nor
was there an age in modern history when nation-states were
more diverse as a result of immigration (see Hollenbach 2016:14;
Watzlawik & De Luna 2017:245). Shifts in the social make-up of
societies tend to magnify questions related to identity. Changing
places and spaces necessitates new phases of identity
construction in the lives of immigrants, whilst increasing diversity
poses significant challenges to the social dynamics and self-
understanding of receiving societies. Space refers in this essay to
a dynamic landscape imbued with meaning where physical,
mental and social interactions between material bodies take
place, whilst place is understood as a specific geographical and
physical location in space.
This chapter approaches the topic from a Christian ethical
perspective and asks: how should Christian immigrants and
receiving Christian communities respond to the identity
challenges that exposure to new places and spaces bring?
In our effort to respond appropriately to this ethics question,
we should take cognisance of social-scientific theories and
empirical findings on the effects of migration on the identity
46. Broadly defined, migration refers to the voluntary or forced physical relocation of people
from one nation-state with a clearly defined border to another sovereign country with legally
recognized state lines so that the host country effectively becomes a destination of residence
(see Frederiks 2018:183; UN 2002:11). Both migrants and refugees fall within the purview of
this definition. Immigrants are according to the UNHCR (2016:par. 6) individuals who ‘choose
to move not because of a direct threat of persecution or death but mainly to improve their
lives by finding work, or in some cases for education, family reunion or other reasons. Unlike
refugees who cannot safely return home, they face no such impediments to return’. Refugees
are defined by art 1(2) of the 1951 Geneva Convention as someone who (UNHCR 2002:630)
‘owing to well-founded fear of being persecuted for reasons of race, religion, nationality,
membership of a particular social group or political opinion, is outside the country of his
nationality and is unable or, owing to such fear, is unwilling to avail himself of the protection
of that country’.
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dynamics of immigrants, the self-understanding of receiving

societies and the shaping of religious identities. This contribution
therefore moves from the ‘is’ to the ‘ought’, that is, from social
diagnostics to normative theological recommendations. The
diagnostic section draws on insights from identity process theory
(IPT) in social psychology, Cooley’s looking-glass theory in
sociology and the Migrations Systems approach in migration
theory to explore the general impact of migration on identity
formation and the reconstruction of religious identities. The
theories employed in the diagnostic section share the mutual
premise that human beings are autonomous beings who are free
to make decisions, but their decisions are also shaped and
influenced by historical experiences, shared life-worlds, social
interactions and structural dynamics. Human identities are
therefore never fixed, but rather emerge from complex interactions
between the individual and social formative processes. Stated
differently, self-definition (identity) falls within the sphere of
relations and ethics, not human ontology.
The normative section examines Pauline perspectives on
Christian identity. It asks: what can we learn from Paul when it
comes to being an immigrant in a new society, or receiving
‘strangers’ within the Christian community? By probing the
Pauline tradition, the contribution does not deny the relevance of
other New Testament writings for this topic. In fact, most of the
New Testament writings were addressed to Christians who lived
in the Diaspora and contain illuminating perspectives on being a
stranger and on receiving strangers (see Aymer 2010:2). However,
the ambit of this chapter does not allow for an extensive New
Testament study on the topic. It suffices with an examination of
Galatians 3:26–29 and parallel passages in the Pauline writings
that contain some thought-provoking insights on Christian
identity and diversity. After discussing Paul’s perspectives, the
normative section proceeds to integrate the aforementioned
social-scientific and biblical insights into theological-ethical
directives for authentic Christian identity formations in new
spaces and places.
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Social-scientific perspectives
on identity formation in new
places and spaces
Migration and identity
The IPT describes identity as a social product that results from
the dynamic interaction between the physical and psychological
features of the human organism, social structures and social
contexts (Timotijevic & Breakwell 2000:355). Identities are not
pre-defined, essential or fixed because persons have agency.
They can change, adapt, deconstruct and reconstruct their
identities at any given time. Timotijevic and Breakwell (2000)
explain this as follows:
People are normally self-aware: actively monitoring the status of
their identity. They are also self-constructors: renovating, replacing,
revising and removing elements of identity as necessary. (p. 355)
Self-constructions often fluctuate between periods of identity

fluidity and identity stabilisation. The teenage life stage, for
instance, is characterised by fluidity, whilst middle-aged persons
usually exhibit more stability in identity. However, challenging
circumstances, traumatic events or new social contexts may
disrupt a period of relative identity stabilisation and initiate a
new stage of identity fluidity. This in turn could lead to modified
values and new forms of behaviour, because psychological
processes are expressed in affects and actions.
Changes in social matrixes, places and spaces usually inspire
modifications and changes in identity (Timotijevic & Breakwell
2000:357). Grɵnseth (2013:1) rightly notes that the migrant
experience involves more than simply relocating from one
geographical location to another, it constitutes ‘an embodied,
cognitive, and existential experience of living “in between” or on
the “borderlands” between differently figured worlds’. Migration
forces persons to negotiate between the memories of familiar
life-worlds and the realities of new life environments, old living
patterns and new structural conditions, inherited values and the
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norms of the newly adopted society. It requires shifts in the

perceptions of the self, the old and the new; and alterations in
practices and performances (see Grɵnseth 2013:4).
But how does the dynamics of identity reconstruction work?
Identity reconstructions are, according to IPT, governed by
processes of assimilation, accommodation and evaluation.
Assimilation refers to the integration of new components into the
identity structure; accommodation to adjustments that occur
within the existing structure to find a place for new components;
and evaluation to the allocation of meaning to new and old
identity contents (Timotijevic & Breakwell 2000:356). The
mentioned processes interact and cannot be isolated from each
other. Changes in assimilation inevitably require accommodation
and renewed evaluation.
According to IPT, the processes of assimilation, accommodation
and evaluation are guided in their operations by ‘principles which
define desirable states for the structure of identity’ (Timotijevic
& Breakwell 2000:356). These principles differ from culture
to culture, but typical guidance principles are continuity,
distinctiveness, self-efficacy and self-esteem (Timotijevic &
Breakwell 2000:356). Identity threats arise when a person moves
into a context that is so far removed from the original context
that the person’s sense of continuity, distinctiveness, self-esteem
and efficacy becomes unstable or disappears (Timotijevic &
Breakwell 2000:357). Under such circumstances, people are no
longer able to assimilate or accommodate new identity
components because they are not able to cope with the amount
of change with which they are confronted.
Experiences of identity threat also occur when receiving
societies are either passively or aggressively opposed to
immigrants (Timotijevic & Breakwell 2000:358). Cooley’s looking-
glass theory holds that people serve as mirrors through which we
observe ourselves. Our identity is not simply determined by our
self-definition, but also by our perception of society’s view of us
(see Heilbrunn, Gorodzeisky & Glikman 2016:237). Identity
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construction is consequently intimately connected to social

recognition (see Andreouli & Howarth 2012:364). Applying
Cooley’s theory to immigration, Heilbrunn et al. (2016:237) argue
that ‘a vital component of immigrant identity is their perception
of how the majority group defines them’. When immigrants are
not recognised, they tend to experience alienation and fear.
These threats ‘trigger’ different coping mechanisms (Timotijevic
& Breakwell 2000:364). Most immigrants respond by trying to
assert some sense of control and self-efficacy in their lives, albeit
within limited realms of possibility (Timotijevic & Breakwell
2000:364, 370). Other immigrants may resist and counteract the
external identity claims imposed on them by opting for separation
strategies that reify their sense of distinctiveness and control, but
which set them on a path of collision with mainstream society.
Gang identity formations and religious radicalism are extreme
examples.
Migrations do not merely affect the identity constructions of
immigrants, but also the collective identities of receiver societies,
especially when the mass influx of immigrants disrupts the
centres of culture in a society, changes the demographics of
places and spaces, reframes existent social orders and threatens
a nation’s ‘sense of psychic and cultural homogeneity’ (see
Chambers 1994:23–24). Migration systems theory holds that
migratory processes are the result of an interaction between
macro-, meso- and micro-structures that reconfigure the social,
cultural, economic and institutional conditions of society
(Adogame 2013:6). Some structures ‘pre-exist’ decisions to
migrate, whilst other structures are shaped by the actions of
immigrants. In other words, both the agency of immigrants and
the structures that exist influence the dynamics of migration
(Rajendra 2017:45). Macro-structures point to large-scale
institutional agents such as the political economy, state laws,
state institutions, interstate migration laws and the world market,
whilst micro-structures refer to the social networks that migrants
develop, such as families, friendship networks and communities.
Meso-structures designate individuals or institutions such as
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churches or non-governmental organisations that act as

intermediaries between immigrants and political and economic
structures (Adogame 2013:7). By acting in this role, they help to
lower the ‘costs and risks’ of migration (see Rajendra 2017:47).
When confronted with migratory processes, receiver societies
have to make a practical and moral decision on how they are
going to accommodate immigrants (Berry 2001:618). Two central
issues are at stake: to what extent are receiver societies willing to
have contact with ‘outsiders’ and to what extent are they intent
on preserving their own cultural attributes? (Berry 2001:618).
Various acculturation approaches are possible, though they are
not necessarily morally defensible: A dominant society could
demand the separation of immigrant groups from mainstream
society, which results in segregation, or they could propagate the
social marginalisation of immigrants, which results in forms
of social exclusion. Other options are the forced integration of
immigrant communities with the aim to assimilate, or the cultural
accommodation of immigrants by accommodating minority
cultural identities in the social fabric of society (see Berry
2001:620). The type of acculturation strategy that a society or
state follows naturally has a direct impact on the identity
strategies that immigrant communities adopt in response
(Andreoli & Howarth 2012:365). Watzlawik and De Luna (2017:244)
describe this social transaction as a ‘negotiation between identity
claims and identity assignments’.
The acculturation strategies of separation and marginalisation
raise serious human rights concerns because they are generally
undergirded by a negative attitude towards immigrants. This
compromises values such as tolerance, openness and respect for
the human dignity of ‘outsiders’. The assimilation method is also
problematic, because it enforces ‘sameness’ on immigrants and
could send out a message of for you to be acceptable you have
to be like me.
Most societies in Europe and around the globe prefer the
‘human rights friendly’ model of multi-culturalism (Grigoropoulou
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& Chryssochou 2011:500). However, even in these cases the

acculturation strategies followed are not necessarily indiscriminate.
Britain, for instance, prides itself on a multicultural approach, but
a study by Andreoli and Howarth (2012:371–372) indicates that
British public policy treats different immigrants differently based
on their country of origin and skills. White European, American or
Australian immigrants are considered as ‘closer to Britishness’
than persons of other ethno-racial backgrounds, whilst distinctions
are also made between ‘elite immigrants’ who have ‘advanced
professional skills’, and non-elite immigrants with low skills sets
who originate from poor or unstable countries (Andreouli &
Howarth 2012:373, 376). A consistent critical mindset is therefore
needed when it comes to the formulation of acculturation
strategies and immigrant policies: who is doing the identifying, who
is assigning, claiming, rejecting or allowing certain identities —
and — on what grounds and for what reasons? (see Watzlawik &
De Luna 2017:257).
Migrations and religious identity

reconstructions
Religion and identity are closely interwoven. Not only does
religion provide people with a ‘moral vision, value system and a
basis for faith’ (Adogame 2013:106), but religious evangelism and
proselytism are deliberately designed to transform people’s
identities (see Putnam 2007:159). In the case of migration, religion
may serve either as a barrier to or an instrument of integration.
Receiver societies and immigrants often use religion as a tool to
uphold their distinctiveness, to define the boundaries of their
identities, to preserve their ethnic heritage and to decide with
whom they will collaborate and who they consider as outsiders
(see Grigoropoulou & Chryssochou 2011:500). Religions can also
strengthen social bonds between heterogeneous groups by
creating relationships that would otherwise not exist (see
Adogame 2013:108). They provide communities with support and
care for displaced and disoriented immigrants, create a sense of
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belonging in new environments and serve as a resource for

reconciliation and healing (see Frederiks 2015:186–191; Wild-
Wood 2013:53). The positive or negative role of religions in
identity construction vary from situation to situation and depends
to a large degree on the organisational, ritual and confessional
features of a religion (see Frederiks 2015:190).
Religious identities are not ‘static or fixed’ but can be
modified, re-negotiated or changed when people decide to
switch affiliations (Adogame 2013:128). In countries where
religion is considered an important part of national identity,
immigrants occasionally convert to the dominant religion of the
country to be better accepted by the dominant society.
Grigoropoulou and Chryssochou (2011) studied this phenomenon
in Greece. They revealed that many Greek natives indeed
considered immigrants who have adopted the country’s
dominant religion as more ‘Greek’, but that they simultaneously
expressed a fair amount of scepticism about immigrant religious
‘conversions’. They interpreted such choices as ‘superficial’ and
non-authentic behaviour designed to ‘fit better within Greek
society’ (Grigoropoulou & Chryssochou 2011:511). The study
furthermore indicated that not all immigrants who convert are
automatically considered part of the national ‘in-group’. The
more important question seems to be: who are these minorities
(Grigoropoulou & Chryssochou 2011:512)? The ethnic origins
and cultural practices of immigrants seem to play a more
important role in the dominant society’s general perception of
immigrant minorities compared to religious affiliation
(Grigoropoulou & Chryssochou 2011:512).
Whereas migrations may lead to a change in the religious
identities of immigrants, the opposite is also true. Immigrant
religious institutions often alter the religious and cultural
landscape by moving religions that were previously only
marginally present in a society into the mainstream society.
Examples include Muslims in Western Europe, Christians in the
Gulf region and Sikhs and Hindus in the United Kingdom
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(Frederiks 2015:195). Immigrants belonging to proselytic religions

often consider themselves not as aliens in a new country, but as
divinely called to use their migration as an opportunity to spread
their religion (see Wild-Wood 2013:55). In many cases, immigrant
religious institutions are instrumental in creating transnational
identities. They empower immigrants to maintain bonds with
their countries of origin by hosting visiting religious leaders,
utilising modern communication tools and setting up international
funding networks (see Frederiks 2015:193). By exposing local
communities to transnational and global religious trends, these
religious institutions contribute to the development of multiple
identities that transcend the borders of place, geography and
locality (see Frederiks 2015:192).
Diagnostic deductions
In light of the aforementioned, we can make the following
diagnostic deductions that are relevant to a theological-ethical
perspective on Christian identity construction in new places and
spaces:
•• Identity formation is a fluid and ongoing process in human
lives characterised by continuous adaptation, renovation
and reconstruction through processes of assimilation,
accommodation and evaluation.
•• Identity threats occur when a person’s sense of continuity,
distinctiveness, self-efficacy and self-esteem is challenged.
•• Receiver societies that impose negative stereotypes on
immigrants contribute to immigrants experiencing identity
threats and social misrecognition. This, in turn, triggers a
variety of coping reactions that could range from withdrawal
to anti-social behaviour.
•• Migrations can lead to immigrants changing their religious
identity to fit in better in their adopted society. Examples also
exist of immigrant communities transforming the religious
landscape of their host societies quite profoundly.
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Theological-ethical perspectives
Emma Wild-Wood (2013:47) rightly indicates that the New
Testament was written at a time of ‘heightened mobility’ and
religious diversification in the Eastern Mediterranean. The
Christian faith developed within this climate and attracted
followers from different ethnic, cultural and social backgrounds.
Paul, in particular, dealt extensively with the issue of Christian
identity in a plural and diverse context. He emphasised on the
moral distinctiveness, but ethnic and cultural inclusiveness of the
Christian community. Being incorporated into the body of Christ
requires that believers become part of a new mode of human
existence where Jews and Greeks, men and women, slave and
free find their unity in a common identity in Jesus Christ (see Wild-
Wood 2013:48–49).
Pauline perspectives on Christian

identity and diversity
Galatians 3:26–29 provides a good window into Paul’s theology
on Christian identity in a diverse world. Not only do we find in this
passage an early programmatic theological statement about
faith and cultural diversity, but the message also reverberates
through the rest of the Pauline corpus47 in theologically connected
passages. In what follows, I first examine Galatians 3:26–29 and
then turn to parallel passages in the Pauline corpus.
The core issue at stake in Galatians 3 is the relationship
between Jewish and Gentile Christians. After discussing the topic
in depth and explicating the meaning of baptism, Paul comes to
a radical conclusion, ‘there is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither
47. This chapter does not debate on the authorship of the so-called deutero-Pauline epistles,
namely 2 Thessalonians. Colossians, Ephesians, 1 Timothy, 2 Timothy and Ephesians. Whether
these epistles and letters were written by Paul himself or a Pauline school have no bearing on
the argument presented in the chapter.
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slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in
Christ Jesus’. The Nestle Aland Greek text (Gl 3) reads:
οὐκ ἔνι Ἰουδαῖος οὐδὲ Ἕλλην, οὐκ ἔνι δοῦλος οὐδὲ ἐλεύθερος, οὐκ ἔνι ἄρσεν
καὶ θῆλυ· πάντες γὰρ ὑμεῖς εἷς ἐστε ἐν Χριστῷ Ἰησοῦ. (v. 28)
Classical theologians such as Augustine, Luther and Calvin
argued that Galatians 3:26–29 addresses the believer’s spiritual
status before God. God saves all who believe in Christ, irrespective
of their culture, status or gender. At the same time, these
theologians claimed that the passage has no direct bearing on
the social order of the here and now. It refers to God’s spiritual
kingdom, which should not be conflated with the civil realm (see
Riches 2008:204–206; Calvin CO 49.474). More recently, some
scholars have considered the passage a superficial addition to
the text. Paul purportedly cites an early baptism formula without
actually considering the true implications of the statement (see
Betz 1979:186; Lategan 2012:274). Patterson (2018:22–23) argues,
in contrast, that Paul adapted an early Christian creed to serve
his theological purposes.
Closer inspection reveals that verses 26–29 fit well within
the overarching theological argument of Galatians. The line
of reasoning relates to the bitter conflict between Jewish and
Gentile Christians on the relevance of Jewish law for the new
Christian community, specifically as it pertains to circumcision,
the eating of kosher food and the maintenance of Jewish calendar
days (Gl 2:12–14). The Jewish Christians demanded that Gentile
Christians uphold Jewish religious customs to be considered part
of the Christian community. Paul dismisses this demand in 1:6 as
a ‘different gospel’ (εἰς ἕτερον εὐαγγέλιον). He proceeds to argue
that the gospel does not find its origins in the human, but in the
revelation of Christ (Gl 1:11–12). We do not receive forgiveness for
sins by upholding the law or maintaining human customs, but
by believing in Christ (Gl 2:16). God entered into a covenant with
Abraham not because he was circumcised (circumcision came
only 430 years later), but because Abraham demonstrated faith
in God. According to Paul, God never intended the Abrahamic
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covenant to be limited to Israel, but to eventually include

members of all nations who believe in God (Gl 2:8). Through
faith we participate in God’s covenant with Abraham, become
adopted ‘sons’ of God and heirs of God’s promises. Gentiles who
believe in Christ form part of Abraham’s offspring. In Galatians
3:5, Paul links faith and our reception of God’s promises closely
to the work of the spirit of God, who is our bond with Christ and
imparts the blessings promised to Abraham and fulfilled in Christ
to all who believe.
Paul’s argument finds a climax in Galatians 3:26 when he

states ‘… for you are all sons of God, through the faith, in Christ
Jesus’. Betz (1979:185–186) notes that Paul, quite surprisingly,
attributes the honorific status of ‘sons of God’ usually reserved
for Jews to Gentiles. Paul also refers to the baptism as signifying
incorporation into the body of Christ. Through this event, Gentiles
become sons of God (Betz 1979:186). Eligibility to live in Christ
(ἐν Χριστῷ) and to belong to Christ (Χριστoύ) is not dependent
on race, status or gender. Faith is the determining factor. The
question is not whether one is Jew or Greek, a free human or slave,
male or female; but whether one believes in Christ. Patterson
(2018:24) concludes from his study of the Greek verbs used that
Paul is actually rejecting the distinctions as ‘false’ and illegitimate
distinctions.
If one considers Paul’s whole argument, it becomes clear that

the classical theological argument that Galatians 3:26–29 pertains
to God’s spiritual kingdom and has no direct bearing on earthly
social distinctions, is highly problematic. Paul, in fact, calls on
Jewish and Gentile Christians to change their behaviour and to
embrace their newfound identity in Christ in the most practical
and concrete of terms, namely in the manner they live and
worship together as part of the body of Christ (Gl 6:1–5). Paul’s
commands are not esoteric in nature but are directed at a very
real, practical situation. Betz (1979:189) describes this passage as
shaping a new ‘symbolic universe’ where Paul distinguishes the
church as a new creation of Christ from the ‘ordinary world of
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larger society’. According to Betz (1979:190), the passage has

radical social and political implications for Christians who live in
the new aeon. Christian are now dead for the cultural social
distinction that characterises the old aeon. They are crucified
with Christ and resurrected to a new order.
The true extent of Paul’s new ‘symbolic universe’ becomes
even clearer when we interrogate parallel passages that have a
clear connection to Galatians 3:28. In 1 Corinthians 12:12–13, Paul
addresses the cosmopolitan Christian community of Corinthians.
He uses a similar list as in Galatians 3:28, with the exception of
gender. All believers are ‘baptised into one body’ and are equally
part of this body, whether they are Jews or Greeks, free men or
slaves (1 Cor 12:13). Paul uses participation language here (1 Cor
12:13), believers are infused by the same Spirit, they are ‘merged’
together and receive gifts of the Spirit to fulfil their function in
the church (see Patterson 2018:25). Interestingly, Paul describes
the church here as a location where plural identities converge to
serve an overarching identity. The metaphor ‘body’ is important.
It denotes unity in plurality; specific parts interact to serve a
united outcome (see 1 Cor 12). The church has many members,
but it is empowered by the Spirit and by each member who fulfils
their specific function. They act as the one corporate body of
Christ. Paul’s argument is clear: unity is achieved not by erasing
difference, but by embracing diversity. The Spirit acts as the
source of diversity by pouring out gifts on the believers. He also
acts as a unifier by dwelling in all believers (v. 13).
Romans 10:12 also parallels Galatians 3:28, ‘[t]here is no
distinction between Jew and Greek’. Heidebrecht (2005:187)
indicates that the context of this passage relates to God’s
impartiality. God reigns over all people and does not discriminate
in his judgment and the outpouring of his grace between Jews and
Greeks. The appeal to God’s impartiality is also made in Ephesians
6:8–9 and Colossians 3:23–25 with regard to distinctions between
slaves and those who are free. God’s impartiality serves as a model
for the way believers should act without distinction towards one
another in the body of Christ (see Heidebrecht 2005:187).
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Colossians 3:11 reads ‘here there is no Gentile or Jew,

circumcised or uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave or free,
but Christ is all, and is in all’. Chapter 3 addresses sanctification
and the status of the Christian as a new being who already
partakes in the resurrection of Christ. Colossians 3:10 echoes the
connection that Galatians 3:27 makes between baptism and
being ‘clothed’ with Christ. The concept implies in the words of
Betz (1979:189) the ‘“putting off” of “the old man” and the
“putting on” of the new man’. Again, the church is affirmed as a
new creation and as partaking in a different and radically new
symbolic universe. Patterson (2018) states it as follows:
Baptism exposes (for Paul) the follies by which most of us live,
defined by the other, who we are not. It declares the unreality of race,
class and gender: there is no Jew or Greek, no slave or free, no male
or female. We may not be all the same, but we are all one, each as
child of God. (p. 29)
From the mentioned passages we can conclude that for Paul,

Christian identity is marked by a faith in Christ, and this supersedes
all other identity markers. Cultural identity markers such as eating
kosher food, circumcision and fasting should not stand in the way
of an inclusive Christian identity. The same is true of identity
markers based on social status and gender. When identities
collide and threaten the unity of the body of Christ, Christians
should be willing to make some sacrifices. In fact, the last chapters
to Romans instruct believers to show hospitality towards those
Christians who hold different beliefs about peripheral issues and
practice alternative rituals.
In light of our discussion, we can deduce the following biblical
insights on Christian identity and diversity:
•• Christian identity finds its common ground in faith in Christ.
This identity marker surpasses all ‘worldly’ identity markers.
•• The unity of the church is grounded in Christ, who heralded a
new aeon, and the Holy Spirit, who works in all believers and
imparts on them the blessings of Christ.
•• The church as the body of Christ transcends ethnic boundaries
and is therefore a catholic community. It is a morally distinctive,
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but ethnically inclusive community (see Wild-Wood 2013:48).

It is a new creation that belongs to God’s new aeon and exists
as part of an alternative mode of existence that differs from
the realities of the present aeon.
•• God is impartial and treats his children the same. As a result,
members of the church are expected to follow God’s example
by treating each other fairly without prejudice, irrespective of
ethnic origin, social status or gender.
•• The oneness of the body of Christ is a unity in diversity. The
Spirit who pours out gifts to the faithful is both the origin of
diversity and the preserver of unity. Differences, therefore,
cannot and should not be erased in the church, but rather be
constructively utilised to serve the kingdom of God.
Theological-ethical application
Having examined some relevant social-scientific and biblical
material on identity formation we now proceed to integrate these
insights into a coherent theological-ethical perspective on
Christian identity constructions in new places and spaces. We
approach the topic first from the perspective of host Christian
communities and then from the perspective of the Christian
immigrant.
Churches are, from a social-scientific perspective, potential
meso-institutional structures capable of ‘bridging’ social capital.
‘Bridging’ refers to the ability of religious communities to forge
new shared identities that transcend ethnic and other boundaries
(Putnam 2007:143, 164). From a Christian ethical point of view,
social bridging is reconcilable with a biblically informed
theological understanding of the church. The Apostles’ Creed, to
which the vast majority of Christian denominations ascribe,
defines the church as a ‘holy, catholic, Christian community’. This
carefully worded description of the identity of the church contains
theological markers that are both exclusive and inclusive in
nature. The Church is holy and Christian in nature, and therefore,
a unique and distinct community. Faith in Christ and holy conduct
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based on the example of Christ serve as prerequisites for

membership. Yet as Paul posits in Galatians 3:26–28, the religious
and morally distinctive identity of the church may not result in
ethnic or cultural exclusion. The catholic nature of the church
designates the body of Christ as a community that transcends
the limits of nation, race, status and gender. The church is a
community of reconciliation and peace-making who enacts
Christ’s example of forgiveness and mercy by extending God’s
love to all humans and accepting people of all ethnic origins and
cultural backgrounds within its community. Flowing from its
catholic identity, churches have a moral duty to include Christian
immigrants from different parts of the world in their ecclesiastical
communities. When they deliberately organise themselves along
cultural, ethnic and linguistic lines to exclude ‘strangers’, they
betray their God-given identity.
Accepting Christian immigrants as church members is
important for the well-being of both churches and Christian
immigrants. Immigrants add spiritual resources, alternative
worship rituals, creative insights and alternative problem-solving
skills to Christian communities. They often replenish ageing
church communities. Church membership, conversely, provides
immigrants with a sense of belonging, which is vitally important
for integrating immigrants into a new society. Ecclesiastical
recognition strengthens the immigrant’s sense of self-esteem
and alleviates feelings of fear and alienation. A familiar religious
environment also strengthens the immigrant’s sense of continuity
and reduces the amount of change the person is confronted with.
Less change softens the impact of integrating new components
into the existing identity structure.
Christian hospitality ought to coincide with empowerment.
Social-scientific studies indicate that immigrants are susceptible
to xenophobia, exploitation and negative stereotyping, especially
when they are vulnerable persons who were forced to flee their
countries of origin because of violence or poor socio-economic
conditions. In cases of need, the church diaconate can assist
immigrants with basic life necessities, whilst church education
137
structures can familiarise immigrants with their new social

environment and teach them vital adaptation skills, especially
when it comes to language proficiency. Advocacy, peace-making
and reconciliation are important components of empowerment
and represent some of the central values of the Christian faith. As
meso-structures, churches can play a vital mediating role between
immigrants and the political, social and economic institutions of
host societies. They can help resolve disputes and clear up
misunderstandings about issues such as the status of refugees,
deportations that separate families, visa requirements for visiting
family members, the status of unaccompanied children, obtaining
health care and finding jobs and housing (see Amstutz 2017:119;
Adogame 2013:116). When immigrants are not recognised by the
broader society or they are marginalised, Christians have the
duty to protect immigrants from abuse, to advocate respect for
their basic rights and to raise awareness for the plight of strangers.
However, churches should be sensitive to the complexities
surrounding immigration policies. Amstutz (2017:133) rightly
notes that immigration policy-making involves more than moral
principles, it concerns balancing competing interests and
reconciling different sets of rights.
We have touched on the responsibilities of host Christian
communities towards immigrants, but Christian immigrants also
have moral obligations towards their newly adopted societies.
Commitment to a new society inevitably entails obedience to the
laws of a country. Whilst the church is already part of a new
‘symbolic universe’, it still finds itself within the present aeon
where worldly authorities are appointed by God to uphold law
and order. Christians therefore cannot support nor partake in
practices of illegal immigration. After having analysed official
church documents on immigration from various denominations
in the United States, Amstutz (2017:232) concludes that church
denominations tend to prioritise the universal dignity of the
person over legal principles such as state sovereignty. However,
for the Christian immigrant, illegal immigration cannot be an
option because it undermines the authority of the applicable
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state, the integrity of a country’s borders and the rights of

potential immigrants who are patiently applying for admission
through legal channels. Illegal immigration also infringes on the
rights of legal citizens who carry the costs of population growth
by paying their taxes. When faced with dire circumstances,
prospective Christian immigrants can always follow the legal
route of applying for refugee status.
Besides obeying the laws of a country, immigrants have the

duty to integrate into their new societies. The emergence of
parallel immigrant communities in Europe who live alongside the
broader society, but do not integrate into those societies, have
proven to be a fertile ground for the radicalisation. This is
especially true for second-generation immigrants, who tend to
become isolated and to experience misrecognition (see Vorster
2018:263). Social recognition is a reciprocal process. It not only
requires that broader society recognises the immigrant as a full
member, but also that the immigrant adopts the new society as
his or her own by embracing cultural practices and customs that
might differ from my own, but do not subvert their faith or core
moral beliefs. Whilst the host society cannot expect from
immigrants to sacrifice their own authenticity or core religious
identity (see Vorster 2018:263), immigrants have a duty to
embrace their new environment so that new horizons of ‘we’ can
be created (see Vigil & Abidi 2018:56).
This point is even more pertinent when it comes to the church.

Adogame’s (2013:110) study on African Christianities in Europe
illustrates the fact that ethnically-based immigrant churches tend
to ‘perpetuate and reproduce ethnic, national cleavages and
fissures’. Morally speaking, Christian immigrants ought to
integrate into existing native churches. This requirement is based
on two theological imperatives. Firstly, the catholic nature of the
church not only requires that we allow others to enter our world,
but also that we adapt to the horizons of fellow Christians when
we enter their cultural and social world from the ‘outside’.
Secondly, the charismatic nature of the body of Christ demands
139
that we use our distinctive gifts in a positive manner to serve the

unity of the body of Christ. The tendency to establish separate
immigrant churches who don’t assimilate into the broader church
community not only amounts to a refusal to serve fellow Christians
with spiritual gifts, but it also signifies an unhealthy form of
ecclesiastical segregation that defies the unity of the body of
Christ.
Conclusion
Putnam predicts that contemporary migration patterns will have
a profound effect on the future make-up of societies. He states it
as follows (Putnam 2007):
The most certain prediction we can make about almost any modern
society is that it will be more diverse a generation from now than it
is today. (p. 137)
Drastic social reconfigurations necessitate new phases of identity

construction in the lives of both receiver communities and
immigrants. Theologians and social-scientific experts therefore
need to improve their understanding of the dynamics of identity
reconstructions and to reflect on ways in which people can be
guided in modifying their identities positively when confronted
with changing environments. Sound identity adaptations may
enable immigrants to respond positively to a changing
environment and to integrate constructively into a new society,
but distorted identity constructions could lead to maladaptive
reactions that set the immigrant on a path of inappropriate
responses to challenges and risks. The same is true with regard
to the identity of host societies. Poor acculturation strategies and
an unwillingness to develop new horizons of ‘we’ could lead to
serious social friction.
The catholic character of the church places a moral duty on
Christian churches to show hospitality towards Christian
immigrants and to empower them to adapt positively to their
new environment. The mediatory and peace-making character of
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the church similarly requires that Christians engage in social

bridging and assist the broader society in forging new identities
of ‘we’. In executing their task, Christians have to take into account
social-scientific findings on how people go about assimilating,
accommodating and evaluating new components in their
identities. They also have to take cognisance of social and
psychological factors that cause individuals to experience
identity threats.
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Chapter 5
Human personhood
and the call to
humaneness in an
environment of
migration: A Christian
ethical perspective
J.M. (Koos) Vorster
Keywords: Personhood; Humaneness; Human dignity; Theology

of life; Religionless Christianity; Creation.
How to cite: Vorster, J.M., 2020, ‘Human personhood and the call to humaneness in an
environment of migration: A Christian ethical perspective’, in M. Kotzé & R. Rheeder (eds.),
Life in Transit: Theological and Ethical Contributions on Migration (Reformed Theology in
Africa Series volume 2), pp. 143–169, AOSIS, Cape Town. https://doi.org/10.4102/aosis.2020.
BK219.05
143
Human personhood and the call to humaneness in an environment of migration
Introduction
In his seminal study on the idea of a ‘religionless’ Christianity in
the works of Bonhoeffer, Wüstenberg (1998:159) indicates that
Bonhoeffer overcame the dialectical-theological antithesis of
religion and revelation, developing a concept of religion where
not faith itself but lived faith is essential. To live is ‘to believe’ and
this implies believing through ‘participation in Jesus’ being’,
therefore to live a life in ‘being for others’ (Wüstenberg 1998:159).
Lived faith denotes a life lived for others. Bonhoeffer was thus
not so much concerned with religion but with life. A non-religious
interpretation of religion is nothing other than a Christological
interpretation which, according to Wüstenberg, amounts to
asking about the ‘relevance of Jesus Christ for modern life’. For
this reason, Wüstenberg has chosen the title ‘A Theology of Life’
for the English translation of his work. Since the publication of his
book on Bonhoeffer, the concept of life found a new interest in
public theologies, especially when it comes to the Christian
understanding of bioethics, eco-theology, social justice,
economics and political ethics (see Naude 2016; Snarr 2017). The
present author has also discussed ‘life’ as an ethical paradigm in
human rights discourse (Vorster 2017:91).
The concept ‘human life’ has thus become a prominent idea in
current Christian-ethical discourse, especially, again, with regard
to bioethics, eco-ethics and social justice. This research ventures
to participate in this debate by entertaining some relevant
theological perspectives on human life and human personhood.
The angle of approach is the theology of creation of the reformed
tradition and the derivatives thereof, will be applied to the
growing phenomenon of human migration and its challenges to
human rights and social justice. Biblical perspectives in
accordance with recent interpretations of the cultural-historical
contexts of biblical material as well as the ongoing congruent
revelation of God in biblical history, the thematic exposition of
biblical theology in the classic text, the grammatical exegesis
of passages within these broad perspectives and the implications
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of the context of the modern reader will be developed and

applied to contextual ethical concerns relating to life matters.
The central theoretical argument of this study is that theological
perspectives on the essentials of life can offer positive and
valuable contributions to ethical discourses on human personhood
and its relevance for an ethos of human rights in an environment
of oppression, alienation and vulnerability of people and other life
issues. These essentials include the breath, beginning, uniqueness,
character and intention of human life. To these can be added
hope for and within human life. The rest of this chapter will deal
with each of these essentials.
The breath of human life

The story of creation intrinsically links human life to the ‘breath’
(ruach) of God. Genesis 2:7 reads, ‘… the Lord God formed the
man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils
the breath of life and man became a living person (nefeš
chajja)’. God moulds the human creature and then blows the
breath of life into it. Fedler (2006:73) explains that this ‘kiss of
life’ is one of the most strikingly tender moments of all of
Scripture. The animals and plants were given life by God but
humans received the ‘breath of God’ and became a unique
creature — a living spirit-filled creature with rational capacity
and personhood. The human creature therefore became a
unique being (Westermann 1972:3). This unique being is much
more than just another species formed by natural selection
and survival of the fittest. It is more than the neo-Darwinism
claim to its existence (see Cunningham 2010:23). As God is
holy, his gift of the ‘breath of life’ sanctifies human life. Human
life is sacred. In Acts 17:28, Paul explains this unique quality of
the human in these words, ‘[f]or in him we live and move and
have our being. As some of your own poets have said, “[w]e
are his offspring”’. The breath of God refers to the spirit which
is bestowed onto the human. This extraordinary gift of God
becomes part and parcel of the human.
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How should we understand this gift? This question can be

answered after examining the concept breath of God (niš-
ma ṯ ) as it was used in the Old Testament. The Hebrew word
niš-ma ṯ should be understood, in its relation with the much
used words ruah [wind] and leb [heart] in the Hebrew text
of the Old Testament. Schwarz (2013:9) explains that ruah
can be used in two ways. Drawing on the exact statistics
provided by Wolff, he explains that almost one-third of the
use of this word in the Old Testament denotes a natural
power, namely the wind. The word is also often used to refer
to spirit especially in relation with nefesh, as it is used in
Genesis 2:7. He agrees with Wolff who calls the term in this
sense a theo-anthropological term. In his survey of some
usage of the word in the Old Testament, he refers to Isaiah
7:2 where the word is translated with a strong wind. Also, in
Genesis 14:21, it denotes a strong wind that God uses as a
natural power to rescue the Israelites. The wind is God’s
powerful tool that he uses in the execution of his reign as we
read in Ezekiel 13:
Therefore this is what the Sovereign Lord says: In my wrath I will
unleash a violent wind, and in my anger hailstones and torrents of
rain will fall with destructive fury. (v. 13)
Schwarz (2013:9) then points out that in its theo-anthropological

meaning ruah is, first of all, the human breath that endows a
human being with life. However, niš-maṯ indicates that this breath
is nothing natural, as being derived from nature and which can be
taken for granted. It is a gift of God. Only God alone can endow
objects with his ‘breath’. In this respect, he refers to Isaiah 42
which reads:
This is what God the LORD says: the Creator of the heavens, who
stretches them out, who spreads out the earth with all that springs
from it, who gives breath (ruah) to its people, and life to those who
walk on it ... . (v. 5)
It is God’s creative power and makes the difference between life

and death. Therefore, the breath of God in the human creature
differentiates the human creature from the idols they made.
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Whether they are made of stone or wood or are silver or gold

plated, they have no breath (ruah) (Heb 2:19). This ruah is the
spirit of life that belongs to humans and when it departs the
human creature returns to the earth (Ps 146:4ff.).
Ruah in its theo-anthropological meaning thus also refers to
God’s life-giving breath, or Spirit, and this meaning becomes
evident in Job 34:14–15 which reads, ‘[i]f it were his intention and
he withdrew his spirit and breath, all humanity would perish
together and mankind would return to the dust’. Ruah also refers
to the endowment of artistic abilities of the human creature.
Exodus 31 reads:
[A]nd I have filled him with the Spirit of God, with wisdom, with
understanding, with knowledge and with all kinds of skills, to make
artistic designs for work in gold, silver and bronze, to cut and set
stones, to work in wood, and to engage in all kinds of crafts. (vv. 3–5)
Schwarz (2013:10) contends that both life itself and all the
faculties that go with it, such as will, intention, strength, wisdom
and creativity are not innate in humans, but are ultimately gifts of
God because they are part of the breath of God-given to them.
Following the exposition of human reason in the Old Testament
by Wolff, Schwarz (2013:10) connects ruah with leb, the Hebrew
word for heart which occurs over 800 times in the Old Testament
and can be regarded as the commonest of all anthropological
terms. The word is almost exclusively used to denote something
in humans. Besides its description of the human organ or the
upper body, it can also mean the location of human secrets.
Psalms 44:21 reads, ‘would not God have discovered it, because
he knows the secrets of the heart (leb)?’. In this passage, the
meaning of leb moves beyond the anatomical to the spiritual and
emotional realm. It also designates human temper (Pr 23:17) and
other feelings such as gladness (Ps 104:15) and it is the seat of
human desires (Ps 21:2; 51:10). Still, the overwhelming designation
of leb in the Old Testament is the seat of the human’s intellectual
and rational human motions. 1 Kings 3 relates wisdom and wisdom
and knowledge which are both located in the heart:
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So give your servant a discerning heart (leb) to govern your people

and to distinguish between right and wrong. For who is able to
govern this great people of yours? (v. 9)
In Ezekiel 11:19ff., God promises the Israelites that he will remove

their heart of stone and will give them a heart of flesh so that
they can follow his statutes and obey them. The heart of stone is
one that is not listening to God’s commands. The new heart of
flesh is an insightful (understanding) heart that moves (convinces)
them to obey God’s will. This usage of heart (leb) presupposes
the human rational faculty of the ability of discernment and
deliberation. Leb is thus a very comprehensive anthropological
term in the Old Testament which embraces bodily functions but
overwhelmingly refers to emotional, intellectual and intentional
modes. The Bible primarily views the heart as the centre of the
consciously living person.
His discussion of the concept ruah and leb leads Schwarz to
useful findings that will be beneficial for the further exploration
of an ethic of personhood in this project. He (Schwarz 2013)
concludes that:
•• A human being is in many ways not different from other living
beings. All living beings are ultimately connected to the whole
realm of living beings.
•• Life in its various forms and expressions is neither self-
sustaining nor self-generating. In whatever form it exists, life
should ultimately be perceived as a gift of God. Therefore, life
and especially human life is not to be taken for granted and is
definitely finite.
•• A human being is not just a living being as any of God’s other
creatures, but is a reasonable being with the power of
considerable deliberation, intention and wilfulness. In that
latter category, there is a similarity to God’s own self who is
characterised by similar faculties. (p. 13)
To this résumé of Schwarz can be added that the human being
has human spirit other than other creatures. What does such a
claim suggest?
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Welker (2013:137) proposes an interesting view on what should

be understood under the notion of human spirit. He explains
certain views that featured in ancient philosophy and in later
times. He then argues that to understand the idea of the ‘human
spirit’, it would probably be best to begin with those particular
capacities about which there is general concurrence, namely,
with what seems to be quite straightforward mental and cognitive
operations. The human spirit entails a certain capacity (Welker
2013):
Through this capacity, an enormous wealth of not only optical,
but also acoustic-linguistic impressions can be accommodated,
organized, and variously associated, combined and contrasted with
the world of intellectually or mentally accessible images and image
sequences. (p. 137)
This shows that the gift of the human spirit is extraordinary.

Human life is therefore much more than bioethical life. This
statement is confirmed by Psalms 8:6 which lauds the creation of
the human with the words, ‘[y]ou made him (her) a little lower
than the heavenly beings and crowned him (her) with glory and
honor’. However, the gift is not a gift of divine substance. The
human does not become divine. Over and against the view of
ancient philosophies, Calvin (Inst. I:15:5:108) rejected the idea
that the breath of life was a transmission of the substance of God
‘... as if a portion of the boundless divinity had passed into man’.
The human does not become God or do not bear the substance
of God; rather, God adorned humans with special endowments
(Calvin Inst. I:15:5:108).
In his study on the concept nefeš chajja, Vriezen (1966:440)
also discovered that this gift of God does not entail that the
human received godly attributes. He concludes that the idea of
the human spirit as something divine does not feature in the Old
Testament. Welker (2013) also cautions against:
[A]ny form of equating spirit, reason, and God with philosophical,
theological, and even cultural contexts, and against any unbroken
and thereby essentially reckless glorification of the spirit in and of
itself. (p. 139)
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It is true that the created human does not become divine but the
nefeš chajja points to something brilliant, extraordinary and
sanctified. It is much more than the life of plants and animals. It is
life (spirit) given by God which is best explained by the concept
‘personhood’, that is, the gift of spirit gives rise to the human
creature as a human.
This endowment by God has various consequences for the
existence of the human because it implies relationships.
Bonhoeffer (2004:78) is of the opinion that Genesis 2:7 expresses
various cardinal relationships of the human creature. The
anthropomorphist metaphor is very ‘down-to-earth’. The way of
speaking is extremely childlike. God models or moulds with clay
and the human being is fashioned like a vessel out of an earthly
clod. God’s moulding of the human being out of the earth
expresses God’s nearness to the human being but also God’s
omnipotence. It also indicates a creature that is totally dependent
upon God (Brueggemann 1982:45). Whilst other living creatures
are created by a command of God, creation of the human creature
is a pertinent act of God. This act (Brueggemann 1982):
[E ]xpresses the fatherliness with which the creator creates me and
in the context of which I worship the Creator. That is the true God of
whom the whole Bible bears witness. (p. 45)
The human body really does live only by God’s gift of spirit; that
is, what constitutes its essential being (cf. 1 Cor 12:1–31). Due to
God’s general revelation to humankind, many creation narratives
were produced in ancient cultures. Westermann (1985:37)
compares some of these narratives with the biblical testimony
and concludes that only the biblical narrative emphasises the
uniqueness of the spirit-filled human in this way.
The moulding out of clay indicates the deep relation of the
human with the earth. Humankind’s bond with the earth belongs
to its essential being and the human being became a living person
only when God blew the breath of life into the structure of clay.
This means that body (out of the earth) and life merges
completely. The breath of God generates the human spirit and
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the animated body. ‘The body is the form in which the spirit exists
and the spirit is the form in which the body exists’ (Bonhoeffer
2004:79).
However, the uniqueness of the living being was eventually
deeply disturbed by the introduction of evil in God’s creation.
The human creature became disobedient and revolted against
its creator by trying to become like God. The human creature
rose up against the creator. This action unleashed the
punishment of God (Gn 3:17–24). Death and hardship entered
creation (see Westermann 1985:50ff.). To understand the
condition of human life, the influence of evil and the judgment
of God must be understood. Evil distorted the quality of human
life and caused the moral shortcomings in human relations and
conduct. Nevertheless, God does not destroy the work of his
hands. He does not withdraw his gift (breath). Bonhoeffer
(2004):
The world is not wholly God-forsaken; instead it is a world that even
under God’s curse is blessed and in its enmity, pain, and work is
pacified, a world where ‘life is upheld and preserved’. (p. 135)
By the general grace of God, the human being remains a unique

being with personhood in relation with God, fellow humans and
creation. God remains concerned about the human and in God’s
wisdom and love, God resolved to recreate and to steer the
creation into a process of total renewal. God promises a new
dispensation under God’s reign — a growing Kingdom in this
world where evil and its destructive influence will be restrained
and life in its fullness will eventually be restored. God enters
reality as a person (Christ) and affirms a new reign over the
totality of creation. God bestows the human with a new breath —
his divine Spirit (Holy Spirit). Therefore, even in a cursed reality,
human life has extraordinary value. This inherent value will be
revisited later in this chapter under the rubric of the human’s
creation in the image of God (imago Dei).
But what is the relevance of the ‘breath of life’ for the debate
of the beginning of life in the pro-creation of the human and the
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quality of life for the evaluation of inhuman ideologies? I will deal

with these questions in the section ‘The beginning of life’.
The beginning of life

According to biblical theology, all life comes from God (Gn 1:20 &
2:7). God’s creation act finds its focal point in the creation of life
(see Kress 1999:37). God brought life to a universe that was
‘uninhabitable’ (tohu wabohu) (Gn 1:2). On the grounds of the
words ‘tohu’ and ‘bohu’ in the rest of the Old Testament, Du Toit
(1974:60) explains that these Hebrew concepts indicate a desert.
The characteristic of a desert is its lack of life. In a state of chaotic
uninhabitability, God brought beauty and life (Ps 19:2). He
prepared everything as a dwelling for living beings (Von Rad
1961:54). In many other passages in the biblical text, God is
described as the source (fountain) of life (Ps 36:9; Jr 2:13; 17:13;
Job 33:4) and as the one who gives life to all creatures as well as
the one who takes it away (Ps 104:29). Thus all life stands related
to God as Lord of life and death. He himself is the living God (Dt
5:26; Jos 3:10; Ps 18:46). Life is seen as the supreme good that
nothing can surpass or relativise (Starke 2003:269). The apex of
the created life is the spirited life of the human who comes to life
by the gift of the breath of God.
But when does human life begin? This is the crucial question in
bioethical discourse today. More to the point one can ask:
are the psychotic, blastocyst, embryo or foetus human in the sense
that it bears human life? And: can one thus ascribe any value to
the psychotic, blastocyst, embryo and foetus in the sense that
they are worthy of moral and legal protection? Can the unborn
child be regarded as a juristic person? Over the years, several
suggestions have been made in response to the question about
exactly when, in pre-natal life, we consider human life to begin.
According to Novak (2007:67), some ethicists have suggested
that the life of a human begins when the foetus develops its own
functioning nervous system. Others see the beginning of life in the
forming of the foetus after 14 days when the primitive streak first
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appears (Waters 2003:68). Still, others see the beginning of life as

the moment when the mother can feel the movement of the foetus
in utero. And yet more others see the beginning of life to occur at
a later stage (Gross 2000:247; Rheeder 1999:324).
Direct textual indications from Scripture with regard to this
question are rare. Moreover, the Bible is indeed not a biological
textbook concerned with the physiological and psychological
development of humans, but rather the specific ongoing
revelation of God’s redeeming grace in Christ and the sanctifying
work of the Holy Spirit. Biblical passages should be read in the
context of this ongoing revelation (that is, Revelation-history,
Salvation-history or Biblical theology) (see Vorster 2017:148).
However, Rheeder (1999:345) indicates that there are indeed
biblical passages that can serve as a scriptural appeal for the
view that the embryo or foetus is fully human. In his view, the
following biblical passages spring to mind. Firstly, Job 3:3 reads,
‘[m]ay the day perish on which I was born, and the night in which
it was said: “A male child is conceived”’. The word ‘born’ is actually
better translated as ‘impregnated’. Old Testament scholars such
as Driver and Gray (1921:31–32) and Van Selms (1982:39–40) and
Hartley (1988:92) agree with this grammatical-historical exegesis.
The purport of this passage is that human life originates when a
woman is impregnated. Kress (1999:37) articulates the same
opinion and founds his idea on the revelation of the creative
works of God as they are developed in Isaiah 45. Everything that
takes place from conception onwards is part of God’s formation
of a human. For this reason, Exodus 22:21 prescribes a punishment
for the one who harms a pregnant woman to such an extent that
she has a miscarriage. This Scriptural evidence points to
the argument that the human enters the world at conception
following intercourse, and not at birth.
Secondly, consider that Psalms 139:13–16 reinforces this
argument. It (Ps 139) reads:
For You have formed my inward parts; You have covered me in my
mother’s womb. I will praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully
made; marvellous are Your works, and that my soul knows very well.
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My frame was not hidden from You, when I was made in secret, and
skilfully wrought in the lowest parts of the earth. Your eyes saw my
substance, being yet unformed. (vv. 13–16)
These passages indicate God’s involvement with the human

from the time of pregnancy. This involvement assigns value to
the embryo or foetus. The idea that the embryo is human from
the outset can also be found in Psalms 51:7. It describes the
damnability of man from his own inception. The embryo or foetus
is therefore both an object of God’s involvement and damnable in
original sin. Christian ethicists furthermore often draw conclusions
based on other parts of Scripture. They stress the commandment
of love, the acceptance of suffering and of a child as a gift from
God’s hand (see Rheeder 1999:354). These arguments are indeed
important in a broad evaluation of abortion, but they are not
dealt with in this discussion.
Arguing within the context of the ‘breath of life’, one should
maintain that human life in whatever form is the creational gift of
God and is therefore sacred. This sanctity features at all stages
and forms of human life. The spirited life features from the
moment of conception. Life is more than biotic. It is the ‘breath of
God’ and is just as sacred as the life of a developed human. The
unborn child in all its stages of development is a human, a nefeš
chajja. This life is more than the life of a plant or an animal.
Life began when God gave human life to Adam and personhood
(nefeš chajja) was given to his posterity at fertilisation or
conception (Geisler 2010:136). An embryo has only one potential
and that is to become a human being with personhood. Therefore,
the biblical view of human life, as it flows from the abovementioned
passages and the idea of spirited life as a creational gift, validates
the argument that life begins at conception. To argue that life
enters the developing unborn child at a later stage, as found in
certain medical arguments regarding human life, violates the
biblical concept of the gift of the ‘breath of God’. It follows that
any form of the termination of the human life of the developing
unborn child should be regarded as taking a human life. It suffices
to say that the use of the gift of the ‘breath of God’ as an indication
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of what human life entails, and the view that this life begins with
conception, constitutes an important moral argument to evaluate
the practice of abortion on request as well as other life-terminating
practices. This perspective sheds a particular light on the
practices of abortion, by request of the mother, as practiced in
many countries today. Abortion must be regarded in general as
an immoral action.48 The same applies to the moral evaluation of
euthanasia and capital punishment.
The uniqueness of human life

To understand the value of human life, a few remarks should be
made about the human’s creation in the image of God (Gn 1:27).
Calvin (2008, Inst I.XV.24.108) explained that the creation of the
human in the image of God ‘was manifested by the light of
intellect, rectitude of heart, and the soundness of every part’.
These gifts established the essential value of the human creature.
God first created the habitat of the human and then the angels as
the protectors of humankind. God granted a special value
(dignity) to humans in the sense that the human is ‘… by the
beauty of his person and his many noble endowments, the most
glorious specimen of the works of God’ (Calvin 2008, Inst.
I:14:20:101). Sin alienated the humans from God and forced them
to total depravity and damnation, tarnishing the image of God.
However, the image of God remains intact and is not totally
destroyed. Vorster (2007) echoes this cardinal anthropological
principle in the classic reformed tradition in the following words:
[The imago Dei] is a functional and relational concept that defines
human nature in relation to God and assigns human beings a special
place in creation. Human beings are God’s representatives on earth
and thus are endowed with a special status of dignity. The dignity of
humankind is not based on something intrinsic to their nature, but
48. As in many ethical issues the outright rejection of abortion on request cannot apply
absolutely. In certain cases like pregnancy because of rape and when the life of the mother
is in danger a choice can be made for the ‘lesser of two evils’. I have discussed the handling
of such a moral conflict in another study and deem it not necessary to repeat the arguments
here (see Vorster 2017a:181).
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lies in their relation to God. The image is not something in the human
person, but it is the person himself. When a person’s life is taken, the
property of God is destroyed (Gen. 9:6). (p. 75)
The imago Dei is the foundation of the Christian understanding

of human dignity.
As a Christian response to numerous dehumanising ideologies,
in the 20th century, the theological meaning of the imago Dei has
especially been furthered. Barth was highly influential in this
respect. Although he did not found the Christian anthropology in
creation but in Christology, he indicated that the imago Dei
depicts a covenantal relationship. True humanity is rooted in this
covenantal relationship (Barth 1961:116). The value of the human is
not situated in himself or herself, but in the relation with God.
Westermann (1972:103) remarks that this fact cannot be
overestimated. As in the case of nefeš chajja, discussed above, the
creation of the human in the image of God holds the human as a
relational being living in relation with God, along with other
humans and the rest of creation. Westermann’s argument can be
taken further. Covenant theology developed in the Old Testament
reiterates the relational character of a human’s existence. As a
covenantal being, a human has inherent value. In the realisation of
these relationships, which shape his or her inherent humanity, the
human emulates the image of God, because God is deeply
involved (in relation) with his creation. This is the reason why the
destruction of human life is prohibited in the Old Testament,
where people are instructed to respect the quality of life and the
integrity of creation as a vital part of their worshipping of God.
For the same reason, the Israelites were cautioned to treat the
strangers and the aliens, the migrant of those days, fairly. The
migrants should have been regarded as equal humans and the
Israelites were reminded that they themselves were aliens in Egypt
longing for dignity, humaneness and fair treatment. The aliens and
the strangers shared the same humanity as the people of the land.
Barth (1961:344) regards this relational characteristic of the
human as the foundation of all ethical conduct regarding
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inter-human relationships. From the status of the humans as

relational beings flow their God-given obligations. The duty of the
human is to protect and to promote human life and all this entails
such as humaneness, compassion, caring and concern. Moreover,
Pannenberg (1985:20) applies the relational characteristic of the
human also to his or her relation with the earth. As in the case of
the creation ‘out of clay’, the creation ‘in the image of God’
projects the human’s relation to and responsibility for the integrity
of creation. This responsibility of the human towards creation will
be addressed more closely in the section of this chapter on ‘The
intention of human life’. At this stage of the argument it will be
sufficient to refer to Moltmann, who says (1993):
The whole person, not merely his soul; the true human community,
not only the individual; humanity as it is bound up with nature — it is
these which are the image of God and his glory. (p. 221)
In his study about the uniqueness of the human in science and

theology, Van Huysteen (2006:275) furthermore questions an
abstract understanding of the imago Dei, as was done in the
history of the interpretation of this doctrine. He concludes that
the image of God is not found in some narrow, intellectual or
spiritual capacity, but in the whole human—both in essence and
in conduct. His point of view reiterates the fact that the imago
Dei means that the human should imitate God and act like God in
order to attain holiness through compassionate care for the other
and for the world—especially the oppressed, the vulnerable, the
poor, the migrant and the stranger.
Creation in the image of God leads to the endowment of
creational gifts. The finest of these gifts is that the created human
can know God. This knowledge was also distorted by the fall, but
even after the fall the ability to know God remained intact.
Humans can know God by way of his general revelation in the
‘book of nature’, that is, in his creation and his sustenance of
everything in the history of the world. Every human has the seeds
of religion and the sense of morality and is religious in nature, as
evidenced by the human’s experience of something divine behind
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origin and history. However, to know God as the triune God,

humans need the special revelation of the written word of God
(Scripture). The written Word gives meaning to religion, which
encompasses the totality of human existence. Knowledge of this
special revelation flows from the redemptive work of Christ and
the enlightening presence of God’s spirit.
This gift of the sense of religion is accompanied by the gift to
all people of a moral sense. All morals come from God. The moral
sense is termed in the history of Christian theology as the natural
law. Roman Catholic theology emphasised the natural law
because Thomas Aquinas constructed many of its moral
viewpoints on this doctrine (Pontifical Council for Justice and
Peace 2004:70). In recent years, the idea of natural law was
rediscovered in Reformed Theology after an era of suspicion
against this idea because of the influence of Barth (see Arner
2016; Brunner & Barth 1946; Grabill 2006; VanDrunen 2010).
Natural law enables all people to come to appropriate moral
decisions and establish decent and respectable laws. However,
also the natural law (natural knowledge of God) has been twisted
and corrupted because of sin. But in spite of this reality, the innate
sense of morality remains intact and implies that God holds the
entire human race accountable before God-self (Rm 1:18–32)
(VanDrunen 2014:211). God gave humans the sense of morality
and can thus expect from humanity moral conduct as a response.
Moltmann (1993:221) accentuates the ethical implications of
the imago Dei within a larger theological framework. He explains
that the concept is firstly theological and secondly anthropological.
Essentially it says that God created his image and then entered
into a special relation with it. He also draws attention to the
relational nature of the humans, which manifests in their existence
as representatives of God, who can rule as stewards over creation
in God’s name, as partners of God with whom God wants to enter
in dialogue (speak to) and as a visible image of the majesty of
God. The imago Dei hence points not only to a few qualities of
the human but the human as a whole (see also Wright 2004:119).
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Furthermore, according to Moltmann (1993:216), the concept

should be understood in close relation to the biblical revelation
of the gloria Dei est homo and the imago Christi. In his theological
argumentation about these related concepts, he maintains that
the original titling of the human should be linked to his or her
glorification in the kingdom of God. To understand the significance
of the human creature, it would be advantageous to elaborate on
Moltmann’s viewpoint. The imago Dei should thus not only be
evaluated from the doctrine of creation but also from Christological
and Pneumatological perspectives. God not only created the
human in his image before the fall, but after the fall, God did not
withdraw the gift of life, but even came into the world to the
depraved human in the person of Christ. God establishes a new
covenant with the promise that the tarnished image of God will
be restored to its full beauty.
As God promises in the Old Testament (Jl 2:28–32), the renewal
in Christ eventually leads to the bestowment of the spirit of Christ
(Ac 2:1–13). The humans, corrupted by sin, again becomes the
nefeš chajja as created by God. In the meanwhile, they receive the
spirit of God. In this respect, Moltmann (1997) eloquently says:
The gift and the presence of the Holy Spirit is the greatest and most
wonderful thing which we can experience — we ourselves, the human
community, all living things and this earth. For with the Holy Spirit
it is not just one random spirit that is present, among all the many
good and evil spirits there are. It is God himself, the creative and life-
giving, redeeming and saving God. Where the Holy Spirit is present,
God is present in a special way, and we experience God through our
lives, which become wholly living from within. We experience whole,
healed and redeemed life [and] experience it with all our senses. We
feel and taste, we touch and see our life in God and God in our life.
(p. 10)
With the spirit of God, the human is underway to full glorification

as the totally restored nefeš chajja in the image of God. Closely
related to the gift of the breath of life, the creation in the image
of God, the redemption in Christ and the fulfilment of the spirit of
God is the character of human life.
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The character of human life

Viewing the uniqueness of the human from a Creational,
Christological and Pneumatological perspective, leads to the
conclusion that, irrespective of the deep-rooted influence of evil
and its destructive effects on the human, the significance of the
human created in the image of God and as a nefeš chajja remains
intact. This uniqueness manifests itself in the inherent dignity of
the human. The dignity is not rooted in human abilities or the
nature of the human being as a rational being, but in the creational
gifts of God. As a philosophical concept, the idea of human
dignity was entertained since Stoic philosophy has been
developed by Italian humanists in the Renaissance as well as in
the ethic of Kant and in the Enlightenment (see Starke 2001:604;
Witte 2007:32). In these developments, human dignity was
perceived as a natural condition of the human viewed as a rational
and conscientious person. These perspectives eventually found
their way to the important and influential Universal Declaration
of Human Rights of the UN in 1948 as the basis for the recognition
of fundamental human rights. This document commences with
the article (UN 1948):
All human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights. They
are endowed with reason and conscience and should act towards
one another in a spirit of brotherhood. (p. 1)
Human dignity arising from recognising the inherent value of the

human subsequently forms the foundation of the idea of the
equality of all people. For instance, Rawls (1999:397)
comprehensively explains the relation between human dignity,
equality and the rule of law in his seminal, highly influential
exposition of the theory of justice. The post-Apartheid Constitution
of the Republic of South Africa (1996) also incorporated the idea
of dignity and equality, where Chapter 2 (The Bill of Rights)
construes to ‘enshrine the rights of all people in our country and
affirms the democratic values of human dignity, equality and
freedom’ (Republic of South Africa 1996:96; see also Devenish
1999:11).
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Reformed theological research after the World War has also

accentuated the basic human dignity of the human and the need
to translate this principle in ethical and socio-political terms for
modern society. Whilst the motivation for the basic dignity of the
human differs from the historic philosophical exposition, the idea
of human dignity was accepted in Christian anthropology. In this
respect, the contribution of the Dutch systematic theologian
Berkhouwer became highly influential. He initiated a new course
in Reformed ethical thinking. He made a case against the idea, as
found in classic Reformed Theology, that the imago Dei of the
human was destroyed by the fall and that the idea had no
relevance for modern Christian anthropology. He argues that any
denial of the basic dignity of the human abstracts the human
from his or her relation with God, fellow humans and the earth,
thus rendering a responsible Christian anthropology impossible
(Berkhouwer 1957:95). In this respect, Berkhouwer supports the
idea of Barth. He furthermore identifies the many social and
ethical implications of the imago Dei. Christians can find solace in
the fact that the depraved human can again become a renewed
being by way of the sacrificial work of Christ. The transformed
human becomes capable of fulfilling his or her calling to be a
steward in God’s creation. The human becomes capable of
seeking the justice of the kingdom of God. He or she becomes a
moral agent in God’s world with the unique calling to seek justice,
peace, reconciliation and freedom (Berkhouwer 1957:369).
Roman Catholic theology entertains the same idea (Ruston
2004:269). Human dignity is not a characteristic restricted to
believers in Christ, but it characterises all people, which has
pertinent implications for the arrangement of the social order.
Everyone still bears the tarnished image of God and is directed
by the natural law engraved in their hearts by God. But Christians
especially, because they are recreated in the imago Christi [image
of Christ], have the God-given obligation to be the vanguard of
the recognition, promotion and social implementation of human
dignity. Christian believers may differ from the humanist
philosophical exposition of the seat of human dignity but will be
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in concert with social implications of this human characteristic

and the need to arrange the social order according to its value.
This character of human life must be respected in all human

actions. Any ideology that inhibits the respect for human dignity
should be questioned by Christian anthropology. Respect for
human dignity runs against all forms of racism, xenophobia,
homophobia, sexism and the ill-treatment of vulnerable people
such as aliens, refugees, migrants, the marginalised and the
elderly. As relational beings humans should protect and enhance
the quality of people’s life. Similarly social, political and economic
systems should have this quality of life as their major aim. In
political policies and corporate actions, the primary question
should be: How do we improve the quality of the life of people,
especially the poor? Life should also be protected at all cost, and
harm against people in words or deeds should be eliminated in
the social and political arena. The recognition of human dignity
is the foundation of the fundamental right to life and ought to
be the paradigm for the evaluation of human rights issues such
as abortion, capital punishment, corporal punishment, euthanasia
and penology (see Vorster 2017:173). In this age of growing
migration, especially when the migration is forced by powers
driving people out of their habitations, Christian should be the
voice for the humane treatment of migrants and refugees.
Much of the relation between the uniqueness and character of

life and human conduct has been mentioned in the paragraphs
above. To delineate the deep motivation for moral action by the
human as a moral agent, it is enriching to reflect upon the purpose
of human life from a relational perspective.
The intention of human life

The cultural mandate in Genesis 1:28 outlines the purpose of a
human’s life. Brueggemann (1982:15) explains this purpose by
saying that from the beginning of human destiny, God is prepared
to entrust the garden to the unique human. From the beginning,
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humans are called, given a vocation and expected to share in

God’s work. Brueggemann (1982):
The destiny of the human creature is to live in God’s world not the
world of his/her own making. The human creation is to live with God’s
other creatures, some of which are dangerous but all of which need
to be ruled and cared for. The destiny of the human creation is to live
in God’s world, with God’s other creatures on God’s terms. (p. 40)
In this respect, the human is responsible to God, for he or she

maintains nothing less than God’s creation by way of God’s
eternal providence. Any idea of the absence of God in creation
and the total freedom of humankind as the ruler of nature with
the divine right to explore nature without limits, has no theological
foundation (see Loader 1987:16ff.). Therefore the ‘ruling’ of
Genesis 1:28 does not entail the exercising of destructive power
over creation, but stewardship in the service of God.
Clark (2000:284) contends that the covenant God made with
all living creatures (Gn 9:9–10) entails that all creatures should
co-exist in the spirit of neighbourhood. Due to the God-given
relationship of all creatures, they are neighbours under the
providence of God. Clark (2000:284) therefore prefers the term
‘neighbourhood’ to ‘stewardship’. This term emphasises the
duties of the human over and against the idea of simply ruling
over everything. The idea of ‘ruling over’ creation has the
implication that creation took place for the benefit of the human
and that everything is there for his or her use. This idea implies
that the Christian view of caring for creation is anti-
environmentalist — a complaint lodged earlier by White
(1967:1203) in his influential article. God created everything not
for the use of humans but for his own sake, for his glory. Clark’s
critique of the misunderstanding of the notion of ‘ruling’ is valid,
especially when all the scriptural laws regarding caring for the
land are taken into account (Clark 2000:285). Eventually, re-
creation in Christ embraces not only the fallen human but the
totality of creation. The whole created order will become new—a
new heaven and new earth where justice will have power over all
relations (Vorster 2007):
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To my mind, the concept of ‘stewardship’ however remains preferable

because it does not entail ruling but serving. Bonhoeffer (1995:61ff.)
developed this idea as a guiding principle in his explanation of the
foundation of Christian ethics. The call to the human person to be a
steward corresponds also with the servanthood of Christ. As a result
of his abasement Christ took on the nature of a servant. The word
used for ‘servant’ is the same as the word used for ‘a slave’ (doulos).
As in the Hebrew Bible, the idea of slavery is used here to illustrate
the relationship between God and his people. This imagery is also
found in Rom. 1:1 and 1 Pet. 2:16. The slave was in service of his owner.
(p. 119)
This slave’s service was on a full-time basis, and they had limited
freedom in accordance with the will of the owner.
But what is the deeper meaning of this metaphor? Firstly, one
could contend that Christ became an example of the believer’s
relationship with God. Secondly, it denotes the attitude of Christ
(Phlp 2:5–11) about the nature of his service to God and to others.
This passage, which is a hymn, presents Christ as the ultimate
model for Christian action (Floor & Viljoen 2002:91). The attitude
of Christ must be imitated by his followers. Believers have a duty
to (Vorster 2013, 2016):
[B]e servants of God [within the constraints of the] limited moral
freedom permitted by God. Every action should be an expression
of this image. In the whole scope of ethical conduct Christians [are
supposed] to be examples of the service Christ rendered to God.
(p. 119)
Christ is therefore not only the model for Christian action, as

mentioned, but in particular the model for the servanthood
(stewardship) of Christians. Therefore, stewardship as a
description of the purpose of human life is to the point.
This purpose is to serve God the Creator and Redeemer by
respecting and taking care of his work under his providence. It
becomes apparent in the moral instructions given to humanity
after the intrusion of evil. In his or her struggle against evil, the
unique human becomes a moral agent in the service of God with
the aim of protecting human life as the ‘breath’ of God, thus
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encountering the destructive forces of evil in nature. Being a

moral agent necessitates ecological concerns, promoting social
justice and peace, seeking the principles of the kingdom of God
in all life-spheres and imitating the holiness of God.
The hope of human life

Due to the presence of evil, creation ‘has been groaning as in the
pains of childbirth right up to the present time’. Humans ‘who
have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as [they] wait for
eagerly for [their] adoption as sons, the redemption of [their]
bodies’. The Spirit ‘himself intercedes for us with groans that
words cannot express’ (Rm 8:22–26). Paul’s description of the
three groaning persons, the human, the creation and the Holy
Spirit, draws attention to hope for and in human life. Humans
suffer under evil in all its forms and creation struggles under
destruction and exploitation, but the suffering God is present in
all of these predicaments and takes part in the suffering in a
directing way. The suffering God is underway to renewal and
fulfilment along with all creation. Evil and its concomitant
destructive effects will not last forever. God redeems creation
and furnishes humans with those gifts that are necessary to take
part in his rejuvenating work. His reign (Kingdom) is a historic
reality and will eventually encompass the whole creation. The
presence of the redeeming and restorative God and his equipped
human co-workers are the hope for this groaning creation and its
groaning humans in the time between the coming of the Kingdom
and its completion at the end of time.
The groaning creation underway with God to renewal is the
basis of hope for humans in their journey through history. In
biblical terms, hope is not a mystical dependence on things to
come in the far and transcendent future. Hope is immanent and
lies in positive change that is visible and can be experienced. This
idea was accentuated in the philosophy of Bloch (1961) with his
dictum, ‘what is cannot be true’. A static and rigid, unchanging
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reality cannot entertain hope. How can hope flourish in a situation

where there is no indication of movement and direction?
Moltmann (1965, 1975) employed Bloch’s idea and argues that

hope springs from change and active changing agents as
the driving principle in the development of his influential
‘Theology of Hope’. He dealt with the many incidents of ‘promise’
and ‘fulfilment’ in the history of the people of God and indicated
how fulfilment of promises (change) inspired hope. It was the
constant fulfilment of God’s promises that has given hope to his
people in many situations of national affliction. In such a way, the
prophets gave hope to the marginalised, the vulnerable and other
people and groups in despair. Moltmann (2012:40) elaborated on
this principle in his recent publication about the ethics of hope
(see also Harvie 2009:86).
In this dispensation (Zwischenraum) between the reality of
the Kingdom and its future vindication, the reign of God runs
against structures of injustice, exploitation of the poor and the
marginalised as well as destruction of ecosystems. The Kingdom
presents itself as an alternative to the corrupt world and runs
against the ideologies of injustice. The reality of the Kingdom
and the radical transforming effect of the reign of God create
hope for the unique human in this time and age. But the always-
present and persistently transforming effect of the Kingdom also
inspires the people of God to be transformative moral agents. It
is their divine vocation to fulfil their moral obligation to disperse
hope to all human beings in their ‘groaning’ within a ‘groaning
creation’ (Rm 8:22–26). This vocation is concrete and not only
spiritual. It entails that the people of God as citizens of the
realised Kingdom should imitate Christ in the execution of his
threefold office of prophet, priest and king. The people of God
should therefore be instrumental in the transformation of corrupt
ideologies, structures, institutions and life styles (see Burridge
2007:74; Welker 2013:303).
The neo-Marxist philosopher Marcuse (1971) reminded us
that social systems can easily become rigid, ‘one-dimensional’
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structures that enslave people in such a way that they do not live
freely, but ‘are lived’. Poor, oppressed and marginalised people
cannot change these structures because the opposition is not
possible. They thus live in hopelessness. Opposition can only be
expressed by the ways and means of the structure itself. These
‘one-dimensional’ structures hold them captive and inhibit their
freedom and hope. Change can only be obtained by the total
overthrow of the structure in any way possible—even violence.
Marcuse’s romanticism of violence as the instrument to unleash
freedom and hope can be criticised, but his diagnosis of the
enslaving possibilities of ‘one-dimensional’ societies is worthwhile
to reflect upon. Political and social structures can become ‘one-
dimensional’ and enslave especially the poor, the marginalised
and minorities. The only way out of these conditions is the
constant movement of change. The transformative power of
the realised Kingdom generates such a constant movement. The
Kingdom challenges ‘one-dimensional’ societies to prevent
coagulation and subsequent enslavement, and to release hope
for hopeless people. In the same way, God’s people, as
transformative moral agents, create hope for suffering people
when they unsettle the rigid systems with prophetic critique
and moral action. Hope for the human thus lies in the reign of
God as manifested in his transformative realised Kingdom and
the challenging prophetic critique and moral actions of God’s
people.
Conclusion
The following propositions can be extracted from this theological
discussion of the essentials of human life and these could pave
the way for new norms in ethical discourse about the meaning
and protection of human life:
•• Human life as the ‘breath of God’ is unique and sacred. The

spirited human, although corrupted by evil, is a creature with
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personhood and this characteristic determines the way in

which human life should be treated.
•• Arguing within the context of this image of the ‘breath of life’,
one should maintain that human life in whatever form is the
creational gift of God and is therefore sacred and spirited.
These qualities feature at all stages and forms of human life.
•• Seen from a Creational, Christological and Pneumatological
perspective, the imago Dei is the foundation of the Christian
understanding of human dignity. The imago Dei depicts a
covenantal relationship between God, the human and creation.
True humanity is rooted in this covenantal relationship. The
covenant theology developed in the Old Testament reiterates
this relational character of the existence of the human. As a
covenantal being, the human creature has inherent value.
•• Therefore, the human and its life are intrinsically unique. This
uniqueness manifests itself in the innate dignity of the human.
The dignity is not rooted in human abilities or the nature of the
human as a rational being, but in the creational gifts of God.
Although every human still bears a tarnished image of God,
they are directed by the natural law engraved by God in their
hearts. Therefore this character of human life must be
respected in all human actions.
•• The intention of human life is to serve God the Creator and
Redeemer by respecting and taking care of God’s work under
God’s providence. This intention of human life becomes
apparent in the moral instructions given to humanity after the
intrusion of evil. To struggle against evil, the unique human
becomes a moral agent in the service of God. Being a moral
agent necessitates ecological concerns, promoting social
justice and peace, seeking the principles of the kingdom of
God in all life-spheres and imitating the holiness of God.
•• Humans suffer under evil in all its forms and creation struggles
under destruction and exploitation but God is present and
even takes part in the suffering. But God is also the major
agent of change in the suffering creation. Constant change
gives rise to hope. The transformative power of the realised
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Kingdom generates constant movement and discharges the

energy of hope for hopeless people. In the same way, God’s
people, as transformative moral agents, generate hope for
suffering people when they upset rigid systems with prophetic
critique and moral action. Hope for a suffering creation thus
sprouts from the reign of God as manifested in his
transformative, realised Kingdom and the challenging
prophetic critique and moral actions of God’s people.
These essentials of the life of a human may guide us to be
committed to the plight of migrants. Besides being their voice in
their new surroundings, churches must become accommodating
to the stranger and the ‘other’ in their midst, and Christians ought
to act as their custodians for the recognition of their personhood
and the protection of their human rights. This publication can
pave the way for the practical implementation of these essentials
in lives in transit.
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Chapter 6
Muslim immigration
and reformed
Christology
Matthew Kaemingk
Department of Christian Ethics,
Fuller Theological Seminary,
Houston, TX, United States of America
Keywords: Muslim immigration; Hijab; Islam; Kuyper; Schilder;

Bavinck.
Introduction48
‘Despite being the targets of policies, headscarf-wearing women
were mainly talked about or talked for — both by advocates and by
opponents of restrictive legislation.’
(Lettinga 2011:242)
48. This chapter has been adapted, with permission, from Matthew Kaemingk (2018).
How to cite: Kaemingk, M., 2020, ‘Muslim immigration and reformed Christology’, in
M. Kotzé & R. Rheeder (eds.), Life in Transit: Theological and Ethical Contributions on
Migration (Reformed Theology in Africa Series volume 2), pp. 171–208, AOSIS, Cape Town.
171
Muslim immigration and reformed Christology
In her book Framing the Hijab, political scientist Doutje Lettinga

(2011:42–44) compares how recent public debates over the
Muslim headscarf have been framed in the Netherlands, France
and Germany. Lettinga identifies and outlines eight frames
through which these nations interpreted and debated the public
display of the Muslim hijab. These eight interpretive frames for
the headscarves would dramatically impact the governmental
restrictions that would soon come.
The first frame applied to the hijab was that of public secularity.
Here the hijab was framed as a religious symbol, which potentially
violates or endangers the secularity of the European public
square. When worn by police officers, judges, teachers and other
state employees, the hijab allegedly compromises the secular
neutrality of the state and its officers. Extended beyond
employees of the state, the secularity frame has even been
applied to those who receive state services and funds. Schoolgirls
in France, for example, have been banned from wearing the hijab
in government-run schools. As secularity’s domain expands, so
too do the restrictions on the headscarf. Bans on the hijab have
been proposed across Europe for public buses, trams and even
sidewalks. Some have even proposed that the private home and
the explicitly religious building should be the only place where
women are permitted to wear the hijab.
The second European frame applied to the headscarf is that of
free expression. Here, the hijab is framed as an individual’s
personal expression of religious conviction. Interpreted in this
light, it should be protected under Western free speech laws.
This frame argues that—however reviled the hijab might be—it
must be protected by the state. That said, two things naturally
follow from the use of this frame. One, Muslim women must show
their piety and submission to Allah using the foreign paradigms
of individual liberty, personal expression and free speech. Two,
consistent application of free expression requires that those who
publicly criticise and even mock these women must be free to
express their beliefs, as well.
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The third European frame for the headscarf discussions is that

of Christian Occidentalism. Here, the woman’s hijab is interpreted
as a foreign symbol of an oriental religious power that runs
counter to Europe’s Judeo-Christian history and identity. The
presence of a veiled Muslim woman is seen as a scandalous public
reminder that Europe’s Judeo-Christian culture is slipping away.
Seen through this frame, the presence of the headscarf demands
governmental action to discourage the influence of the Islamic
orient on behalf of the Judeo-Christian Occident. Laws against
the hijab are necessary, it is argued, to protect the very cultural
foundations of Europe.
The fourth frame depicts the woman’s hijab as a scandalous
symbol of racial and cultural segregation—even apartheid—in
Europe. Headscarves, it is argued, are a visual reminder that these
citizens have failed to successfully integrate (read: assimilate)
into European culture. Rhetorically framed as intrinsically divisive,
the sight of a woman’s hijab signals that European states must
work harder to integrate or assimilate Muslim women.
The fifth frame for the scarf is that of political Islam. Here the
hijab is cast, not as a symbol of religious devotion, but as a symbol
of political ideology, subversion and even violence. The hijab, it is
argued, represents a radical, theocratic and violent political
movement that is fundamentally antithetical to European
democracy. This rhetorical frame argues that European states
have a responsibility to legislate against the hijab in the interest
of defending democracy and political stability.
The sixth is the security frame. Promoters of this frame argue
that the veil constitutes a clear and present danger to public
safety in Europe. A woman’s veil, they argue, might be used by
terrorists to conceal their identity during a terrorist attack.
Through the security frame, the state is obligated, for reasons of
public safety, to expose women’s faces to the public gaze.
The seventh frame is that of oppression. Here, the hijab is a
symbol of religious and sexual oppression. The assumption of
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this rhetorical frame is that no woman would freely choose to

wear a headscarf, so therefore, our Muslim neighbours must have
been forced or tricked into wearing them. When the hijab is seen
through the rhetorical frame of oppression, European states are
not only justified, but they are positively compelled to liberate
these women from their oppressive religion.
The eighth and final frame argues that women who wear the
headscarf are vulnerable to discrimination in Europe. The hijab,
it is argued, slows the empowerment process that will lead to
their successful integration. European states must take action
to protect these women with an array of anti-discriminatory
laws, hiring quotas, awareness programs and benefits. It is
believed that through these state-based efforts to protect
Muslim women, empowerment—and therefore integration—will
move along more smoothly.
According to Doutje Lettinga, these eight major frames have
been available to Dutch, German and French citizens since the
beginning of the 21st century. Note that whilst Muslim women are
the objects of considerable debate, they are rarely—if ever—
invited to actually speak for themselves. Journalists, activists and
politicians speak with confidence about the desires, motives and
needs of Muslim women with little apparent interest in actually
listening to them.
It is also striking how narrowly each of the eight frames casts
the supposed problem of the hijab. In each frame, the hijab is
understood to symbolise one thing and one thing only. These
small pieces of cloth are either a danger to secularism, a form of
free speech, a foreign cultural invasion, a marker of apartheid, a
radical political banner, a security threat, a tool of oppression or
a discrimination danger. Depending on the political and rhetorical
needs of the day, Doutje Lettinga demonstrates, politicians in
France, Germany and the Netherlands will use any combination
of these frames to do one thing — marginalise, ‘foreignise’ and
problematise Muslim women.
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A ninth frame
How are European Christians framing their Muslim neighbours? So
far, there is no clear consensus. One can find disparate evidence of
Christians following the logic of nearly every one of the eight
frames that Lettinga describes. Despite their diverse responses,
there is one common factor that seems to hold across the entire
spectrum of European Christianity—the absence of Christ.
If one makes the rather bold assumption that Christianity
should have something to do with Christ, what explains the lack
of a Christocentric response to the hijab? Christ’s absence from
Christian politics is not a uniquely European problem. Christians
in my own country, the United States, are notorious for regularly
excluding their namesake from their political imaginations.49
Some American Christians find the 1st-century carpenter too
removed from modern political life to have any relevance. Others
find him too weak or gracious for the strength and resolve our
current political climate demands. Still others find Jesus helpful
for private issues of the heart but irrelevant for the public issues
of the real world. Finally, others fear that Jesus is a divisive and
overly religious figure — someone unwelcome in purely secular
political discourse.
But rather than speculate on the many reasons for Christ’s
absence in this debate about the hijab and Muslim immigration,
let’s explore what fruit his actual inclusion might bring. In other
words, what would it mean for Christian citizens in the West to
see the Muslim women who pass them on the street through a
ninth frame, the frame of Jesus Christ?
The immediate problem with describing Jesus Christ as a
‘frame’ is, of course, that he is much more than an epistemological
lens through which Christians view the world. For those who call
him Lord, Jesus is not simply a way of viewing others; he is a
49. See the blistering critiques of this American tendency in John Howard Yoder (1972:1–20).
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flesh-and-blood way of living with others as well. Moreover, a

Muslim woman is not simply a foreign object to be framed by
Christ; she is a human being who must be engaged, befriended
and loved in and through Christ, as well.
Historically speaking Reformed political theologians have long
drawn on the political Christology of Abraham Kuyper to make
their case for religious freedom and principled pluralism. Kuyper’s
royal Christology argued that Christ is alone is sovereign over all
global religions and ideologies. Christian citizens should respect
religious minorities, freedom and pluralism out of respect for
Christ’s royal sovereignty and kingship. Kuyper’s royal Christology
has proven fertile ground for Reformed theologies of principled
pluralism.
However, Kuyper’s political Christology fell short in two critical
ways. Firstly, Jesus is infinitely more than a sovereign king who
demands justice and freedom. Jesus is also a servant, prophet,
friend, liberator, healer and priest. Secondly, Kuyper’s royal
Christology cannot respond to the deep complexity and mystery
of the conflict between Islam and the West. The conflict between
them demands more than Christ’s justice; it also requires Christ’s
forgiveness, reconciliation, humility, struggle, hospitality and
vulnerability.
This chapter attempts to enrich Kuyper’s royal Christological
approach to pluralism with a broader and more diverse range of
Reformed Christological images. In bringing these more diverse
images of Christ’s life and work together, I hope to construct a
more complex Christ-centred response to Muslim immigration in
the West.
In an effort to construct this Christological frame, this chapter
will draw on the rich Christologies of three theologians who
followed in Kuyper’s wake: Herman Bavinck, Klaas Schilder and
Hans Boersma. My intention in this chapter is not to summarise
the work of these three theologians, nor is it to explore the many
ways in which they either agree or disagree with each other.
Instead, this chapter will accomplish two primary goals. Firstly, it
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will highlight a few of the most promising Christological images

in their work. Secondly, it will explore how those Christological
images inform a more robust Christ-centred frame for the issue
of Muslim immigration.
Herman Bavinck: The kaleidoscopic

Christ
‘Nothing in Christ is excluded in the demand to follow him… every
word and deed of Jesus is useful for our instruction and ought to be
taken to heart.’
(Bavinck 1886:331–332)
Herman Bavinck (1854–1921) was a colleague of Abraham Kuyper

and a fellow foot soldier in the Dutch movement for Christian
pluralism. Whilst his theological corpus is expansive and rich, I
will focus my attention on his career-long interest in a simple
question: How does one follow Jesus in the modern world?
Herman Bavinck’s vision of de navolging van Christus [the
following of Christ] is outlined in two magisterial essays composed
at the beginning and end of his theological career. In both pieces,
Bavinck insists that Christians are obligated to follow the whole
Christ in the whole of their lives.50 This conviction made Herman
Bavinck somewhat of a theological outlier in 19th-century
Christology. At this time, it was common for modernistic
theologians in Europe to label many of the teachings of Jesus as
outdated, irrelevant or merely thematic for modern Christian life.
In light of this, the modern theologian’s task in Europe was that
of rescuing a few stories, teachings or themes in Christ’s life that
50. Herman Bavinck (1885:101–113, 203–213) and 12 (1886): 321–333 and De navolging van
Christus in het modern eleven, (Kampen, NL: Kok, 1918). An excellent analysis of these works
can be found in John Bolt (1982). I will be drawing on both of Bavinck’s essays throughout
chapter. For clarity’s sake, I will label them ‘De Navolging I and De Navolging II’ in the
footnotes. My thanks to John Bolt for sharing his personal translations of these two pieces.
I have made some adjustments, but on the whole they represent his work, not mine.
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could be distilled into something more palatable to the modern

context and European sensibilities. In opposition to these
limited Christologies, Bavinck set about his task.
According to Herman Bavinck, holistic and Christ-centred
discipleship meant that no aspect of Christ’s life or work could be
excluded or ignored—the whole Christ for the whole of life.
Nothing about Jesus could be left out, smoothed over and limited
in its application. Christ’s relevance could no longer be relegated
to one’s private life. Whether in politics, science or the arts, true
disciples must ‘walk in all these areas [of modern life] as a child
of God and a follower of Christ’ (Bavinck 1886:144). Bavinck
admits that such a totalistic understanding of following Christ
will neither be easy, clear or smooth, and yet, he insists, ‘it is
precisely this that is required of us’ (Bavinck 1886:144). Grounded
in this unwavering conviction, Bavinck set out to describe a more
holistic picture of Christ, along with a more holistic vision of what
it meant to follow him in the modern world.
It is important to note from the outset that Herman Bavinck
recognised that Christian discipleship is not a fixed destination
but a dynamic and unfolding journey. Bavinck refused to turn his
Christ-centred ethic into a rigid system of static rules holding for
all times and places. Bavinck argued that disciples of Christ would
need to continually discern and imagine new ways to follow
Christ’s example in a wide variety of dynamic contexts.51
Did Bavinck believe that disciples were therefore completely
free to determine for themselves how they should follow Christ
in their contexts? Not at all. Bavinck insisted that disciples would
always need to wrestle with the scriptural stories of the whole
and concrete Christ. Moreover, their individual discernment of
51. ‘Naturally the application will vary depending upon circumstances. Although all are subject
to one and the same moral law, the duties under that law vary considerably. It is different for
the civil authorities than for subjects, for parents than for children, for the rich than for the
poor, and it will be different in times of prosperity than in times of poverty, in days of health
than in days of illness. Thus whilst the virtues to which the imitation of Christ calls us are the
same, circumstances may modify the application’ (Bavinck 1886:142–143).
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the Scriptures could not happen in a state of personal isolation.

Disciples had to discern the depth and breadth of Christ’s call
on their lives within the communal fellowship and discipline of
the church.
Bavinck’s first essay on following Jesus in the modern world
began with an overview and critique of five models for imitating
Christ—three models were historical and two were modern. On
the historical side, Bavinck outlined three models of
Christological imitation that were prominent in the stories of
the ancient and medieval church. He called these models the
martyr, the monk and the mystic. Whilst appreciative of all
three, Bavinck concluded that each model was ultimately
insufficient for two specific reasons. Firstly, each focused too
narrowly on a single aspect of Christ’s life and work. In turn,
each model made its singular aspect the dominant ethical norm
for all Christian discipleship. In doing this, the full breadth of
Christ’s life and work was reduced. Secondly, they each produced
an unnecessary hierarchy between ordinary and extraordinary
disciples (i.e. martyrs, monks and mystics). These three models
communicate that ordinary Christians who, for a variety of
reasons, do not fully imitate Christ through either martyrdom,
monasticism or mysticism are somehow lesser or failing in their
discipleship of Jesus. Bavinck lamented that within each of the
three models, discipleship becomes the calling of the few and
an unrealistic ideal for the rest. Convinced that the whole of the
church must follow the whole Christ, Bavinck is forced to go
beyond the narrow images of Christ-followers as either martyrs,
monks or mystics.
Bavinck then considers two modern visions of following Jesus.
He labels these models as the literalist and the rationalist. The
literalist, he argues, attempts to rigidly mimic and reproduce the
exact words and actions of Jesus in the modern world. Bavinck
believed that this literalist model represented a tragically wooden
and overly brittle reading of the Christian life. He concludes that
the literalist ultimately lacks the theological wisdom, creativity
and imagination necessary to faithfully apply the life and
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teachings of a 1st-century Jew to the dynamic and complex

reality of the modern world.
If the literalist lacked creativity, the rationalist lacked courage.
The rationalist, Bavinck argued, finds the life and teachings of
Jesus to be too radical, too demanding and too extreme for
modern European sensibilities. The rationalist concludes that
modern Christianity must smooth out Christ’s rougher edges.
The theologian’s task is to domesticate Jesus and turn him into a
modern sage of moderate Christian values. Having distilled a few
universal themes and values, such as kindness, service or integrity,
from the historical Jesus, then and only then can Jesus serve as
an example for the modern European. Bavinck could not bear the
modern domestication of Jesus. He demanded that Christian
discipleship takes the whole, concrete and sometimes rough
reality of Jesus Christ seriously.
In surveying these five models, Herman Bavinck finally
concluded that if contemporary Christians were going to follow
the whole Christ, they would require a more complex Christological
ethic. For, he concluded, the ‘work of Christ is so multifaceted
that it cannot be captured in a single word nor summarised in a
single formula’ (Bavinck 2003–2008a:383). Disciples require not
one but multiple images of Christ ‘to give us a deep impression
and a clear sense of the riches and many-sidedness of the
mediator’s work’ (Bavinck 2003–2008a:383). Jesus was not
simply a saviour; he was a teacher, liberator, friend and healer. He
was at one and the same time our prophet, our priest and our
king. Bavinck (2003–2008a:384) believed that these multiples
aspects of Christ’s life and work would ‘supplement one another
and enrich our knowledge’ of Christ and what it means to follow
him. For Christ came to earth not simply to save souls, teach
morality or liberate the poor—he came for the complex work of
restoring the whole of his world to himself. In this sense, the
redemptive (Bavinck 2003–2008a):
[B]enefits that accrue to us from the reconciliation of God-in-Christ
are too numerous to mention …. [They are] juridical … mystical … ethical
… moral … economic … physical … In a word, the whole enterprise of
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re-creation, the complete restoration of the world and humanity … is

the fruit of Christ’s work. (pp. 451–452)
Bavinck’s desire to explore the complex richness of Christ’s life

and work was not a new or ground-breaking practice for a
Reformed theologian. Commenting on John Calvin, Stephen
Edmondson notes that the early reformer himself cobbled
(Edmondson 2004):
[T ]ogether a kaleidoscopic Christological mosaic from stones
not necessarily cut to fit. [John Calvin] wants to depict Christ as
fountain, brother, criminal, and king as Christ exhibited these realities
in the varied details of his life. This eclecticism is essential to Calvin’s
thinking, for it represents simply the fullness of Christ’s history …
To commit oneself to [Calvin’s kaleidoscopic Christ] is to commit
oneself to a broad, diverse, detailed reality that threatens at all times
to exceed one’s grasp. (p. 224)
When one surveys the complexity of the conflict between Islam

and the West, when one considers the dynamism, depth and
speed of the ethical questions involved, it becomes exceedingly
clear that following Christ in such a multifaceted crisis will require
a multifaceted Christology.
Herman Bavinck offers three critical insights for the following
Christ amidst the debate over Muslim immigration. Firstly, the
present conflict will require the work of all Christians in a variety
of political, cultural and ministerial callings. Christian pluralism
requires not simply a few extraordinary martyrs, mystics and
monks — it requires the whole body of Christ. Secondly, unlike
the rigid literalists and the moderating rationalists, the West
needs disciples who wish to follow Christ with both creativity
and courage. Thirdly and finally, the kaleidoscopic challenge of
the debate over Muslim immigration requires a kaleidoscopic
Christ — a simplistic understanding of Christ’s life and work will
not suffice. Christians need the whole Christ: the teacher, healer,
judge, prophet, priest and king. With this more multifaceted
vision of Christian discipleship, we turn now to a diverse collection
of Christological images that will help us develop a more complex
understanding of Christian discipleship amidst the conflict.
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Klaas Schilder: The slave-king

Islam is coming to take over! It is coming to bind the West—to
restrict, rule and control us. Such cries are common in discussions
about Muslim immigration. Islam, it is argued, is a political ideology
of power and control. Such an ideology deserves—and can only
understand—a like-minded response of both power and control.
In the 1930s, a Dutch pastor and theologian by the name of
Klaas Schilder produced a powerful series of meditations on the
trial, suffering and crucifixion of Jesus (Schilder 1938, 1939, 1940).
Over three separate volumes, Schilder painted a vivid, impactful
and shockingly raw picture of Christ’s final days on earth. Readers
of his meditations are invited to stand and watch as Jesus, the
sovereign king of the universe, is arrested and accused, beaten
and broken, stripped and speared. Schilder’s raw and challenging
theological reflections on Christ’s final days invite the reader to
ponder the meaning of a life lived in the shadow of Golgotha.
Rather than summarise the whole of Schilder’s passion trilogy,
I want to highlight two specific meditations that bear striking
relevance to our current question of Christian ethics between
Islam and the West.52 These two meditations highlight some
unique images of Christ that are rarely found in Abraham Kuyper’s
depictions of Christ’s kingship—namely Christ’s slavery and his
nakedness. To be brief, whilst Kuyper explores the political
consequences of Christ’s crown, Schilder explores the political
consequences of Christ’s cross.
Schilder’s first meditation focuses on Christ as a slave-king.
Here he reflects theologically on the binding of Christ in the garden
of Gethsemane. Schilder argues forcefully that in Christ’s infamous
healing of a slave, he reveals his true royal and sovereign calling to
be the ‘liberator of slaves in the form of a slave’. On the night he
was betrayed, Jesus and his disciples went to pray in the garden
of Gethsemane. As darkness fell, Roman soldiers and officials from
52. ‘Christ Disrobed’, in Christ Crucified (167–187) and ‘Christ’s last wonder in the state of
humiliation: The liberator of slaves in the form of a slave’, in Christ in His Sufferings (415–434).
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the high priest came to arrest Jesus. A skirmish broke out during
the course of the arrest. Peter drew his sword and struck the ear
of the high priest’s slave named Malchus. Amidst the chaos and
cacophony of his own arrest, Jesus rebuked Peter’s aggressive
attack and healed the slave who had come to bind him.
This brief and oft-ignored episode in Christ’s passion narrative
is the subject of a detailed and haunting theological reflection
from Klaas Schilder. The theologian was convinced that in this,
Christ’s final miracle on earth, readers are witness to the ‘culmination
and close’ of Christ’s ‘prophetic teaching and self-revelation’
(Schilder 1938:421). In this brief exchange between the slave and
the slave-king, ‘[a]ll the issues of the Gospel’ are ‘laid bare’ (Schilder
1938:431). For here, Christ reveals his true royal calling to be the
‘liberator of slaves in the form of a slave’ (Schilder 1938:415).
From the beginning of Israel’s history, the people were
commanded by God to celebrate a day of Jubilee. Every 50 years
all slaves were to be liberated, all debts forgiven and all land returned
to its original owner. Whilst the divine command to celebrate the
Jubilee was received, it is important to note that kings of Israel
never actually obeyed God’s command, that is, Schilder argues,
until this exchange in the garden between the slave and the slave-
king. Schilder proposes that the royal line of David was restored in
Christ’s sovereign healing of Malchus (Schilder 1938:415). For, there
in the garden, whilst the (Schilder 1938):
[P ]olice scream and yell … Christ devotes subtle attention to doing
full justice to one of God’s slaves. In this He is reverently obedient to
the law of the year of Jubilee, to the law of the right of slaves. (p. 415)
Jesus here embodies the sort of kingship and sovereignty God

demands—a power that liberates and heals. Schilder imagines
Jesus, as he is being arrested, bending over and whispering in his
Malchus’s newly healed ear (Schilder 1938):
Am I not He who is willing to deliver you from the bonds of death and
from the yoke of everlasting slavery? Listen, my son; listen, Malchus: I
am the priest who would become a slave in order to convert servants
into lords. (p. 427)
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Whilst previous kings of Israel ignored the Jubilee, Jesus fulfilled

God’s call to liberate the enslaved—even whilst he himself was
being violently bound. Schilder insists that this brief encounter
‘vividly presents’ the paradoxical nature of Christ’s sovereign
reign over ‘both the world and His church’ (Schilder 1938:431). In
Christ’s act of sacrificial healing and liberation, the royal line of
David, ‘broken as it was, is restored to continuity’ (Schilder
1938:431). Christ’s sovereign act reveals that the liberation of the
oppressed is a critical marker of any Christ-centred execution of
sovereignty and power. Schilder argues that in this small act,
Jesus reveals that David’s royal line of kings did not fall because
‘the chariots of war were sent against him by the mighty powers
of Babylon and Cain’; but rather, David fell because of ‘his
stumbling over the lives of slaves’ (Schilder 1938:430). For a true
king of Israel would honour the Jubilee command. A true king ‘is
merciful, tender, just, and He ever sees the Father and the slave’
(Schilder 1938:430).
Schilder argues that the small and humble scale of Christ’s final
miracle reveals something important, as well. Christ’s sovereign
healing and power will not always take the cosmic and revolutionary
scale the world so often expects or demands. The royal power of
Christ’s sovereign is often limited, humble, partial and seemingly
small. Christ’s healing is not always ‘a piece of fireworks; it is a fire
which gives warmth and a light, which points out and discovers
the way’ (Schilder 1938:425). For the God who stopped to heal
Malchus ‘does not know what small wounds are; and he does not
know what insignificant people are’ (Schilder 1938:420).
Whilst the fate of the cosmos hangs in the balance, whilst

God’s only son is being arrested, Schilder marvels, Christ stops
and gives his full attention to wounds of a ‘little one’ like Malchus.
This is instructive. In times of seemingly cosmic-level crisis and
chaos, Christ’s humble attention to small wounds appears ‘foolish
and offensive to the flesh’ (Schilder 1938:424). What scandal that
the final miracle of God on earth is disclosed just ‘to a slave’
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(Schilder 1938:427). What scandal that a slave is the last mortal

to hear the ‘roaring turbulence of the waters of God’s justice and
grace, the thunder of the coming judgment and the present plea
of grace’ (Schilder 1938:431–432).
Schilder observes that this brief encounter in the garden
makes it abundantly clear that Christ’s royal liberation and healing
are a gift graciously given—not earned. The slave neither said nor
did anything to deserve Christ’s healing touch. Moreover,
Malchus’s aggression deserved a violent response from both
Peter and Jesus. Instead, the sovereign king reached out a
vulnerable hand to his attacker, a hand that would soon be
pierced and he healed the one who came to break him. He
liberated the one who came to bind.
This healing of Malchus had to happen, Schilder concludes.
Jesus knew that the ‘wind of the kingdom of heaven’, was going
to pass through the garden that night. It was going to ‘brush
past’ Malchus. Jesus knew that slave, without new ears, would
not be able to hear ‘whence it comes nor whither it goes’.
Deafened by the violence and control of imperial Rome, the
slave would not be able to hear Christ’s call to freedom — not
until his ears were healed. The aggressor could not recognise
the rushing sound of heaven’s wind until he ‘actually begins to
hear’ (Schilder 1938:419).
Klaas Schilder: The naked king

In debates over Muslim immigration, it is common to portray
Islam as uniquely violent and the West as uniquely peaceful.
Citizens in the West robe themselves with the labels of rationality,
peace and freedom whilst they robe their Muslim neighbours
with the labels of irrationality, violence and tyranny. The rhetorical
game is to make one’s Muslim neighbour the completely other.
Robed in all that is right and good, the West is free to take its
sovereign throne above Islam.
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Schilder’s second meditation is entitled ‘Christ Disrobed’. In

this extremely raw reflection, Schilder explores a rather
unwelcome question: What is the theological significance of the
Christ’s disrobing on the cross? What does it mean that the
sovereign king of the world allowed himself to be stripped naked?
Schilder’s primary readers were Dutch Calvinists—a rather
reserved and reverent lot. For readers who highly respected the
honour and dignity of their Lord, Schilder’s exploration of Christ’s
nakedness would be nothing short of traumatising. Schilder
acknowledges this fact when he asks his readers (Schilder 1940):
[I ]f the majesty of Christ is so overwhelming that we would not dare
approach Him by way of untying the laves of His sandals, how could we
dare to approach him in order to see his complete disrobing? (p. 169)
Excruciating as it might be, Schilder (1940:183) demands that his

readers stand watch as their ‘great Clothier is being stripped
naked’. ‘We want to avert our eyes, but we may not. We must
look on’. For Jesus ‘made this plundering of His clothes a sign for
all ensuing generations’ (Schilder 1940:168). For, in his disrobing,
‘the Naked Christ speaks’ (Schilder 1940:186). Those who claim
to be disciples must stand, look and listen to ‘what the Spirit has
to say to the churches about the naked Christ who was crucified
amidst the bandits’ (Schilder 1940:168).
God’s body was stripped, mocked and spit upon on. This fact,
Schilder argues, confronts casual Christians with the truly
scandalous nature of the cross and what it means to carry one.
When Jesus is stripped naked, exposed for all to see, the world
mocks him. The naked king exposed before the world is not
beheld as beautiful, wise or powerful—he is mocked as ugly, weak
and pathetic. Those who gaze at his nakedness either pity or
mock the disgraced criminal and failed revolutionary who claimed
to be king. For, Schilder (1940) writes:
[T ]he offense and the foolishness of the cross was intensified and
aggravated by the spectacle of the naked Christ ... . We have here
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a naked God, a naked Messiah, hanging on the cross. Is it any

wonder that even today we can find on the walls of certain old
barracks of antiquity [Roman] caricatures in which the Saviour of
the Christians was represented by this or that soldier as a crucified
donkey? (p. 175)
Those following the naked king should not expect praise or

acceptance from the world, Schilder insists. The vicious mocking
and derision of the naked king received on the cross is closer to
the mark. After all, Schilder notes, Jesus, in his Sermon on the
Mount, himself predicted that his followers would have to ‘endure
three requisitions … Injury of the body, impairment of property,
and infringement of liberty’ (Schilder 1940:184). Here on the
cross, ‘Christ himself was completely faithful to His own threefold
demand’ (Schilder 1940:184). In succession he allowed himself to
be bound, beaten and robbed. In this degrading moment, the
true cost of following such a king is fully exposed—stripped bare.
His nakedness represents an opportunity for onlookers to behold
and consider the cost of following him.
At this point, Schilder makes a dramatic and unexpected pivot.
Whilst Christ was indeed stripped bare on the cross, Schilder
(1940:186) argues that in fact humanity is ‘really the one who was
disrobed on Golgotha’. For, as we ‘look carefully upon His naked
death, upon His essential nakedness’ (Schilder 1940:187), we see
that in our stripping of Christ, our own sinful aggression and violence
is being stripped bare. His nakedness exposes our own. We see on
the cross that it is ‘We’ who ‘have robbed God’ and in God’s naked
exhibition, all ‘souls are being discovered’ (Schilder 1940:169).
Schilder argues that the stripping of Jesus lays bare humanity’s
pretensions of morality, tolerance and intelligence. Christ’s
nakedness exposes our acts of benevolence as a thin and tattered
cloth feebly covering our deeper desires for domination and
oppression. In the shadow of Christ’s nakedness, Schilder declares
that I must look at myself and finally admit ‘to those who ask about
it: I am the soldier who removed His clothes’ (Schilder 1940:187).
187
Moreover, in allowing me to disrobe him, Schilder declares that he

now sees what truly happened — Christ ‘has taken all my clothes
from me, and has put me, naked and cold, on display before the
universe’ (Schilder 1940:187). For in his disrobing, we are fully
exposed. We see ourselves for who we truly are—violent, fearful
and selfish. Beholding the naked king, we see our true nature in all
its nakedness. Our pretensions of love, tolerance and peace are
laid bare.
Whilst Schilder’s view of human nature is dark indeed, he does
not leave his readers naked and shivering in a state of total
despair. In fact, it is here at the lowest point of the meditation
that Schilder points to a deep hope. This hope is grounded—not
in the goodness of humanity—but in the goodness of God.
‘Nevertheless’, Schilder declares, ‘blessed be his hand. He did no
gambling’ with humanity’s clothes. Whilst Christ ‘was in His
rights’, to leave humanity cold, naked, shivering and alone, ‘He
acted justly and mercifully’. By Christ’s grace, a warm ‘cloak has
been prepared for me’, a garment ‘of righteousness’ (Schilder
1940:187). For in ‘His loss we gain’ — in his nakedness, we are
clothed (Schilder 1940:174).
Following the naked slave-king

between Mecca and Amsterdam
Schilder’s two meditations evoke a wide range of Christological
insights for Christians walking amidst the conflict over Muslim
immigration. Whilst Abraham Kuyper was correct in his
assessment of Christ as a sovereign and almighty king, Schilder’s
two meditations offer needed insights into the person of Jesus
Christ and the shape of Christ’s sovereign reign. The following
brief reflections on the political implications of the naked slave-
king are only a start.
Firstly, in his healing of Malchus, Christ’s royal concern for the
poor, the outcast and the oppressed is marked out as a central
characteristic of his divine sovereignty and justice. More than
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that, Christ’s sovereign act of liberation and healing is directed,

not towards a friend who comes in peace, but towards an enemy
who comes to bind. As noted earlier, it is not uncommon to hear
cries that Islam has come to bind the West and that Muslims
know nothing of freedom, tolerance and peace. Such claims are,
of course, highly debatable. That said, even if these claims were
true, the supposed violence of Islam does not negate the
normativity of Christ’s peaceful response to Malchus. Christ
healed, not simply when he was safe and secure, but also when
he was being bound and led to his death. Disciples who follow
the healer of Malchus are called to stretch out their hands even
towards those who would come to bind them. The chaotic
cacophony of Gethsemane (like the battle over Muslim
immigration) is complex, challenging and sometimes frightful —
this crisis, however, does not negate the command.
Secondly, moving on, those who follow the healer of the slave
will often be called to respond to the enormity of the conflict
over Islam in ways considered small and insignificant in the eyes
of the world. Nurses, teachers and shopkeepers, people who
interact with Muslims in the everyday and mundane activities of
life, all of them follow a king who ‘does not know small wounds’
or ‘insignificant people’ (Schilder 1938:420). Amidst this clash of
civilisations, humble disciples are called to engage in small acts
of tender care for their Muslim neighbours — and enemies.
Thirdly, following a king who turns ‘slaves into lords’ directly
impacts how disciples frame the potential futures of their Muslim
neighbours. Rather than framing new Muslim immigrants as
future recipients of government aid, education and care, disciples
need to frame them as potential lords. Christ approached the
wounded slave as a sacred creature made in the image of God,
someone created for lordship. Jesus saw in Malchus not a weak
slave, but a powerful lord who was created to fill, steward and
rule the earth. In the same way, framing Muslim immigrants as
nothing more than helpless or passive recipients of Western
generosity, surveillance and education needs to be taken off
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the table. Disciples of the slave-king will not stand to see

immigrants languish as passive clients of the state. Muslims were
not created to be the objects of cultural assimilation campaigns.
They were created to be the makers of culture themselves.
Will my Muslim neighbours convert? Will they ever join my
church? How do I know if they are saved? It’s instructive that
Malchus’ ultimate fate is never explored in the biblical account.
Readers are not told whether he ultimately joined the Jesus
movement. The focus of the narrative is on Christ’s initial act of
healing — not on Malchus’ secondary response. Likewise, Christian
pluralists must be more concerned with faithful initial acts of
healing and liberation towards Islam. The secondary response of
their Muslim neighbours is, biblically speaking, not their
responsibility. Knowing the ultimate fate of either Malchus or
Islam is not our primary concern.
Fourthly, disciples of a naked Christ who choose to walk
vulnerably alongside their Muslim neighbours should expect to
be mocked and misunderstood by the watching world. The
accusations that they are soft on terrorism and are comingling
with criminals should come as no surprise to those who follow
the one who was ‘crucified amidst the bandits’ (Schilder 1940:168).
Fifthly, Christian pluralists look at themselves and recognise
their own tendencies towards cultural and political hegemony.
Their inherent aggression and violence have been exposed
by the naked Christ. In the shadow of the cross, they too have
heard their own voices cry out for violence and vengeance.
Christian pluralists walking between Mecca and Amsterdam will
carry a deep recognition of their own naked aggression and
selfishness. They will know that there is no potential for violence
in Islam which is not also present in them. They will know that,
whilst they might clothe themselves with the veneer of Western
tolerance and multiculturalism, all citizens, themselves included,
are capable of the violence exposed at Golgotha.
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Finally, Christian pluralists will remember that when they were

naked, cold and shivering in their own violence and aggression,
the naked king took pity on them and clothed them with grace
and peace. When they were intolerant, he was tolerant. Furthermore,
such Christians will know that their robes of righteousness that
warm and protect them were graciously given—not earned.
Without their great Clothier, they would still be alone shivering in
naked violence and aggression. If Christian pluralists ever prove
capable of any love or any tolerance for their Muslim neighbours,
it is thanks to clothes they never could have made.
Hans Boersma: The hospitable king

Into this world, this demented inn, in which there is absolutely no room
for Him at all, Christ has come uninvited .… His place is with those
others for whom there is no room .… He is mysteriously present in
those for whom there seems to be nothing but the world at its worst.
(Thomas Merton 1964:72, 73, 75).
[God] stretched out His hands on the Cross, that He might embrace
the ends of the world; for this Golgotha is the very center of the earth.
(Cyril of Jerusalem 1994:7, 89)
In the fragmented and fractured West, the ancient concept of

hospitality has made a resurgence in political discourses about
Islamic immigration and integration. But what, exactly, is meant
by the term hospitality? When Western politicians ask their
citizens to show hospitality to Muslim immigrants and asylum-
seekers, it is only natural to request a definition. What is
hospitality? What are its demands? What are its limits? And why,
exactly, is the West obligated to show hospitality to Islam? To
continue this chapter’s theme of reframing Islam through
Christology, how might a Christ-centred understanding of
hospitality frame a Christian’s response to Islam?
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Hans Boersma is a contemporary theologian whose recent

work explores the theme of hospitality in the atoning work of
Christ on the cross. Atonement studies are historically concerned
with two primary questions. Firstly, what work has the cross of
Christ actually accomplished? And secondly, what is the
significance of that atoning work for the Christian life? Responses
to these questions have historically fallen into one of three lines
of argument. The first line argues that the cross functions as a
moral example or model of the sort of non-violent and sacrificial
life a follower of Jesus should lead. The second line argues that
the cross was the moment in which the moral debts of humanity
were paid. The third and final line insists that the cross was the
site of Christ’s victory over the spiritual and political powers of
this world. The diversity of interpretations and positions is no
accident. It reflects the diversity of metaphors, images and
messages attributed to the cross in the Scriptures themselves.
Hans Boersma’s theological contribution to these
interpretations of the cross is the unifying theme of hospitality. In
the end, Boersma concludes that the cross should be understood,
first and foremost, as an act of hospitality. Moreover, Boersma
(2006:18) regards ‘hospitality as the soil in which the various
models of the atonement can take root and flourish’. He argues
that at its very core the cross represents an opening up of God’s
very self to a world that has closed itself off from the divine
embrace. In other words, the cross makes space in a world that
regards itself as full.
Boersma sees hospitality, not only as the essential calling of
Christ but as the essential calling of the Christian, as well. For him
(Boersma 2006):
Christ’s death and resurrection constitute the ultimate expression of
God’s hospitality and form the matrix for an understanding of all God’s
actions and as such the normative paradigm for human actions. (p. 26)
Moreover, Boersma concludes that disciples of the hospitable

One must actually embody his hospitality in their ecclesial and
public lives.
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Whilst Boersma has his differences with his own Reformed

tradition (which we will explore later), he continues to defend
some critical aspects of its perspective on the atonement. One of
the most prominent points of agreement between Boersma and
the tradition is their mutual affirmation and defence of the wrath
of God against sin, violence and injustice. Whilst many modern
theologians have attempted to remove any vestige of divine
wrath from the cross, Boersma (2006:92) praises the Reformers
for recognising that divine wrath is a necessary aspect of God’s
hospitality. The violence of the world is not simply endured on
the cross—it is punished, in and through Christ’s body. For
Boersma and the Reformers argue that violence demands justice,
aggression demands punishment and sin demands death. If God
truly loves the world, the violence that actively despoils and
destroys it must, by necessity, summon God’s wrath. Boersma
argues that the Reformed tradition’s frank recognition of God’s
wrath is to be preserved and praised.
Beyond this, Boersma also affirms the Reformers for rightly
arguing that Christian love and hospitality require the maintenance
of limits and boundaries. Walls need not necessarily separate—they
can, in fact, cultivate connection. Bounded communities—social
spaces with insiders and outsiders—such as families, associations,
institutions, nations and states are, in one sense, a gracious gift of
divine hospitality. Each of these bounded communities provides a
dedicated space in which a finite number of human beings can
experience the safety, solidarity and intimacy of community.
Describing these bounded communities as merely exclusive fails to
recognise their capacity for hospitality.
Moreover, Boersma argues, these bounded communities
provide an opportunity for insiders to reflect Christ’s hospitality
by periodically opening their spaces to outsiders. To illustrate the
point, take my family, for example. In order for my family to reflect
divine hospitality, it must open itself up to outsiders—it must
welcome them in. That said, my family can practice that hospitality
only if it is allowed to maintain some level of distinction between
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insiders and outsiders. Some boundary between what is family

and what is world is crucial. If my family was perpetually open for
all to come and go as they please, if I made no distinction between
my wife and my neighbour, if I treated my children and neighbour’s
children the same, two things would happen. Firstly, my family
would lose its integrity and sense of self when no distinction
between family and world is maintained. Secondly, in losing its
integrity, my family would lose its internal capacity to offer
hospitality to outsiders in the future.
Let’s move our analogy of hospitality from the family to the
state. All states require borders if they hope to develop any sense
of safety and solidarity amongst their citizens. Without borders,
without a distinction between insiders and outsiders, hospitality
quickly becomes impossible. States, as we will discuss later, must
also reflect in some way God’s divine hospitality. That said, a state’s
hospitality to outsiders must not destroy its communal integrity
and its ability to show hospitality in the future. Finite states, like
finite families, must recognise their boundaries and limits. It is
certainly true that sometimes the walls of the family and the state
are too high; it is true that sometimes doors are closed when they
need to be open. That said, those walls and doors remain
necessary—they make the ensuing hospitality possible.
The need for communal limits is not only a matter of practical
common sense, argue Boersma and the Reformers, but communal
limits are also a matter of theological command. Both argue that
God has created human beings and their communities form as
finite, limited and bounded spaces. Thus to deny the finite limits
of a community’s hospitality is not only to deny the law of
common sense; it is to deny the law of God, as well.
Both Boersma and the Reformers argue that the world is not
only finite, but it is also fallen. Boersma praises the Reformers for
their recognition of humanity’s fall into violence and aggression.
Moreover, he praises them for understanding that, in a fallen
world, sometimes social boundaries of communities need to be
protected with the use of force. In a violent world, state coercion
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is required if families, schools, communities and states are to

have integrity and remain hospitable in the future. Violent
behaviour cannot go unpunished. Lawless societies must be
made lawful. In this sense, Boersma (2006:75) argues,
the Reformers are to be praised because they have ‘taken these
limitations and boundaries extremely seriously’.
In its desire to protect distinct communities from violence and
disorder, the Reformed tradition has developed a brilliant and
effective political theology based on the necessity of public
justice, law, order and punishment. Throughout the centuries,
Reformed political leaders and theorists have insisted that finite
and fallen communities require a set of enforced boundaries if
they are to live together in peace. Thus, whilst a utopian ‘politics
of absolute hospitality and absolute nonviolence may seem
appealing’, the Reformers knew that a society without boundaries
would be ‘a recipe for … the worst kind of violence’ (Boersma
2006:178, emphasis mine). In short, they knew that a society
without limits would not be a dream, but a nightmare.
In the end, Boersma concludes that the Reformed tradition’s
emphasis on law and order, boundary and punishment was cultivated
through its highly juridical understanding of the cross. According to
this juridical approach, the cross was a place where unlawfulness
was punished, order was restored and debts were repaid. On the
cross, the limits and boundaries of the law were satisfied.
Toward a reformed hospitality

John Calvin’s Geneva, Oliver Cromwell’s England, and Hendrik
Verwoerd’s South Africa all suffered the effects of a theology that, in
many respects, was less than hospitable.
(Boersma 2006:239)
Whilst Hans Boersma is appreciative of the Reformed tradition’s

juridical contributions to his understanding of the atonement and
Christian hospitality, he is not uncritical. Though the Reformers
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were certainly correct that ‘God’s hospitality requires violence’ and

that ‘his love necessitates wrath’, Boersma repeatedly insists that
violence and wrath are not among God’s essential attributes. In his
origin, essence and end, God is love. God is (Boersma 2006):
[N]ot wrath; he is a God of hospitality, not a God of violence. Hospitality
bespeaks the very essence of God, while violence is merely one of the
ways to safeguard or ensure the future of his hospitality … . (p. 49)
The danger for the Reformers is this: In their eagerness to defend

divine wrath, they allow this penultimate work of God to
overshadow God’s ultimate work — the work of hospitality.
Boersma (2006:68) reminds his readers that John Calvin
himself evinced a clear and enduring ‘desire to hold on to the
hospitality of God’. For in Calvin there is ‘no rationale’ given for
God’s beautiful work of the cross ‘beyond his generous hospitality’
(Boersma 2006:55). God freely elects, saves and welcomes
people into the divine embrace because God is, at God’s core,
hospitable. Reading Calvin’s reflections on the cross, one does
not encounter a God of intrinsic wrath but one of everlasting love.
The violence and judgment God displays on the cross is not an
enduring posture; Calvin sees it as a temporary task. According to
Calvin, the cross restores God’s everlasting covenant of hospitality
through a temporary work of violence and wrath. The ultimate
work of the cross, according to Calvin is not wrath — it’s love.
That said, Boersma worries that a lingering danger hovers
throughout John Calvin’s work on the atonement. Calvin, he
explains, unwittingly allows a problematic ‘tension’ to develop
‘between the forceful and even violent character’ of God and the
‘hospitable’ character of God (Boersma 2006:68). In short,
Calvin’s depiction of the cross sometimes begins to reflect a work
that is equal parts divine wrath and divine mercy, equal parts
divine judgment and divine hospitality.
Whilst Calvin successfully maintained this tension, Boersma
(2006:68) fears that many of his ‘successors eliminated it all
together’. Unfortunately, ‘in later Calvinism the violence of God’s
absolute will overshadows the hospitality of his revealed will’
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(Boersma 2006:56). The heirs of Calvin extended the momentary

judgment of the cross ‘into the realm of eternity, thereby locating
the violence of divine exclusion at the very core of God’s character’
(Boersma 2006:75). In such a picture, the ‘hospitality of God is
constantly in danger of being overshadowed’ (Boersma 2006:61).
The wrath of God comes to define the very essence of God.
Judgment — not hospitality — gradually becomes God’s telos.
The political result of this overly juridical approach to the
atonement was a Reformed theopolitical imagination that
demanded justice and lost sight of hospitality, and that demanded
political order and lost sight of political love.
Cruciform hospitality amidst

Muslim immigration
How might Christological hospitality be publicly embodied
amidst the clash between Islam and the West? The task of the
theologian is not to lay down a set of universal prescriptions, but
to develop a Christological imagination for hospitable action.
Christian hospitality will look different in different times and
places. Teachers, lawyers, shop owners, politicians, managers,
nurses and architects will need to develop their own hospitable
imaginations for their specific callings amidst the debate over
Muslim immigration. The Christian act of making space for Islam
will look different in every sphere of society. Christian hospitality
will need to be creatively imagined in the home, neighbourhood,
business, school and state.
Whilst I cannot, and should not, proclaim what Christian
hospitality looks like in all times and places, I can say with great
confidence that the hospitality of the cross is normative for every
aspect of public life. To re-appropriate Abraham Kuyper’s famous
phrase, there is not ‘one square inch’ in public square where
Christ’s hospitality does not have relevance. Christ made space
for humanity on the cross, and the proper human response to
that hospitality is to make it one’s own. A disciple’s personal
experience of divine hospitality must overflow into the social,
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economic, cultural and even political lives of those who live

amidst the debate over Muslim immigration. Because Christ
opened his nail-pierced hands to friend and foe alike, his disciples
must reflect that posture in all of their interactions with Islam.
Furthermore, ‘Christian disciples must make hospitality, not
justice, the primary frame through which they understand their
public and political obligations toward Islam’ (Kaemingk
2018:186). This does not mean that justice and order have lost
their importance. The state remains responsible for establishing
law, order and public justice. In a sinful world of terrorism and
extremism, the coercive tasks of the state remain necessary. In
this sense, the juridical task of Abraham Kuyper’s pluralistic state
remains fundamentally unaltered. However, in light of the cross,
Kuyperian discussions of plural justice must now be placed within
the larger frame of plural hospitality. For now, the state does not
execute justice for the sake of justice. No. Public justice must now
be executed to protect a greater goal—public hospitality. Justice
divorced from hospitality ceases to be justice (Boersma
2006:255). For, as Boersma (2006:239) argues, ‘just as penal
elements do not have a final say with regard to the atonement, so
also public justice cannot rely on legal categories alone’.
The word hospitality must not be misunderstood. ‘The
hospitality of the cross is neither soft nor permissive. It does not
appease, it is not naïve about worldly violence, nor is it incapable
of defending itself’ (Kaemingk 2018:191). The state’s defence of
hospitality within its borders requires regulation, coercion and
even occasional acts of war. Hospitable families, schools,
neighbourhoods, churches and mosques can never flourish when
disorder and violence are allowed to run rampant. Kaemingk
(2018:191) puts it as follows, ‘[t]errorism must be punished and
justice must be executed if hospitality is to endure’. Likewise, ‘the
state has a divinely given responsibility to protect its boundaries
and acknowledge its limits’ (Kaemingk 2018:191). In a finite and
fallen world, one cannot ask a state to open wide its doors and let
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individuals come and go as they please. The long-term hospitality

of the state depends on the integrity of its laws and borders.
In this sense, disciples of the hospitable king can and should
be involved in the maintenance of state limits, laws and boundaries.
Followers of Jesus can therefore be called to serve the state
through the police, military and counter-terrorism forces.
Disciples who participate in these activities should never do so
out of an ultimate desire to inflict revenge, gain advantage or
even to establish public justice. The ultimate goal of their service
must be the restoration of public hospitality through the provision
of a safe and just public square.
Christian hospitality amidst the debate over Muslim
immigration cannot be sustained in individualistic isolation.
Boersma argues that God’s hospitality must be celebrated,
remembered and practiced in the community. Without the
encouragement of the community, individuals can quickly
become swept up in violent narratives of an ultimate and
inevitable ‘clash of civilisations’. The church itself, Boersma
(2006:238) insists, must become a generative space of hospitality.
For if ‘the Church is the continuation of Christ’s presence in the
world, the redemptive hospitality of the atonement continues in
and through the Church’ (Boersma 2006:20).
Finally, the Reformers were right to insist that the atonement
is the work of Christ—not Christians. Likewise, Christians are not
the original authors of hospitality—Christ is. Left to their own
devices, Christians would never open their doors; they would
close them. On their own, they would do nothing but build
higher and higher walls around their homes, neighbourhoods,
schools and states. If any hospitality is going to be lived out by
Christians amidst the violence and hatred of the current clash, it
will be the work of Christ—not of Christianity. The only reason
Christians could ever make space for a Muslim is because Christ
first made space for them.
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The complex king

We have now met Christ the sovereign and Christ the slave, the
liberator and the healer, and the naked and the hospitable.
We have also seen that Christ’s life is not limited to the sphere of
the heart, but that it is deeply public. He calls his disciples to be
agents of hospitality in politics and economics, the arts and
sciences, in nature and the city, and the family and the church.
Whilst this complex image of Christ and his work is inspiring,
it is also overwhelming. After all, how can a single Christian ever
hope to follow such a multifaceted Christ and engage in such a
multifaceted mission? Which images of Christ do we follow?
Which spheres of life do we engage for Christ? Following the
complex Christ between Mecca and Amsterdam is far from
simple. Feelings of inadequacy and paralysis quickly sweep in.
Overwhelmed by the complexity of Christ’s call, we are tempted
to select a single image of Christ and declare it the exclusive
governor of the Christian life. Some select Christ’s call to fight for
justice, others to serve vulnerably, punish evil, show hospitality,
defend diversity or liberate the oppressed. But whenever the
Christian life is directed by a single Christological image or
command, it inevitably becomes myopic in its scope and fails to
grasp the multifaceted work of redemption and the fullness of
life that is found in Jesus Christ.
This section will explore how disciples might begin to bring
these disparate images of Christ and his work together and, in
doing so, construct a ninth way of framing their Muslim neighbour
and her headscarf. Here we will see how this ninth frame or this
Christological lens can avoid the ideological reductionism of the
world’s eight frames by focusing on the complex person and
multifaceted work of Jesus Christ.
I have found the reflections of Herman Bavinck to be
particularly helpful in bringing these kaleidoscopic images of
Christ together. His theological and ethical work is shot through
with an absolute rejection of all narrow and simplistic
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understandings of sin, redemption and the Christian life.

According to Bavinck, the destructive influence of sin in the world
is both extremely pervasive and complex. Like a virus, sin and
violence have spread to politics and business, religion and culture,
art and science. In order to meet this multifaceted need for
healing and restoration, Bavinck argues, Christ’s redemptive
calling to serve as a prophet, priest and king becomes (Bavinck
2003–2008a):
[S]o multifaceted that it cannot be captured in a single word nor
summarized in a single formula … all of them together help to give
us a deep impression and a clear sense of the riches and many-
sidedness of the mediator’s work … [they] supplement one another
and enrich our knowledge … . What matters above all, now, is not
to neglect any of them but to unite them into a single whole and to
trace the unity that underlies them in scriptures. (pp. 383–385)
Bavinck (2003–2008a):
The fruits of Christ’s sacrifice are not restricted to any one area of
life; they are not limited, as so many people think nowadays, to the
religious-ethical life, to the heart, the inner chamber, or the church,
but are extended to the entire world. For however powerful sin
may be … [t]he grace of God and the free gift through grace are
superabundant. (p. 451)
Bavinck (1989):
Therefore Christ has also a message for home and society, for art and
science. The word of God which comes to us in Christ is a word of
liberation and restoration for the whole man, for his understanding
and his will, for his body and his soul … . (p. 62)
In his Reformed Dogmatics, Herman Bavinck creatively

reappropriates the medieval concept of the munus triplex to
speak about the complexity of Christ’s life and work. The munus
triplex was historically used to describe the three distinct offices
or callings given to Jesus Christ by God. Jesus was simultaneously
charged to function as ‘the highest prophet, the only priest, [and]
the true king’ (Bavinck 2003–2008a:345). His threefold anointing
meant that he was called by God to teach the world (as a prophet),
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to reconcile the world (as a priest) and to lead the world (as a
king) (Bavinck 2003–2008a:367–368). Jesus was therefore
responsible for the threefold work of proclaiming truth, healing
division and establishing justice. All three offices were essential
to who Christ was and to what Christ accomplished. Moreover,
Bavinck (2003–2008a:367–368) insists, all three callings are
‘essential to the completeness of our salvation’. Reducing Jesus
to either a prophet, a priest or a king not only reduces his calling,
but it reduces his call on a disciple’s life, as well.
Note that, historically speaking, the three offices were not
meant to rigidly limit the richness of Christ’s person. They
functioned, rather, as a heuristic device through which medieval
Christians could grapple with the complexity of Christ’s significance
for the world and their lives. In a similar manner, Herman Bavinck
never limited Christ to being simply a prophet, priest and king. He
regularly spoke of Jesus as a friend, healer, fountain, creator,
liberator and teacher, as well.
Bavinck adds that Jesus is not sometimes a king, sometimes a
priest and sometimes a prophet. ‘Christ is everywhere and always
simultaneously a prophet, priest and king.... He is always these
things in conjunction, never the one without the other’ (Bavinck
2003–2008a:368). For, ‘no single activity of Christ can be
exclusively restricted to one office’ (Bavinck 2003–2008a:366).
Christ’s crucifixion functions simultaneously as ‘a confession and
an example’, a ‘sacrifice and a demonstration of his power’
(Bavinck 2003–2008a:367). For, ‘it is not possible to separate’
the three callings of Christ or, for that matter, the Christian
(Bavinck 2003–2008a:367).
Moreover, Bavinck insists that these three callings do not exist
in tension with one another. Instead, they participate in and
actively inform the execution of the others. Christ’s priestly
healing and prophetic proclamation impact the administration of
his kingship, power and sovereignty. In this, Christ the king ‘rules
not by the sword but by his Word and spirit’ (Bavinck
2003–2008a:367).
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Likewise, in his prophecy his ‘word is power’ and in his

priesthood, he ‘conquers by suffering, and is all-powerful by his
love’ (Bavinck 2003–2008a):
It is, accordingly, an atomistic approach, which detaches certain
specific activities from the life of Jesus and assigns some to his
prophetic and others to his priestly or royal office. Christ is the same
yesterday, today, and forever. He does not just perform prophetic,
priestly, and kingly activities but is himself, in his whole person,
prophet, priest, and king. And everything he is, says, and does
manifests that threefold dignity … he bears all three offices at the
same time and consistently exercises all three at once both before
and after his incarnation, in both the state of humiliation and that of
exaltation. (pp. 367–368)
Bavinck (2003–2008a:367–368) argues that the munus triplex

combines the rich character of Christ’s ‘wisdom, righteousness,
and redemption; truth, love, and power’. These three callings
enrich each other. The reconciliation found in Christ’s priestly
cross informs the justice found in his kingly crown. Both works
have public relevance and normativity. The healing cross does
not rest in tension with the just crown. The two are both essential
to who Christ is and what it means to follow him. Similarly, Christ’s
mercy is not opposed to Christ’s justice and the ‘cross of Christ is
the most powerful proof of this’ (Bavinck 1886:140). For, in ‘the
cross mercy and justice are reconciled’ (Bavinck 1886:140). The
cross ‘is at the same time a revelation of the highest love and of
strict justice, simultaneously a fulfillment of law and gospel’
(Bavinck 1886:132).
On the cross, the prophetic, priestly and kingly aspects of
Christ are unified and displayed in their fullness. They do not
overshadow or absorb one another. On the cross, Christ is weak
and strong, slave and king, and stripped and sovereign. The
wholeness of the cross must be held together, Bavinck insists.
Bavinck (2003–2008a):
Then it was suffering; now it is entering into glory. Then it was descent
to the nethermost parts of the earth; now it is ascent on high. But the
two are equally necessary to the work of salvation. In both states it
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is the same Christ, the same Mediator, the same Prophet, Priest, and
King. (p. 475)
In view of this threefold calling, Christians living amidst Mecca

and Amsterdam cannot reduce their callings to either the
prophetic deconstruction of hegemony, the priestly reconciliation
of diverse faiths and cultures, or the kingly establishment of plural
justice. Disciples of the whole munus triplex will continue to seek
Abraham Kuyper’s ‘public justice’. That said, they will do so not
simply as kings but as servants and sufferers, and liberators and
healers. They will execute justice in ways that are informed by the
priest’s healing and the prophet’s proclamation.
In light of this, disciples living amidst the struggle over Muslim
immigration will be called to approach the state from three
different directions. Some members of the church will be called
to prophetically criticise the state from the outside, others will be
called to establish royal justice from the inside, and still others
will be called to serve as priests of healing and reconciliation
throughout the political culture. The royal, prophetic and priestly
callings of the body of Christ will not be held in tension nor will
they be ranked in a hierarchy of importance. Instead, all three
callings of grace, truth and justice will be understood to be part
of the complex and multifaceted mission of Christ. For, as Bavinck
(2003-2008b) argues:
Christ — even now — is prophet, priest, and king; and by his Word
and Spirit he persuasively impacts the entire world. Because of him
there radiates from everyone who believes in him a renewing and
sanctifying influence upon the family, society, state, occupation,
business, art, science, and so forth. (p. 371)
Framing Muslim migrants in Christ

At the beginning of the chapter, I described eight distinct frames
Europeans apply to Muslim women and their headscarves. Each
of these frames shapes the way in which Europeans understand
and respond to their Muslim neighbours. I went on to argue that
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Christ should constitute an alternative frame for those who call

him Lord. Having surveyed a wide range of Christological images
in this chapter, I now want to briefly explore how these images
might contribute to that ninth frame.
We will begin with Abraham Kuyper’s royal image of Christ as

a king. Framing these Muslim women with Kuyper’s royal Christ,
the Christian would begin to view the women as the sovereign
possessors of divinely given authority and power. Their clothing,
families, cultures, schools and organisations would be viewed by
Christian onlookers as possessing a sacred freedom given to
them by Christ. Citizens and states that impinge upon the sacred
freedom and sovereignty of these Muslim women will be seen as
trampling, not simply on the sovereignty of these women, but on
the sovereignty of the king who gave it to them.
Christians who take up Klaas Schilder’s images of Christ would

frame these Muslim women in a very different way. According to
Schilder’s frame, these Muslim women would be viewed as the
sacred objects of Christ’s sacrificial love. In vulnerability and
humility, Christ came to liberate and heal, convict and clothe
these women with his very self. Whether these women are friends
or foes does not alter the disciples’ calling to humbly seek the
liberation and healing of these women. Framed by the One who
does not know ‘small wounds’ or ‘insignificant people’, (Schilder
1938:420) these women and their wounds will be taken seriously.
These Christians do not know and do not control the ultimate
decisions the women make; they are called simply to the ministry
of healing and reconciliation. Framed by the disrobed and naked
Christ, these Muslim women will never be seen as uniquely violent.
Christians who use this frame will see no aggression or violence
in the Muslim that they do not also see in themselves, for on the
cross the disrobed king has exposed the naked aggression and
violence of Christians and Muslims alike.
Framed by the Christology of Hans Boersma, these women

will be seen as a calling to a life of Christ-centred hospitality.
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When these women are framed by the hospitable Christ, Christians

will work to make space for them in the nation’s laws, schools,
businesses, neighbourhoods and even their own homes. When
these women are framed by the hospitality of the cross, there can
be no other response.
From Kuyper, Schilder, Boersma and Bavinck, these
Christological images constitute the beginnings of a more
complex ninth frame that far surpasses the other eight frames in
its sensitivity to the complex reality of who these women are,
what they are owed and where they are going.
That said, as stated earlier, Jesus is more than a frame to those
who call him Lord. He is more than a lens through which a person
can peer at a Muslim neighbour. Christ’s incarnation demands
that Christians step through the frame and actually live their lives
alongside their Muslim neighbours. In other words, Christians are
called not simply to look at these Muslim women through a
Christ-shaped frame, but they are called to walk alongside them
with a Christ-shaped life, as well.
Followers of a complex Christ will walk with their Muslim
neighbours in a complex variety of ways, and each of their unique
callings will reflect a different facet of Christ’s complex mission.
Christ’s hospitality will be embodied in the Christian teacher who
intentionally makes space for students who don the hijab. Christ’s
justice will be embodied in the Christian lawyer who defends the
rights of Muslim schools and organisations. Christ’s healing will
be embodied in the Christian doctor who shows sensitivity to the
cultural needs of a Muslim woman under his care. Christ’s truth
will be demonstrated in the activist who prophetically criticises
both secular and religious attempts to demonise and control
Islam. Christ’s nakedness will be revealed in Christian politicians
who openly confess past acts of anti-Islamic bigotry and
discrimination. Christ’s liberation will be shown in the Christian
manager of a grocery store who empowers young Muslims with
the honour and dignity of work. Christ’s friendship will be
embodied in a Christian family who welcomes their Muslim
neighbours over for a meal.
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The vast majority of these Christological acts of hospitality,

friendship and healing will be small in scale and short on public
notoriety. But, as Bavinck reminded the Christian pluralists of his
own day (Bavinck 1989):
What we need in these momentous times is not in the first place
something extraordinary but the faithful fulfilling of the various
earthly vocations to which the Lord calls his people. (p. 63)
Conclusion: Beyond paralysis

This much is clear, if people accept the call to follow Jesus amidst
the debate over Muslim immigration, they will be quickly flooded
and overwhelmed by two realities. Firstly, the conflict will
overwhelm them with its complexity and scale. Any one issue or
question within the conflict is more than enough for a lifetime.
One could dedicate one’s whole life to antiracism, women’s rights
and antiterrorism activities and never actually solve any of the
issues. Secondly, if Christians are not already overwhelmed by
the scope of the crisis, they will certainly be overwhelmed by the
scope of Christ’s call.
Reflecting on the call to follow Jesus in the modern world,
Herman Bavinck (1886:326–327) was acutely aware of this danger.
He argued that if we see Christ as our ‘moral example’, we will be
certain ‘to experience judgment on our own conscience’. For, if
Jesus is only our ‘example then he comes to judge us and not to
save us’ (Bavinck 1886:326–327). No mortal could ever bear the
full weight of Christ’s cross. No one could pay the full cost of
discipleship. The weight is too much — the cost too high.
Herein lies the critical pivot in Bavinck’s understanding of
Christian discipleship (Bavinck 1886):
Only when we know and experience Jesus as our Redeemer, as the
one whose suffering covers our guilt and whose Spirit fulfils the law
of God in us, only then do we dare to look at him and consider him
our example. (pp. 326–327; [author’s added emphasis])
On her own, a disciple could never follow Christ’s example in the

chaos and complexity of the debate over Muslim immigration.
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Bavinck insists that she must first understand her need for a
‘mystical union’ or ‘living communion with Christ’. This intimate
friendship and indwelling with Jesus is ‘the primary element of
the imitation of Christ’ (Bavinck 1886:328). Bavinck (1989)
laments that all too often the gospel is believed to be an ethical:
[B]urden too heavy to bear .... The gospel is not law but good news!
It came not to judge but to save … it has welled up from God’s free,
generous, and rich love. It does not kill but makes alive. (p. 62)
For Bavinck (2003–2008a:579), the initiating work of Christ’s

grace must be at ‘the beginning, the middle, and the end’ of the
entire Christian life. Christian ethics and the imitatio Christi flow
out of Christ’s redemptive grace. A deeper union and communion
with Christ is not the work of the disciple—it is a gracious ‘work
of God’ (Bavinck 2003–2008a:579). Discipleship comes out of
the grace of Christ. ‘It is of him, and through him, and therefore
also leads to him and serves to glorify him’ (Bavinck 2003–
2008a:579).
Christian disciples attempting to follow Jesus amidst the
debate over Muslim immigration can know that Christ does not
simply walk in front of them as a distant moral ideal; he walks
alongside them, as well. The moral and political paralysis one
feels, the sense of being overwhelmed by the size and complexity
of the crisis is birthed from the mistaken notion that the
Christian—and not Christ — must somehow solve the issue.
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Chapter 7
The phenomenon of
emigration of health
practitioners in South
Africa: A Protestant
perspective on global
guidance for the
individual decision
Riaan Rheeder
Keywords: Emigration; Health practitioners; UNESCO; Global

ethics; Autonomy; Social responsibility.
How to cite: Rheeder, R., 2020, ‘The phenomenon of emigration of health practitioners
in South Africa: A Protestant perspective on global guidance for the individual decision’,
in M. Kotzé & R. Rheeder (eds.), Life in Transit: Theological and Ethical Contributions on
209
The phenomenon of emigration of health practitioners in South Africa
Introduction
Global ‘movement of people is so [universal], constant and
[gigantic nowadays] that modern times are described as “The
age of migration”’ (Hollenbach 2011:807; Phan 2016:846; Rheeder
2018:72). More or less 232 million people can be regarded as
migrants today, which means that one out of every 30 persons in
the world lives outside his or her country of birth (Campese
2012:4; Groody 2016:225). The term brain drain was created in the
sixties and is defined as the depletion of the schooled, intellectual
and technical workforce because of the migration of, amongst
others, health workers to a more advantageous geographical,
economic and professional environment, which is regarded by
some as an abnormal form of scientific exchange (Akpinar-Elci,
Elci & Civaner 2016:427; Crozier 2016:1910; International Bioethics
Committee [IBC] 2015:19; Rheeder 2018:72). According to Ten
Have (2016:56–58), brain drain in the health environment is truly
a global problem, because it is a universal phenomenon that the
world can only solve in a collective way. Furthermore, it is a
bioethical issue, because it also influences human health
negatively and thus poses a normative challenge (see also Crozier
2016:1910). ‘Brain drain by the global affluent countries from poor
countries is worth attention since it is not only global-ethical
challenge, it is growing rapidly’ (Chuwa 2014:165). The brain drain
of health workers in SA is globally regarded to be so serious that
the World Health Organization (WHO), financed by the European
Union, launched an international project with the title ‘The Brain
Drain to Brain Gain’, with the purpose of convincing SA and other
countries (like India, Nigeria, Uganda and Ireland) of the
necessity — in the absence of a system monitoring the emigration
of health workers — of a ‘data system that registers and monitors
the emigration of specifically health workers’, as it would form
part of the problem solving (Rheeder 2018:72; WHO 2018). The
WHO argues, saying, ‘South African migrants, for instance, are
very attractive to prospective employers’ (Mahlathi & Dlamini
2017b:22). It is universally thought that SA is a ‘significant source
of doctors’ for all countries (Sumption & Fix 2014:101), especially
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because medical training in SA is regarded to be exceptionally

good (Mahlathi & Dlamini 2015:9). Currently, it seems there are
acute shortages of general practitioners and medical specialists
in SA and that brain drain has largely contributed to this situation
(more about this aspect later).
Despite the contribution of brain drain to the shortages of
general practitioners and medical specialists in the public sphere,
Mahlathi and Dlamini (2017a:19), ‘researchers of The Brain Drain
to Brain Gain…, [state] that “the emigration aspect of South African
health professionals appears not to be on the radar for tighter
control”’, ‘and they are of the opinion that especially article 21
(Freedom of movement and residence) of the South African
constitution is primarily responsible for ‘the lack of control’
(Rheeder 2018:72). The result of the emphasis on individual
freedom is that the decision to leave the country is essentially
made by the individual health worker. It is true that SA has
implemented several strategies since 1994 with a view to decrease
the emigration of health workers. Examples of measures are
support of the WHO Global Code of Practice on the International
Recruitment of Health Personnel (WHO 2010), the import of
health professionals, financial retention strategies, community
service for doctors, clinical associate scheme, low-cost offshore
training and comprehensive Human Immunodeficiency Virus
(HIV) and Acquired Immunodeficiency Syndrome (AIDS) care
and treatment programmes. According to Crush and Chikanda
(2018:11–18), these measures have had no significant influence,
precisely because of the fact that the final consideration rests
with the individual. Snyder (2014:757) is correct when he
describes the complexity of the issue, saying, ‘[t]he decision of
any individual health worker whether and where to migrate will
be a complex interplay between these push and pull factors and
will involve many individualistic considerations’. Although the
greater part of literature focuses on the responsibility of States
to address the problem (Brock 2016:416), it is clear that awareness
of the choice and responsibility of the individual has intensified
(Phan 2016:855). The obvious shift gives rise to the research
211
question that is also suggested by Crozier (2016:1913), namely

whether there could be global bioethical guidelines to guide the
health worker in his or her decision to migrate. Should it be
the case, a further question is whether these guidelines could
be founded on a reformational theological perspective on the
issue. The discussion of ethical guidelines is important because
the decision to emigrate (and the luring of migrants) can
be questioned ethically (IBC 2015:20) and even be suspected of
‘serious moral wrongdoing’ (Snyder 2014:755).
From this research question flow two aims. The first is
presenting universal bioethical guidelines that the individual
health worker has to consider when considering migration. The
focus in this study is not on the role of the state(s) in this
connection, but primarily on the individual that has to make the
decision. Universal guidelines indicate ethical principles that have
been accepted by the global community and are presented as
guidelines for individual health workers in decision-making. The
point of departure in this study is the global-ethical guidelines of
the Universal Declaration of Bioethics and Human Rights
(hereafter UDBHR), as accepted by the member states of the
United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization
(hereafter UNESCO). Although no mention is made of migration
in the UDBHR, according to Wilhelm-Solomon (2016:2389),
Snyder (2014:767) is convinced that the UDBHR does indeed
present ethical guidelines in this connection, saying, ‘[h]ealth
worker migration raises ethical concerns that have been
addressed in multilateral policy documents, including the
UNESCO Universal Declaration on Bioethics and Human Rights’.
The declaration presents itself as a universal guideline for health
workers, as Article 1.2 states, ‘[t]his Declaration is addressed to
States. As appropriate and relevant, it also provides guidance to
decisions or practices of individuals, groups, communities,
institutions and corporations, public and private’ (IBC 2015:7).
The aim of presenting guidelines relates to the WHO Global Code
of Practice in International Recruitment of Health Personnel
(WHO 2010), which calls upon member states to address the
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challenge of brain drain by ethical education, amongst others

(Article 5; IBC 2015:19), as well as the call upon member states by
the UDBHR to engage in bioethical education and training of
especially young health workers (Article 23.1; UNESCO 2006). In
this way, this aim is also directed at moral renewing of society.
The second aim, which flows forth from the first, is the
theological evaluation or grounding of the universal guidelines of
the UDBHR from a Protestant perspective. Matz (2017; see also
Van Leeuwen 2014:loc 192) thinks Protestant has a specific
meaning in the context of social ethics, saying:
For Protestants, Scripture is the ultimate authority for faith, life, and
doctrine, and this is no less true in the field of social ethics … Scripture
is foundational for Protestant social ethics … . (pp. 419–420)
It has to be kept in mind that the UDBHR, according to its

foreword, describes itself as ‘universal principles based on shared
ethical values’ (UNESCO 2006:n.p.), which are also known as
‘common morality’ and constitute an independent meta-ethical
theory. According to Rawls (1993:134), diverse ethical traditions
or groups accept shared values, but they do it because of different
or own reasons, ‘[i]n such consensus, the reasonable doctrines
endorse the political conceptions, each from its own point of
view’. In this way, shared values are confirmed by own moral
founding and thus the shared values are not experienced as
enforced by others, but as part of the own moral system.
Theological ethics can therefore make an important contribution
to the migration discourse (Hollenbach 2011:808). The desirability
and necessity of a methodology of theological (religious)
development of own reasons or theological grounding for
accepting the UNESCO universal bioethical principles are globally
acknowledged and applied (see Tham 2014; Tham, Garcia &
Miranda 2014; Tham, Kwan & Garcia 2017; Tham, Durante & Gómez
2018). In contrast to Snyman (2008:51), who is of the opinion that
human rights are the hermeneutical frame of reference that
determines the understanding of the Bible, the point of departure
of this study is that human rights have to be founded on the Bible
(religion). After such founding, human rights can be applied
213
authoritatively. The central theoretical statement of this study is

that the UDBHR presents global-ethical guidelines the individual
health worker has to consider when deciding to emigrate or not
and that a Protestant theology supports these guidelines. It has
to be underlined, however, that this is a continuing debate and
that much discourse is necessary (Crozier 2016:1910).
Subsequently, the research question will be discussed with
reference to the following points: (1) the serious implication of
the decision to emigrate (a few statistical data); (2) universal
guidelines that the health practitioner has to consider before
emigrating; (3) a Protestant social-ethical perspective on the
universal guidelines of the UDBHR.
A global-ethical problem
In order to fully understand the serious implication and necessity
of the first aim of presenting the guidelines from the UDBHR, it is
important to give brief attention to a few statistical data regarding
the brain drain of medical practitioner specialists in SA and the
reasons for this situation.
It is difficult to quantify the emigration of schooled professional
persons because SA statistics are contradictory and of low quality
in most cases. This is true for all professions. Studies comparing
the inadequate South African statistics with information of the
countries of destination have concluded that the calculated value
of South African emigration statistics is up to two-thirds smaller
than it should be (Crush & Chikanda 2018:3). Obtaining precise
migration statistics of health workers in SA therefore presents a
big challenge, because no official monitoring system exists
(Mahlathi & Dlamini 2017a:13). Information is primarily based on
incomplete information from different sources in SA, whilst most
information is obtained from the record systems of the destination
countries (Mahlathi & Dlamini 2015:3,6). Examples of relevant
reports are the thorough working paper of WHO (2014), namely
Migration of Health: WHO Code of Practice and the global economic
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crisis (hereafter Migration of Health) and the recent in-depth study

of Crush and Chikanda (2018), namely Staunching the Flow.
A few remarks on the statistics of the emigration of medical
doctors and specialists will now be made, but it has to be kept in
mind that a similar and sometimes a stronger tendency can be
observed amongst other health workers (e.g. nurses, etc.)
(Crush & Chikanda 2018:4; Mahlathi & Dlamini 2017b:9–13;
Sumption & Fix 2014:101; Young & Sumption 2014:163–165).
Migration of Health and Staunching the Flow indicates that SA is
amongst the 10 countries providing most doctors to Australia,
the United Kingdom (hereafter UK), Canada and the United
States of America (hereafter US). During the period 2006–2011,
632 doctors emigrated to Australia, and during the period
2004–2012, 1084 highly qualified medical specialists moved to
Australia (Crush & Chikanda 2018:4; Hawthorne 2014:111, 116, 121–
123, 128). According to Migration of Health, the flow of South
African doctors to the UK up to 2003 reached a highpoint of
more or less 3000 and it has increased to 7718 in 2005 (Crush &
Chikanda 2018:4–5). It is said that more or less 50 doctors
emigrate to the UK per year. Migration of Health states further
that at the moment, most SA doctors migrate to Canada, a
migration showing a growing tendency (see also Crush & Chikanda
2018:4). This migration has increased from 2034 in 2006 to 2547
in 2012 (see also Crush & Chikanda 2018:4). In America, according
to the statistics of the American Medical Association, 1474 South
African doctors are working in that country (Crush & Chikanda
2018:4). The study of Brugha, McAleese and Humphries (2015:3,
8, 17), without mentioning the annual emigration numbers, states
that SA is one of the top non-European countries contributing to
the number of doctors in Ireland, and that doctors from India,
Pakistan, Sudan and SA together constitute more or less 33.4% of
the doctor corps in Ireland.
In respect of the tendency of medical practitioners to emigrate,
Crush and Chikanda (2018) make the following critical remark,
saying:
215
The medical brain drain from South Africa is unlikely to subside in

the short and medium term, as various surveys show that the health
professionals and trainees exhibit very high emigration potential. (p. 5)
This remark is based on the alarming results of several empirical

studies from 2007 to 2013, which show that a large percentage of
medical practitioners and students seriously consider to leave
the country within 5 years (Crush & Chikanda 2018:5–6, 11–25;
Crush et al. 2014:1–6).
It is generally accepted that there is a big shortage of medical
practitioners in SA in the public sector and that this shortage is
seriously increased by emigration. A few facts have to be
considered. In 2013, 12014 general practitioners and 4948
specialists worked in the public sector (Crush & Chikanda 2018:6).
Annually, more or less 1300 general practitioners and 300
specialists are trained in SA. Research shows, however, that more
or less 25% of these newly trained practitioners will emigrate and
that a further 6% will retire, leave the occupation or die (Crush &
Chikanda 2018:8; Econex 2010:7). In addition, the medical
practitioners trained are up to 28% less than the number allowed
by the capacity of medical schools (Crush & Chikanda 2018:7;
Strachan, Zabow & Van der Spuy 2011:523–528). ‘In other words,
the country is not producing as many new medical doctors as it
could’, is the conclusion of Crush and Chikanda (2018:7). Of the
medical practitioners who are trained, only 38% end up in the
public sector (Crush & Chikanda 2018:8; Strachan et al.
2011:523–528). The Department of Health (2011:32) summarises
the above information, saying, ‘... the high level attrition of health
professionals from South Africa is creating a shortage of health
professionals in the country, despite the number being trained’.
This reality leads to the following numbers: In SA, there are
more or less 77 medical practitioners for every 100 000 citizens,
which are more than the 20 per 100 000 citizens recommended
by the WHO (2018), but far smaller than the ratio in industrial
countries such as Canada, where there are 209 practitioners per
100 000 citizens. Some of the poorer provinces in SA have less
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practitioners than the recommended number (Limpopo:

17/100 000; North-West: 20/100 000). Crush and Chikanda
(2018:10) remark on the vacancies, saying, ‘[t]he shortage of
health professionals in South Africa is also reflected in the
growth in the number of vacant posts, especially in the public
sector’. Research has shown that the percentage of vacant posts
in the public sector may be as high as 56% (Crush & Chikanda
2018:10). Statistical modelling suggests that the number of
medical doctors will decrease with 5000 by 2020, and it is
further said that by 2020, the ratio between general practitioners
and citizens will decrease to 30 per 100 000 citizens, and
between specialists and citizens to 16 per 100 000 (Crush &
Chikanda 2018:10; Econex 2010:1–10).
It is understandable that choices of individuals to migrate will
further aggravate the shortage of medical practitioners and
specialists. Such a shortage will be harmful to the health of
citizens in SA, as is clear from the remark by the journalist Bongani
Mthethwa (2017) after the resignation of two oncologists. He
commented on the fact that the entire KwaZulu-Natal was left
with only two specialists in 2017, saying, ‘[t]his shocking
development leaves hundreds — if not thousands — of cancer
patients in KwaZulu-Natal’s biggest city facing clinical uncertainty
and staring the possibility of death squarely in the face’ (Mthethwa
2017:n.p.). Obi (2017) adds the following to this remark, saying:
[E ]fforts to reduce poverty, lower mortality rates and treat HIV/AIDS
patients as articulated in the Millennium Development Goals (MDG)
[are] jeopardized by the loss of health personnel in sub-Saharan
Africa. (p. 18)
The reasons for emigration are globally more or less the same
and contribute to the gravity of the decision by the health
practitioner. They are justifications that cannot be disregarded. A
variety of push factors are found in health workers’ countries of
origin. Some workers experience obstacles in their work
environment and personal lives. Professional factors such as the
work load, together with shortages of support personnel, the
217
lack of sufficient equipment, facilities and other resources, poor

work conditions such as work in areas with a high incidence of
serious diseases and mismanagement have a big influence on the
decision to emigrate. Economic factors such as low salaries, few
opportunities for further professional education and development
also contribute to the unsatisfactory situation of health
practitioners. Social-political factors such as high levels of
violence, instability, incompetent governments, corruption,
insufficient living conditions and the collapse of public health
care are important push factors (Akpinar-Elci et al. 2016:427–428;
Brock 2016:408; Crozier 2016:1910; Crush & Chikanda 2018:1–6;
IBC 2015:19; Snyder 2014:756). According to research, high levels
of crime, personal and family safety and government policy are
the major reasons for the emigration of medical practitioners
(Crush & Chikanda 2018:21; Crush et al. 2014:1–9).
Pull factors are sometimes just the opposite of the push factors;
for example, a better income and better work conditions (Brock
2016:409-410; IBC 2015:19; Snyder 2014:756). Although there is
evidence that some health workers who have emigrated to other
countries are exposed to violence, neglect, animosity and lower
salaries (Akpinar-Elci et al. 2016:429), Snyder (2014:761) is correct
when he says that ‘the benefits for individuals may be significant’.
It is clear that the decision to emigrate (or not to emigrate)
has definite individual or social implications.
Subsequently, two universal bioethical guidelines will be
presented with the purpose of guiding the individual health
worker in the process of deciding whether to emigrate or not.
Global-ethical perspective
In light of the serious individual and social consequences of the
decision to emigrate, further attention is now given to the first
aim by discussing two universal guidelines that have to be
formally considered by the individual health practitioner. The
point of departure of this section of the article is the universal
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bioethical guidelines as specifically declared in the UDBHR.

Firstly, attention will be given to the question why the UNESCO
declaration is used as a frame of reference for presenting global
bioethical guidelines. Secondly, attention will be given to the
relevant ethical guidelines in the declaration.
In the first place, why should the UDBHR be used? The UDBHR
was unanimously (without any dissentient vote, reserve or
qualification) accepted by all member states in 2005
(IBC 2008:45; Ten Have & Jean 2009:17). That means, in the
history of global bioethics, the declaration with its 15 bioethical
principles was the first bioethical (political) text to which almost
all governments in the world, also SA, committed themselves; it
still has that status (UNESCO 2005:74). It is extremely significant
that all the member states of UNESCO were able to agree with
each other on the principles in the declaration, which marked a
special achievement for universal bioethics. The acceptance also
means, however, that the instrument and relevant articles do not
merely have symbolic value for studies, but that they are intended
and accepted as an instrument with moral authority and duties
that have to be regarded very seriously (Ten Have 2011:20–21;
Wilhelm-Solomon 2016:2391). The fact that the bioethical
principles and norms are presented in terms of human rights
strengthens the moral appeal of the declaration (Kirby 2009:78;
Ten Have 2016:103,106). It means there is a global consensus on
bioethical principles that can be relevant in guiding the individual’s
decision whether to emigrate or not.
In the second place, a few principles in the UDBHR are relevant
to the issue of brain drain in SA. The first is Article 3.2 (Human
dignity) and the second, Article 14 (Social responsibility). Some
researchers are of the opinion that Article 15 (Sharing of benefits)
is also relevant to the issue, but because of limited space, this
principle will not be investigated here (Ten Have 2016:225). The
first universal ethical principle that is directly connected to the
health worker that considers emigration, according to Snyder
(2014:767), is Article 3.2, which reads as follows, ‘[t]he interests
and welfare of the individual should have priority over the sole
219
interest of science or society’. Article 3.2 is connected with Article

5, which states, ‘[t]he autonomy of persons to make decisions,
whilst taking responsibility for those decisions and respecting
the autonomy of others, is to be respected’. These articles state
the interest of the individual as priority (Ten Have & Jean
2009:44). The priority of the individual over science or society is
a direct correlate of acknowledging the human dignity of every
individual (Article 3.1). Every community or society has the duty
to respect their citizens as persons or moral agents on the basis
of their human dignity. This concept requires that the interests
and the autonomy of the individual have to be recognised
as priority over the (sole) interest of the community ‘or any
particular kind of publicly wholesome activity’. Because of human
dignity, the individual may never be sacrificed in the interest of
science (as in the medical experiments in World War II) or society
(as in a totalitarian society) (UNESCO 2008:20–21). In democratic
societies, the human being does not exist for the sake of society
or science, but he or she has their own existential purpose,
independent of the social or scientific interests that can transcend
the boundaries of the community or scientific interests
(Jean 2009:92–93). According to Snyder (2014), Article 3.1 gives
preference to the choice of the individual, ‘potentially forbidding
attempts at addressing health worker migration by limiting the
freedom of workers to migrate’.
The ‘sole’ acknowledgments that extraordinary circumstances
may be found where the interest of the community as a whole is
regarded to be so important that the rights of the individual can
be limited (UNESCO 2008:20). This view relates to Article 27 of
UDBHR, which states:
If the application of the principles of this Declaration is to be limited,
it should be by law, including laws in the interests of public safety, for
the investigation, detection and prosecution of criminal offences, for
the protection of public health or for the protection of the rights and
freedoms of others. (n.p.)
In the light of Snyder’s judgment, the fact that the UDBHR

prioritises human dignity and the interests of the individual,
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the call to respect fundamental freedoms (movement and

choice of occupation) (Article. 3.1), as well as the view that the
‘protection of public health’ indicates pandemics (Ten Have &
Jean 2009:44), it can be accepted the choice to emigrate will
not easily be regarded as an exception, though it is not
impossible.
This ethical principle that prioritises and protects the individual
choice, however, is not the only principle in the UDBHR that has
to be taken into account by the individual. Article 26 states
(UNESCO 2006):
This Declaration is to be understood as a whole and the principles
are to be understood as complementary and interrelated. Each
principle is to be considered in the context of the other principles, as
appropriate and relevant in the circumstances. (n.p.)
The point of departure of the UDBHR is that the universal

ethical principles should not be understood and used in a
hierarchical way, but should be seen as complementary and
inter-relational. Gefenas (2009), who also focuses on the
emigration of health workers as a global phenomenon, explains
this view as follows:
Think, for example, about … the necessity to ration scarce health care
resources —situations that so often arise in modern health care. These
situations urge a health care practitioner to think not only in terms
of so-called individualistic ethics … they also demand broadening the
moral perspective to encompass social ethics expressed in terms of
social justice … social responsibility. (p. 328)
This statement introduces the second universal ethical principle,

namely Article 14 (with the title Social responsibility and health)
of the UDBHR. This article has to be seriously considered by the
individual health worker who thinks about migration, according
to the Bioethics Core Curriculum 1 (UNESCO 2008:59), Gefenas
(2009:428) and Snyder (2014:768). Article 14.1 (UDBHR; UNESCO
2006) reads as follows:
The promotion of health and social development for their people is
a central purpose of governments that all sectors of society share.
(n.p.)
221
The first matter that has to be indicated is that social responsibility

is a central responsibility, which means that it is a very important
duty. The second matter is that social responsibility means the
individual has a responsibility, not only towards him- or herself
(Articles 3.2, 5), but also towards the community in which he or
she is living. Every individual has a duty to make a positive
contribution to public health. The third matter is that social
responsibility is not only the responsibility of the state but a norm
shared by all sectors of society. These sectors are diverse and
include individuals, according to the report of the IBC (2010),
which states:
It is possible for a sector in society not to feel any responsibility for
health and social development and not to act in a way that promotes
health and social development. Article 14 denies the legitimacy
of such attitudes. No sector in society or single citizen can isolate
themselves from responsibility for the promotion of health and social
development. (p. 20)
According to the Bioethics Core Curriculum 1, Article 14 places ‘a

burden on individuals ... to provide assistance that is within their
means. This notion of responsibility has been specifically referred
to as social responsibility’ (UNESCO 2008:58).
The fourth matter is that social responsibility as a central
normative instruction makes ‘their people’ the focus (Article 14.1).
In the context of the UDBHR, it could also be stated that according
to Articles 1.2 and 14.1 (‘… of governments that all sectors of
society share…’), the phrase ‘their people’ refers to individuals,
groups, communities, institutions and organisations in a specific
State (UNESCO 2006:n.p.).
The fifth matter indicates social responsibility means the
individual has the specific duty to promote the health and social
development of his or her people (IBC 2015:20). In the context of
Article 14, the individual not emigrating contributes to health
care and essential medicine, because larger numbers of
health workers increase access to health care, thus promoting
health (IBC 2010:41). In addition, the health worker not emigrating
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promotes social development by amongst others contributing to

income tax, which can be utilised in making healthy food and
water accessible, improving living conditions, eliminating
marginalisation and exclusion of people, as well as reducing
poverty and illiteracy (see Article 14a–e). In light of these positive
effects of non-emigration, Semplici (2016:2538) is probably right
when he states that emigration of health workers, especially in
poor countries, does not contribute to the promotion of public
health and development, and thus does not give expression to
social responsibility. Brock (2016) summarises the relevance of
Article 14 as follows:
So on this line of argument, we need to give equal recognition to
everyone’s freedom, not just the migrants’, which means taking
account of the rights, freedoms, needs, and opportunities of those
who remain, whose lives will be made worse off by privileging the
migrant’s freedom. (p. 415)
It is clear from the above argument that Snyder (2014:761–762)

is correct when he points out that two global values are in
opposition to each other, namely a personal interest versus a
‘special responsibility to the worker’s home community’.
The UNESCO (2008:12) syllabus defines opposing values, saying,
‘[a]nd moral conflicts appear when the attempt to implement a
specific value infringes the fulfilment of another’. The question
arising now is how the UNESCO declaration deems the ethical
conflicts to be solved.
Gefenas (2009:330) accepts that assigning equal status to
the universal principles in the declaration would lead to a conflict
of duties. According to Gefenas, the declaration presents no clear
and direct guidelines on how to deal with ethical conflicts, which
inevitably leads to uncertainty and certainly betrays a weak point
in the UNESCO declaration. Article 26, however, formulates the
relative value of the principles, stating, ‘[e]ach principle is to be
considered in the context of the other principles’ (UNESCO
2006:n.p.). According to Gefenas, the article implies an ethical
method of dialogue in which principles have to be balanced or
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considered against each other. He describes the dialogue, saying,

‘[p]ersons and professionals concerned and society as a whole
should be engaged in dialogue on a regular basis’. In light of
Articles 2e and 18.2, the official UNESCO (2008:11–13) syllabus
confirms the viewpoint of Gefenas and indicates that such a
dialogue would consist of three steps, namely analysing and
reasoning out the facts, identifying the values and duties
regarding the ethical problem, and—based on the insight gained—
making decisions as to which of them carry greater weight and
have to be prioritised. It is nevertheless clear that no clear
guidelines exist to guide the dialogue to a decision about which
value carries greater weight.
In light of this argument, the IBC (2015) is correct when stating:
The ethics of brain drain is complex and finding the right balance
between respecting individual rights to choose where people want
to make a living and protecting the skilled workforce and knowledge
resources of a country can be very challenging. (p. 19)
The contribution of the UDBHR is found in the fact that the

international community is of the opinion that the individual
health practitioner may not consider his or her own interests only,
but has to weigh up own interests against social responsibility in
a process of dialogue to come to a responsible decision about
emigration.
Biblical perspective
Autonomy
In executing the second aim, an ethical foundation (giving own
reasons) for both individual freedom to emigrate and the call for
social responsibility, is now discussed from a Protestant or biblical
perspective. Firstly, attention will be given to the concept of
emigration (or autonomy) and secondly, to the concept of social
responsibility.
In the first place, the first Protestant that started thinking
theologically about emigration was Pieter de Jong in his 1965
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article, ‘Il migrante è uno straniero’ [‘The migrant is a foreigner’]

in the journal Studi emigrazione 1 (Campese 2012:7). The article
has received increasing attention in theology since its
publication (Schewel 2016:242). The Christian faith is able to
make a unique contribution to the ethical issue of emigration,
precisely because the theme has such an integral place in the
biblical narrative (Campese 2012:4; Hollenbach 2011:808).
Carroll (2011:54–56), Campese (2012:21–22), Groody (2016:228)
and Phan (2016:858) are in the first place of the opinion that
the phenomenon of emigration has to be discussed and
understood in light of the Trinitarian view of God and the fact
that all people were created in the image of God. By being in
the image of God, the human is connected to God. The triune
God has to be understood as Deus Migrator. The view is that
God the Father is not an immovable and unchanging God, but
indeed a mobile God of which creation is proof. The creative
deed can be interpreted as the ‘migration’ of God from the
divine environment to a good but non-divine environment, a
movement that has all the characteristics of human emigration.
In addition, the incarnation of the word of God in Jesus of
Nazareth can be regarded as a migratory movement of God
(Jn 13:1, 3). Phan (2016) puts forward:
In this migration into history as a Jew in the land of Palestine, God,
like a human migrant, entered a far country where God, as part of a
colonized nation, encounters people of different racial, ethnic, and
national backgrounds, with strange languages, unfamiliar customs,
and foreign cultures, among whom God, again like a migrant after a
life-threatening journey, ‘pitched the tent’ or ‘tabernacled’ (eskēnōsen:
Jn 1:14). (p. 861)
The Holy Spirit is described as the migratory God, who goes out
from the Father and the Son (Jn 15:26), hovers over the waters
(Gn 1:1), moves into people’s hearts and their lives in general
(Ps 143:10; Rm 8:14) and leads them in righteousness in particular
(Jn 16:8). The implication is, according to Phan (2016:864), the
migratory Spirit can ‘push and pull migrants’ from a challenging
situation to one of human dignity. To be created in the image of
the Deus Migrator means the human being is imago Dei migratoris,
225
which has the consequence that the human is a migrator;

therefore, when circumstances suggest emigration, he or she will
seriously consider it. Phan (2016) explains his view as follows:
What is distinctive and unique about the migrant is that he or she is
the imago Dei migratoris, the privileged, visible, and public face of the
God who chooses, freely and out of love, to migrate from the safety
of God’s eternal home to the strange and risky land of the human
family, in which God is a foreigner needing embrace, protection, and
love. (p. 861)
In the second place, all people are created in the image of God
with the implication that all people are brothers and sisters of
one human family, irrespective of which country of ethnicity they
are. Being in the image of God gives every human being equal
human dignity that transcends all (national) boundaries created
by humans (Groody 2016:230–231, 234). These boundaries are in
no way absolute and have to be regarded as subsidiary to shared
human dignity. To God, there is only one ethically relevant
community, namely the human race in its entirety, which makes
all national boundaries less important (Ac 17:26). This view is
known as Christian cosmopolitism, with the radical implication
that the boundaries of all countries should be regarded as open
to everyone. Because all nations are created from one human,
and because of human dignity, it would be unethical to oppose
emigration unnecessarily (Hollenbach 2011:808).
In the third place, considering the above arguments, it is
understandable that, according to Carroll (2011:54), the theme of
emigration is found right through the Bible. Carroll states it
explicitly, saying, ‘[m]igration and its effect are a major topic in
both the OT and the NT’. Right through the Bible, emigration is
accepted and supported for the following reasons: (1) God as the
migratory God loves immigrants (Dt 10:18); (2) the saving
covenant of God with his or her people — who had been
immigrants themselves (Ex 23:9; Lv 19:33–34) and had never
been without immigrants since their origin (Ex 12:38) — allowed
them to make the autonomous decision to emigrate to better
circumstances (Campese 2012:5; Hollenbach 2011:809). In the
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Old Testament, the relevant term for understanding emigration is

the concept represented by the Hebrew word gēr, which refers to
someone outside his country of origin and who is going to settle
temporarily or permanently in another country. The history of
Israel came into being in and through a process of emigration
from Ur to Canaan (Gn 11–12, 23:4; Dt 26:5) (Hollenbach 2011:808).
The reasons for emigration were seeking improved living
conditions, as well as forced emigration. Abraham, Isaac and
Jacob (and their families) roamed in different places searching
for food (Gn 12–26 and 42–46) and Jacob fled from the revenge
of his brother (Gn 27–31). Joseph and his brothers were forced to
migrate to Egypt, whilst Moses fled from Egypt to escape a
possible unfair trial (Campese 2012:4). Naomi and her family
migrated from Bethlehem to Moab because of famine. Later, she
returned to her land accompanied by Ruth, who in turn was a
migrant. Ruth as foreigner and migrant is listed as one of the
ancestors of Jesus (Mt 1:5). The exile is an example of forced
migration (Gn 37, 39–41; 2 Ki 17, 24–25) (Campese 2012:4). The
Israelites migrated from Egypt because of slavery and in the hope
of better living conditions in the Promised Land (Campese 2012:5;
Hollenbach 2011:808). The people of God showed hospitality to
foreigners (Gn 18:1–8; Job 31:32) and experienced it themselves
(Ex 2:15–20). The law in Israel indicates that emigration as a
practice was accepted without any enforcement and therefore
support was given to immigrants in several ways (Lv 19:9–10; Dt
5:14; 14:28–29; 24:14–15; 19–22). Immigrants should not be
exploited or oppressed (Dt 1:16–17; Jr 7:5–7; 22:2–5), whilst
unlawful prevention of emigration was unacceptable (Ml 3:5). The
people were even called upon to love immigrants, and therefore
support the practice of emigration (Lv 19:33–34).
In the New Testament, some of the most important words
used for emigration and immigration are xenos, paroikos and
parepidēdos. Jesus migrated together with his parents to Egypt
with a view to improved living conditions (Mt 2:13–15) and in
Matthew 25:31–46, Christ identifies himself with foreigners and
even indicates that people neglecting immigrants will be judged
227
(Campese 2012:5; Hollenbach 2011:808; Phan 2016:862). In Acts,

it is sketched how Paul, himself an immigrant, was the reason
why people migrated in search of improved living conditions, and
that a church consisting of immigrants came into being in this
way (Ac 8:1–5, 13:1). Christians are metaphorically described as
temporary emigrants from heaven (Phlp 3:20; Heb 13:14), which
means they are literally immigrants on earth (1 Pt 2:11) and
therefore have to show hospitality to all people (Rm 12:13; Heb
13:2; 1 Pt 4:9) (Groody 2016:234).
According to Carroll (2011:56), these scriptural facts are part
of God’s revelation from which ethical guidelines for today can
be deduced. From the overview above, it can be concluded that
emigration is a fundamental reality that is part of the human
experience and therefore it has to be recognised and accepted.
The broken reality sometimes sets loose forces that create
challenging living conditions and leave people before the choice
of migration or even drive them to take such a step. Sugden
(1995:478) is of the opinion that the biblical facts recognise the
right to migrate, whilst Phan’s (2016:867) interpretation of the
facts is that the Bible demands protection of the emigrant’s
rights. A decision about any restriction on the free choice to
migrate should not be made lightly, according to Groody
(2016:231).
From the above discussion, it is clear that the biblical message
about freedom to migrate makes no sense unless the human
being is an autonomous being that can make his or her own
choices. The fact that the human being is created in the image of
a free God further implies that the human being is a free being
that must make autonomous decisions. The autonomy and
freedom of the human being are further underlined when Rae
(2016:161–163) observes that Scripture places great emphasis on
personal responsibility for financial security. The general theme is
that improved living conditions have to be brought about by hard
work, scrupulousness and perseverance (Pr 10:4, 13:11, 14:23,
16:26, 20:13, 28:19–25), which means that if the individual cannot
make correct financial decisions, challenging living conditions
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could engulf him or her (Pr 24:30–34). Believers have to earn

their own bread and carve out their own lives (2 Th 3:11–12).
In light of the biblical facts regarding emigration, it is clear the
universal principle of the UDBHR that poses human autonomy
and freedom of choice as priority can be defended and supported.
The health worker has the freedom and the right to decide
whether he or she wants to leave their country.
Social responsibility
As in the UDBHR, second, there is not only reference to personal
freedom, but also to the concept of social responsibility as an
important theme in the Bible. Van der Walt (2010:70) is of the
opinion that Scripture does indeed give clear answers to the
question whether the believer has a social responsibility and
what it comprises. Also Rae (2016:23) thinks that Scripture shows
a clear social-ethical dimension, which means the individual does
not only have a responsibility towards him- or herself (own
interest) but also a social responsibility that has to promote the
interests of the community.
Just as in the discussion of the concept of emigration, the first
point of departure is the Trinity. Because the human being is
created in the image of the triune God, the human being is a
social being with a clear social responsibility (Bridger 1995:22–25;
Stott et al. 2006:53). The triune God is a relational coexistence of
three persons, who are bound together in such a way that they
form one Being. The Trinity accepts responsibility in this
coexistence by loving each other (Jn 3:35) and by always being
together (Jn 8:29). God did not leave Jesus in the dark state of
death or ignored him, but together with the Holy Spirit, he was
responsible for Jesus’ resurrection from death (1 Cor 15:4; Ac
2:32) (König 2014:362–371). In the coexistence of Father, Son and
Holy Spirit, God also accepts responsibility for the human being
by bringing about salvation in Christ and by guiding the human
by his Spirit. God is a God of righteousness and compassion.
God’s character is such that he brings justice for the oppressed
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and provides food and health to those who are hungry and sick
(Ps 146:5–9) (Lausanne Movement 1982:11–12; Stott et al. 2006:51;
Satyavrata 2016:49). Christ also embraces the social responsibility
of God the Father when he emphasises the social oppression of
people and poverty, feeds the hungry and heals the sick
(Mk 5:15–19; Lk 7:22) (Beyer 1965:130; Lausanne Movement
1982:17, 24; Macaleer 2014:126, 194). One of the gifts of the Spirit
is love (Gl 5:22), which gives believers the will to accept their
social responsibility and give expression to it.
Created in the image of God, the human being, like God, is a
relational being that exists in togetherness. God created man and
woman as a twosome unity in which they complement each other
in a social coexistence. From marriage comes forth the coexistence
of the family and society. In this coexistence, responsibility is
accepted for each other. One could say that like natural law is a
gift of creation (Rm 2:14–15), the reality of social responsibility is
also a gift of creation, as the woman is created as a help for the
man (Gn 2:18). This gift as command and duty is confirmed right
through the Old Testament. In society, the believing community
accepted the responsibility to help each other in various
circumstances (Lv 25:35). It was accepted that people should
assume responsibility for themselves and their families. The
community is responsible for help by supplying food, housing
and clothes (Is 58:6–7). Social responsibility means the community
should see that people are not neglected (Ezk 16:49; Pr 11:29)
(Rae 2016:23, 159). This social responsibility is further worked out
by Paul in the image of the church as the body of Christ, which
indicates people in the social environment need each other just
like the members of the body need each other and care for each
other (1 Cor 12:21). The early church in the Book of Acts offers a
special window on the realisation and execution of social
responsibility. From Acts 2:42–45, it is clear that people and their
existence were not ignored, but that a social responsibility was
acknowledged. In this narrative, it is seen that they shared from
their abundance with others (Rae 2016:162). In Galatians 2:10,
Paul reminds his readers that the poor should not be forgotten
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(Satyavrata 2016:51). Paul also clearly refers to social responsibility

in 1 Timothy 5:8, when he writes, ‘[i]f anyone does not provide for
his relatives, and especially for his immediate family, he has
denied the faith and is worse than an unbeliever’. According to
both Knight (1992:221) and Towner (2006:341–343), this verse
indicates three notions: (1) demonstrating a special responsibility
(2) to those closest to you, namely your immediate family and (3)
regarding it as a command widening to your relatives. This
widening command of social responsibility is repeated by Paul in
Galatians 6:10, where doing good to your own family is broadened
to everyone. Paul teaches that your work does not only concern
your own interest, but that it also has social implications because
your work makes it possible for you to take care of other people
(Eph 4:28) (Rae 2016:163, 165). In light of the above facts, one can
agree with Bridger (1995:26), when he says, ‘[t]here exists an
irreducible responsibility between members of society to care for
one another …’
Although the above examples are found in a theocracy and
the church, the ‘fact that all people are created in’ the image of
God ‘(Gn 1:27) [means] that all people have a responsibility
towards each other (Macaleer 2014:177–178); in this sense, the
world [are] brothers and sisters’ of each other (Am 1:9)’ (Rheeder
2017:249). Because God does good to all people (Mt 5:44–46;
Ps 145:9), he instructs the human to do good to all people
(Gl 6:10). The human has to promote the common good (Douma
1990:54). VanDrunen (2009:32) explains that Jeremiah 29:7 has
a bioethical meaning, namely that the health worker has a social
responsibility towards the whole community. In light of the above
and similar arguments, the Lausanne Movement (1982:11)
contends that social responsibility is founded on the Trinity and
has to be regarded as a duty.
An important biblical theme as the second point of departure
to understand the concept of social responsibility is the kingdom
of God. ‘It’s significance for social ethics lies therein that it relates
God’s reign to whole of creation, all spheres of human life, to the
world and history’, Vorster (2007b:132) justly puts forward.
231
Mott (2011:69) connects with this statement, saying, ‘[t]he Reign of

God is a central biblical concept that incorporates the imperative
for social responsibility into God’s goals in history’. The kingdom
forms a central theme in the Bible because Christ emphasises his
message as the good message of the kingdom (Mt 4:23). The Old
Testament states that the triune God is king, which means he reigns
over the whole creation, the world, all spheres of human life and
history (Ps 103:19). The New Testament continues the theme when
mention is made of the kingdom of God (1 Cor 4:20), the universal
power and cosmic reign of the Son, who was raised from death (Mt
28:18; Eph 1:10; Col 1:13–15; 1 Cor 15:27), and the governance of the
Spirit in the kingdom (Rm 14:17). The cosmic work of Christ is
confirmed by the fact that he ‘disarmed the powers and authorities’
(Col 2:15). This is a reference to the cosmic reign of the triune God.
The parable of the yeast underlines the cosmic meaning and
working of Christ (Mt 13:33). As signs of his reign, the miracles of
Christ are indicating improvement of the human’s life (Mt 12:28; Lk
11:20) and indicate the character of God as love, justice and
goodness. Miracles are signs of the coming of the kingdom (Mt
4:17; Lk 4:21). They also remind humans of the imperfect present
character of the kingdom (Mk 1:15; Lk 17:21), although the kingdom
is also an eschatological perfect reality in the future (Mt 6:10).
Denying the present nature of the kingdom means denying the
reign of God. It is clear that the kingdom is a comprehensive and
all-encompassing concept. The human being must see him- or
herself in the kingdom as the image of God in the execution of his
or her responsibility for the ‘all and whole’ of life.
The believer is a member of the local church and kingdom of
God. Human beings are called upon to convert themselves to
faith in Christ (Mk 1:15), after which they become citizens of the
kingdom of God (Mt 13:43). The establishment of the church is
part of the reign of God. In the letters of Paul, church refers to
called citizens of the kingdom in local congregations (1 Th 2:14; Gl
1:22). The church functions in the wider kingdom and forms a
sign, a visual embodiment, of the reign of God. The church is one
way in which God moves into the world and reigns and works
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through the proclamation of the good news and according to the

principles of the kingdom (Mt 18:16; 28:16–20). The common
attribute is that Christ is the foundation of both the church and
the kingdom. The local church members and believers in whom
the kingdom is found are co-workers in the kingdom (Col 4:1). As
indicated above, kingdom is a wider and more comprehensive
concept as church. Just like God reigns over everything, which
means his responsibility and actions are not limited to the church,
and just like Christ is not only the head of the church but of
everything, the believer does not only have a mission directed
only at the church but also a wider mission directed at the
kingdom. The kingdom mission entails that the believer must
participate in the kingdom, which includes the world outside the
church, for example society. As citizens of the kingdom, the
believers receive the commission to search first for the wider
kingdom of God (Mt 6:33). It can thus be concluded that believers
not only receive a calling to work in the church, but that they may
also be called to practise an occupation outside the church and
accept the accompanying responsibilities directed at building up
the wider community.
According to Van der Walt (2010:70–74), the kingdom and
wider social responsibility as bioethical duty receive special
emphasis when Christ says the believers have to be salt and light,
not only in the church but especially on earth and in the world
(Mt 5:13–14; see also Van Wyk 2015:220). An important function
of salt, according to Van der Walt, even though it burns intensely,
is its property to disinfect wounds, which indicates the healing
and bioethical implication of the image. In addition, because salt
also has the meaning to conserve (as salt keeps food fresh) and
to enhance (as salt improves taste), it can be concluded that
believers also have a social responsibility to conserve and improve
health. Social responsibility is not a choice, but a duty, because
Christ tells believers they have to be salt and light. According to
Van der Walt (2010:74), an ever-present danger exists that
believers can withdraw from society and its problems and
emigrate inwards in an individualistic sense because they do not
233
want to be salt. The same could be true of health workers who

are considering emigration and have lost their saltiness; they
make no contribution to their society. It should be realised that
not much salt is needed to bring about an effective change,
which means a small group of health workers can make a
difference; or, in contrast, a small group of workers that emigrate
can also cause great harm. The wider responsibilities of the
citizens of the kingdom are further underlined by the statement
of Christ that tax has to be paid to the Caesar (Mt 22:21), which
implies that the believer does not only have an own interest but
also a social interest.
As opposed to theological convictions that see church and
kingdom as a unity and in this way limit the social responsibility
of the believer towards the church only, Mott (2011) says (see also
Groody 2016):
Jesus broke away from the traditional restrictions on love for one’s
neighbor. In Matthew 5.43–48 and in the parable of the Good
Samaritan, he specifically and directly rejected the concept of a
qualitatively different responsibility for those in one’s own group
as opposed to those outside the group; one’s neighbor (or brother
or sister) is anyone in need — not only the fellow member of one’s
community. (p. 30; cf. p. 231; see Rm 12, 13, 20)
Rae (2016) places emphasis on the least (vulnerable), saying:

This social dimension of Christian morality has a distinct focus on the
poor and the marginalized … . The Bible is full of admonitions to take
care of the least among the community. (p. 24)
In the Old Testament, there is a direct relation between faith in

God and social responsibility towards the vulnerable human
being (Pr 14:31; Is 58:6–8; Jr 22:16). Social responsibility recognising
and improving the circumstances of the vulnerable human is a
sign of true religious practice (Ja 1:27) (Satyavrata 2016:49).
Fighting vulnerability in the form of sickness and the promotion
of health is an important aspect in the kingdom of God. Where
people are healed, the kingdom of God is active and visible
(Lk 10:9). According to Christ, healing forms a core feature of his
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Chapter 7
work on earth (Mt 11:4–6; Lk 4:4–20) (Hurding 1995:431). Healing

is such an important matter in the kingdom that Jesus says
whoever cares for sick vulnerable people openly takes care of
Him (Mt 25:36, 40). The Good Samaritan is a special example of
social responsibility as regards the vulnerable sick human
(Lk 10:25–37; Dowdy 2011:522; Evans 1995:590). Sick people in a
community cannot be ignored as if they do not exist. The Levite
and the priest did not accept and execute their social responsibility
(Lausanne Movement 1982:14,30; Rae 2016:162). According to
Gallagher (2014:137), an example is found in Mark (2:1–12), where
a lame person could not get access to Jesus to be cured because
of a social obstruction. This vulnerable person was eventually
helped by his friends to gain access to health care, something he
could not do on his own. Sometimes, access to health care is
something that the vulnerable individual cannot manage him- or
herself and therefore they need the help of the community. The
believer has a social responsibility, which is part of the message
of the Bible, and therefore it has to be seriously considered by
the individual. Rae (2016:43,162) recognises this reality when he
refers to Paul, who says, ‘[e]ach of you should look not only to
your own interests, but also to the interests of others’ (Phlp 2:4).
Although it has been concluded earlier that a Christian
perspective supports emigration and makes boundaries less
important, the concept of social responsibility provides the
following balance, as Hollenbach (2011) states:
Nevertheless, radical cosmopolitanism, with its commitment to
entirely open borders, is not the whole story on how Christians
should look at migration. National borders can play positive roles in
the protection of human dignity and well-being. The positive moral
value of national borders is evident in arguments resisting trans-
border interventions that turn one nation into the colony of another.
(p. 809)
Although boundaries are secondary to human dignity, boundaries

are also not without value, because protection by boundaries
also gives expression to social responsibility to one’s own people
(Gn 10:5, 20, 30–31; Dt 32:8; Ac 17:27) (Groody 2016:231).
235
Preventing health workers to leave poorer provinces to more

affluent provinces or countries too easily can therefore also be
seen as accepting social responsibility.
The guideline of the UDBHR that the medical practitioner
should not only consider his own interests but that he or she also
has a social responsibility, especially towards their or own
vulnerable people, can be defended and supported on the basis
of Scripture.
Conflicting duties
From the above discussion of emigration, personal freedom and
social responsibility, it is clear that a conflict of duties emerge (as
in the UDBHR). Vorster (2017; see also Hollenbach 201:810)
summarises this problem strikingly by asking:
[T]he important question is whether the rights of the individual, such
as privacy and freedom, should be deemed more important than the
health and well-being of the community at large? (p. 151)
A further question is whether there are biblical guidelines that

can be used by the individual health worker to make an ethical
decision in this conflict. Similar to the UDBHR, the Bible recognises
the value of dialogue (Is 1:18), but Vorster (2017:155–163) says that
dialogue is not the only heuristic means and that other directives
or principles have to be followed.
The first directive is teleological in nature and it means that
the choice should have a good outcome. The problem is that the
decision about emigration, whichever choice is made, will always
have negative results (Rae 2016:40; Vorster 2017:157–158).
Because of the problems connected to the first directive,
additional directives are necessary. The second directive is based
on the viewpoint that a choice (a deed) must be motivated by
love. Seen against the background of recreation in Christ of a
fallen world (2 Cor 5:17), love forms one of the driving forces
behind Christian deeds (1 Jn 4:19; Gl 5:22–23). Vorster (2017:158–
159) defines Christian love as compassion directed at ‘a true
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Chapter 7
comprehension of the interests of others instead of a selfish

agitation for own advantages’. This definition connects with
Paul’s view of love, of which the essence is that one should not
seek your own good, but the good of others (Rm 15:1–2, 30; 1 Cor
10:24, 33) (König 2010:177). The third directive is based on the
conviction that the attitude of the health worker should represent
the attitude of Christ. Paul states that the same attitude that was
in Christ should also be in the believers (Phlp 2:5). Christ had an
attitude of self-sacrifice, which means that he sacrificed valuable
things (status and life) for the sake of someone else (Phlp 2:6–7).
Vorster (2017) explains the implication of the ethical viewpoint,
saying:
In a human rights environment self-sacrifice to the model of Christ
means that one can waiver some rights voluntarily for the purpose of
serving the well-being of others or the community at large. To waiver
some rights to enhance a better life for all can be a practical model
of Christian self-sacrifice. (pp. 161–162)
The fourth directive connects with the attitude of Christ regarding

the vulnerable human being (Phlp 2:6). Since his or her birth, the
human sins and the sin is punishable before God (Eph 5:6; Gl
3:10). Barth (1976:458), in his discussion of sin, refers to the
human as ‘helpless’ or vulnerable, precisely because the human is
not able to escape the punishment of God on his or her own.
Heyns (1992) summarises the sinful condition of the human
vulnerability, saying [translated]:
The human being is not only a sinner by nature — from the first
moment of his birth the original sin is part of him — he also sins.
And from this situation he cannot save himself, even if he wanted to.
The keywords describing the basic situation of the human being are
therefore sin, guilt and powerlessness.53 (p. 244)
53. Translation of ‘Die mens is nie net ’n sondaar nie — van die eerste oomblik van sy geboorte
af het hy al deel aan die erfsonde — hy doen ook sonde. En hieruit kan hy homself nie red nie,
ook al sou hy dit wou doen. Die kernwoorde wat die mens se grondsituasie teken is gevolglik
sonde, skuld en magteloosheid’.
237
Barth (1976:458) writes, ‘[t]aking our place, bearing the

judgment of our sin... He gave Himself to the depth of the most
utter helplessness... He did this for us…’ This means that Christ’s
love for vulnerable people drove Him to be left vulnerable on the
cross in the place of the human being and to be punished, in this
way addressing vulnerability (Rm 5:19; Gl 3:13). The Bible calls
upon believers to live up to the attitude of Christ (Jn 13:14–15),
which means the interest of the vulnerable human being has to be
the first and foremost priority of the believer (Vorster 2007a:17).
In the light of Vorster’s ethical directives with their emphasis
on sacrificing own interests and rights, as well as prioritising the
interests of the vulnerable human being, one could cautiously
conclude that social responsibility must have greater weight for
the medical practitioner than own interests. The above directives
should not, however, be regarded as a new set of rules and
applied in the way of casuistry, but because of the unique situation
of every health worker, they should serve as a compass for the
conscience and eventual decision of every health worker.
Conscience means ‘knowing together’, which implies that only
the individual, together with God, will know what his circumstances
really are; thus, only they will know what a good decision will be.
This viewpoint implies that situational ethics will be part of the
decision making (De Bruyn 1993:7–8; Vorster 2017:162–163).
Conclusion
The choice regarding emigration by the medical practitioner in
the context of SA is not without implications because of the
shortage of schooled health workers. The global community is
convinced that the individual thinking about emigration should
not consider own interests only, but also realise that he has a
social responsibility, especially towards their vulnerable citizens.
The principles of freedom and social responsibility as described
by the UDBHR are supported by Protestant ethics, but—different
from the UDBHR—Christian ethics point to the prioritising of the
interests of the vulnerable community.
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Chapter 8
A Christian ethical
reflection on
transnational
assisted reproductive
technology
Manitza Kotzé
Keywords: Egg donation; Solidarity; Transnational assisted

reproductive technology; Exploitation; Migration; Covenant.
Introduction
The developments in biotechnology and biomedicine advances
have resulted in even more options and choices becoming offered
How to cite: Kotzé, M., 2020, ‘A Christian ethical reflection on transnational assisted
reproductive technology’, in M. Kotzé & R. Rheeder (eds.), Life in Transit: Theological
and Ethical Contributions on Migration (Reformed Theology in Africa Series volume 2),
239
A Christian ethical reflection on transnational assisted reproductive technology
in terms of human reproduction. Sarah Franklin (1997:166) notes

that reproductive technology unites ‘two of the most powerful
Euro-American symbols of future possibility: children and
scientific progress’. In Germany, for example, Sven Bergmann
(2011:283) indicates, in vitro fertilisation (IVF) and assisted
reproductive technology (ART) are advertised as ‘Kinderwunsch-
Behandlung’, which he translates as ‘the treatment of the desire
to have children’.
In this contribution, I am interested especially in the issue of
the utilisation of donors in reproductive technology, and in
particular, when this donation occurs across national borders.
Reproductive healthcare markets, Riikka Homanen (2018:28)
indicates, ‘have become increasingly transnational in that people
increasingly travel across state borders to access care’. Some of
the key destinations for access to egg donors and treatments
include Spain, the Czech Republic and SA (Homanen 2018:28).
Whilst the exchange of human organs and tissues for monetary
compensation have been criminalised, Naomi Pfeffer indicates
that the very same organisations that support this criminalisation
remain silent on the matter of financial payment for egg donors.
The Council of Europe and the United Nations, for example,
in their 2009 document Trafficking in organs, tissues and cells
and trafficking in human beings for the purpose of the removal of
organs, ‘specifically omit embryos and gametes from the analysis’
(Pfeffer 2011:634–635).
I will look at issues such as the availability and affordability of
reproductive technology, as well as the factors that contribute to
being included or excluded from technological developments in
this regard from a Christian ethical perspective. Specifically, the
issue of how the excluded become part of a system that excludes
them, not as beneficiaries, but through exploitation, and in
particular, how this affects migrants, is the unique contribution
that this chapter hopes to make. I will offer a Christian ethical
response by focusing on the themes of covenant and solidarity
with the vulnerable.
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Chapter 8
In this contribution, the theme of ‘life in transit’ features on two

levels. On the first and perhaps more metaphysical level, it refers
to the movement of life and potential life, when egg donation
occurs across borders. An important distinction between the
global trade in organs and tissue and that of transnational egg
donation is that, whilst sperm cells and embryos can fairly easily
be transported after cryopreservation, ‘egg cells are scarcely
transportable’ (Bergmann 2011:284). Storing and preparing
harvested ova are dependent on severe restriction, both in terms
of space and time, what Bob Jessop (2006) calls the ‘spatio-
temporal fix’ of IVF in the utilisation of egg donors. On a more
concrete level, I want to make the argument that those that have
no access and are excluded from making use of this type of
technology, the poor and vulnerable groups, include especially
migrants, those whose life is in transit themselves. In discussions
around migration, a distinction is very often made between the
different groups of migrants; refugees and immigrants. In this
chapter, I want to add a third group, namely those that are forced
to migrate against their will or even trafficked, and often have
little or no means of returning to their own countries. It is
particularly the members of this third group that often act as egg
donors, contributing to a form of reproductive technology that
they themselves would not be able to afford to utilise.
Whilst different forms of reproductive technology available
create unique ethical questions, also from a Christian perspective,
the emphasis will be on donating ova for reproductive purposes
and the treatment of donors, in particular when the donors in
question are migrant women. The most obvious interpretation of
exclusion is the reality that many women are excluded by virtue
of not being able to access reproductive technology such as IVF
or donor sperm or ova. In the first part of this contribution, I will
briefly look at inequalities of access and affordability, which
results in the present context where some people are excluded,
but also what this could mean in the future. On the other hand,
perhaps a more pressing theological-ethical issue is not simply
241
that there are people, who are excluded, problematic as this is. In
this contribution, I will then also discuss the reality that the
women who are excluded often become part of the system, not
as beneficiaries, but through being exploited by the processes of
reproductive technology. This is especially true when speaking of
transnational reproductive technology and also affects migrants.
Assisted reproductive technology

and egg donation
As new developments and methods for ART became possible
after the birth of Louise Brown, the first baby conceived via IVF,
the possibility of becoming pregnant with the ova of another
woman became achievable. The first child recorded as conceived
and born via the egg of a donor occurred only six years after the
birth of Louise Brown. The donor had been the sister of the
recipient, and accordingly, the donation could be defined as
‘directed and altruistic’ (Pfeffer 2011:637). Whilst Louse Brown
had been conceived by embryo transfer in a natural cycle, ‘it soon
became clear that the pregnancy rate was greatly improved if
more than one embryo was replaced in the uterus’ (Hugues
2002:102). As a result, the objective for controlled ovarian
stimulation became to harvest as many follicles as could be
extracted in order to collect as many good quality ova as possible.
This carried with it the concurrent risk of ovarian hyperstimulation
syndrome, as well as leading to multiple pregnancies,54 and
accordingly, ‘led to the adoption of a compromise between
pregnancy rates and multiple follicular development, and
restriction in the number of embryos transferred’ (Hugues
2002:102).
54. Jean-Noel Hugues (2002:116) indicates that ‘ART has affected the rate of multiple births in
two ways: firstly, the procedures themselves have a direct impact of the incidence of multiple
pregnancy; secondly, the number of couples undergoing infertility treatment has increased
dramatically’. Most commonly, winning occurs, but ‘the greatest relative increase consists in
triplet and quadruplet pregnancies’ (Hugues 2002:116).
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In this period, egg donation was hindered by the interpretation

of the Hippocratic oath, to ‘do no harm’, and as a result, acquiring
eggs without subjecting the donor to the physical risks associated
with the stimulation of the ovaries and the recovery of ova, only
two methods were possible, both undependable. The first was
utilising mature donors already undergoing surgical treatment,
such as a hysterectomy, but few opportunities existed in this
regard. The other option was the sharing of ova, where eggs
harvested from women who were already, as part of treatment,
undergoing ovarian stimulation could be donated. This was also
motivated chiefly by altruism, as Pfeffer (2011:637) indicates,
‘women granted their “spare” eggs the “right to life”, albeit with
other women and confronted the real possibility of recipients
conceiving whilst they remained childless’.
One of the most important arguments raised in order to call
for relaxing the principle of ‘do not harm’, was that young and
healthy women are inclined to respond much more positively to
stimulation of the ovaries that women who are undergoing
treatment for infertility. Accordingly, the proposal was that
altruistic donations from sympathetic family members of friends
should be made possible. The reality, however, was that not all
women could call upon a willing donor and a further call ensued
for the reduction of donation only for altruistic reasons. This was
further supported by technical developments that lessened the
risks of the previously established surgical method of harvesting
ova; only light anaesthesia was required and in a few minutes,
directed by ultrasound, the harvesting of eggs takes place
through the vaginal wall (Pfeffer 2011:637).
Shortly after the birth of Louise Brown, Paul Ramsey mentioned
numerous risks that he associated with the utilisation of technology
‘in combination with the growing knowledge of human genetics’
(Childs 2015:8) and how that could be used to exercise ‘increasing
control of human genesis’ (Childs 2015:8). Whilst many ethical and
theological issues could be raised in this regard, as part of the
discussion on migration, this chapter highlights the inequality of
access to these forms of reproductive technology.
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The inequality of access to

reproductive technology
An assortment of elements affects access to reproductive
technology at present. These factors include the financial, as
these forms of technology tend to be extremely costly, as well as
‘geographic, influenced by cultural taboos against discussing
infertility or reproductive matters, dealing with infertility in
traditional ways’ (Kotzé 2019:249), and others. Within the South
African context, one of the largest hindrances can be termed
closely related problems of financial access, as well as the unequal
access to health care. Access to health care in SA is part of a
much bigger conversation.55 For the purposes of this chapter, the
ever-widening gap between the rich and the poor in SA will not
be examined at length.56
Suffice it to say that the severe disparities that exist in SA at
present, remains unquestionable. In an earlier contribution, I have
discussed the inequality of access and affordability in the South
African context (Kotzé 2019:250–253). It became clear that,
within the inequalities of income, most South Africans are not
able to access and/or afford ART, even when treatment in this
regard is desired (Kotzé 2019:253). This is not a uniquely South
African problem, however, but one that is mirrored worldwide. In
the Accra Declaration (2004) of the World Communion of
Reformed Churches (WCRC), this issue is addressed:
The annual income of the richest 1 per cent is equal to that of the
poorest 57 per cent, and 24,000 people die each day from poverty
and malnutrition. The debt of poor countries continues to increase
despite paying back their original borrowing many times over.
Resource-driven wars claim the lives of millions, while millions more
55. Inequalities in terms of access and affordability of health care is not a uniquely South
African issue, but a global problem. As a result of the lack of data in terms of household
surveys, it is extremely difficult to construct an accurate picture of inequality on a global
scale. For a full discussion of the increase in global inequality, see Milanovic (2011).
56. In this regard, see Kotzé (2019).
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Chapter 8
die of preventable diseases. … The majority of those in poverty are

women and children and the number of people living in absolute
poverty on less than one US dollar per day continues to increase.
(pp. 4–5)
Transnational assisted reproductive

technology
Tracie Wilson (2016:49) indicates that whilst some of the reasons
behind the utilisation of transnational ART includes access to
treatment not available to certain groups in their home countries,
such as same-sex couples or single women, for example, some of
the most important reasons given involves the affordability of
treatment, the perception of care of a higher quality and ‘a
shortage of donor gametes in some countries’. Similarly,
Bergmann (2011:282), in a list of reasons given for this phenomenon
of so-called ‘fertility tourism’,57 includes circumventing national
bans on some type of treatments (such as donation of gametes,
or, for example, preimplantation genetic diagnosis), and avoiding
the restrictions of available donors, as well as ‘seeking quality
and lower prices’.
Egg donors are often recruited online. Daniel Shapiro (2018:75)
indicates that in order to encourage donation by young women,
‘the clinic, egg bank, or agent will advertise in local papers, on
college campuses, on social media, or in aggregated advertising
vehicles such as “Craig’s list”’. Similarly, many fertility clinics in
57. The term ‘fertility tourism’, is a controversial one. For some authors, ‘tourism’ implies
travel undertaken for leisure and pleasure (Inhorn & Pasquale 2009:904, cited in Bergmann
2011:282) and is therefore inappropriate to use in this instance. Others suggest alternative
terms, and Roberto Matorras (2005:3571) prefers to use ‘reproductive exile’, while Sirpa
Soini et al. (2005:615) refer to a ‘crossborder flow of patients’. Bergmann (2011:283) favours
the terms ‘transnational economies’ or the ‘circumvention routes of reproduction’ to speak
about ‘the complex constellation of traveling users, mobile medics, sperm and egg donors,
locally and globally operating clinics, international standards, laboratory instruments,
pharmaceuticals, biocapital, conferences and journals, IVF Internet forums, and differing
national laws’.
245
Poland make use of their websites in order to recruit potential

donors. Besides fertility clinics (Wilson 2016):
[A]t least one agency in Warsaw functions as a broker, providing
egg donors and surrogates for international clients in a process
that includes the recruitment and travel of Polish donors to distant
countries. (p. 54)
Wilson (2016:54) relates that the website of this agency contains

descriptions of the positive experiences of egg donors in other
countries; that these testimonials provided in English lead her to
conclude that the aim is to create a positive impression of this
experience for the benefit of patients from outside of Poland
looking for donors.
Vulnerability of donors
Pfeffer (2011:635) refers to the 2009 Report of the Council of
Europe and United Nations, which recognises that ‘the bodies of
women are more vulnerable than those of men to disaggregation
for the global trade in human body parts’. Surprisingly, however,
the analysis does not include egg vendors (Pfeffer 2011:635). The
European Society of Human Reproduction and Embryology
documented 25 000 instances of IVF in 2010 where donor eggs
were utilised. Half (50%) of these 25 000 instances of IVF took
place abroad, with those undergoing treatment travelling to
other countries for the said treatment. As indicated by Monique
Deveaux (2016:50), the largest group of people taking part in
transnational travel for the purposes of undergoing IVF treatment
with donated eggs, are Europeans, of which the majority travel
and undergo treatment in counties where there are ‘rising
unemployment and falling real wages’.
For example, more fertility clinics are found in Cyprus than any
other country in the world; Cyprian clinics largely utilise and
recruit Eastern European donors, and in particular migrants, who
are unable to find legal employment. Frequently, the compensation
offered to donors is as little as $500 (Deveaux 2016:51).
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Migrant women in particular are vulnerable. Deveaux continues

to note that the younger and less educated donors are, as well as
when they have a source of income that is not constant or less
stable, the financial motivation behind donation weighs much
stronger than in other instances. Additionally, financial incentive
is the most important driving factor for repeat donors (Deveaux
2016:51). Whilst Nancy Kenney and Michelle McGowan’s
(2010:464) study of student donors in the United States indicated
that 94% of students cited the most important feature motivating
their decision to act as donors is ‘financial compensation’,
Deveaux further indicates that often, it is an intentional move to
recruit vulnerable women as donors. This can include students in
grim economic situations, but also especially migrant women
who do not have alternative ways of producing an income
(Deveaux 2016:52).
Migrant women as donors

As Michal Nahman notes, the greatest group of immigrant egg
donors in Europe are Romanian women, who are inclined to
donate in Greece or Spain, being compensated for their donations.
Whilst it is possible that these women travel for the sole purpose
of donation, Nahman (2016:81) concludes that it is highly likely
that they form part of the migrant population living within Spain.
‘Spanish clinics’, Bergmann (2011:285) indicates, in particular,
are ‘… active in recruiting Russian women as donors in order to
provide British, Scandinavian, and German patients with
phenotypically similar donors’. In addition to students, especially
migrant women from eastern Europe and Latin America who
become donors, ‘interested in the additional income of 900 euros’
(Bergmann 2011:285).
Romania, whilst having a much higher number of IVF clinics
than any of the surrounding countries, has ‘the lowest rates of
IVF deliveries across Europe’ (Nahman 2016:81). This could result
in a reasonable assumption that many of the clients who undergo
247
IVF treatment in Romania, deliver their children elsewhere and

accordingly, most likely make use of transnational ART.
There are risks involved in egg donation, such as the possibility
of ovarian hyperstimulation syndrome, which has resulted in
criticism of the process (Bergmann 2011:284). Additionally, as
earlier mentioned, a number of ethical and theological issues
have been raised. These issues include (although by no means an
exhaustive list), the separation of sex and reproduction,
reproduction through the involvement of a third-party, concern
about commodification, reducing women to their reproductive
capabilities, restriction of reproductive freedom (Fathalla
2002:9–11), the effect on traditional family relationships, as well
as the moral status of the embryo.
An ethical response
There are a number of different ethical aspects when it comes to
ART that involves third parties such as donors. Jennifer Lahl
(2017:241) discusses these issues, such as the appeal of financial
compensation of donors who are not aware of the risks involved,
the aspect of informed consent, the absence of studies on long-
term effects, as well as the conflict of interest between the
medical professionals and clients who wish to utilise donor eggs.
A further issue that bears mentioning is the conceivable
psychological struggle of children without a relationship to or
knowledge about their biological parent(s) on the issue of
identity. Shapiro (2018):
The monetization of human reproduction, especially where there
are multiple conflicts of interest for every party involved; the fertility
center, the physician, the recipient patient and the donor as well,
creates several ethical and social concerns. Among these concerns
are the commoditization of human body parts (including gametes),
the risk of exploitation with inherent financial coercion of the donor,
and eugenics. (p. 75)
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Furthermore, the question can also be asked whether egg

donation can be said to reduce women to their reproductive
capabilities (Kotzé 2019:256). This has been particularly stressed
by feminist theologians such as Gena Corea for example, who
argues that two analogies can be used to describe reproductive
technologies that illustrate how women’s bodies are utilised
within these processes and indicate what is problematic about
them; in the first instance, ‘the techniques for assisting human
reproduction bear a striking resemblance to techniques used to
facilitate reproduction in livestock’ (Lauritzen 2012:851). In the
second place, Corea postulates that the manner in which
commercial transactions in this regard take place ‘bear a striking
resemblance to those associated with sexual prostitution’
(Lauritzen 2012:851).58 It is not only donors who are discussed in
this criticism, but also women undergoing IVF treatment. Corea
(1988) remarks:
What kind of spiritual damage does it do to women when they
emotionally separate their minds and bodies? … What does it do to
women in IVF ‘treatment’ programs when, to varying extents, they
separate their minds and bodies in order to make all the poking and
prodding and embarrassment endurable? (p. 86)
The aspect of spirituality emphasised here makes it clear that the

ethical conversation around ARTs is also a theological one. Whilst
the limitations of this contribution mean that I will restrict a
response to focusing on the issue of transnational ARTs and in
particular, transnational egg donation, that this is also a theological
issue and begs a response from Christian ethics. In the section
‘Karl Barth and Christian ethics’, one such possible response is
provided.
58. See, for example, Corea’s works The mother machine (1985, Harper & Row) or ‘The
reproductive brothel’ (1988, in Man-made women, ed. G. Corea Indiana University Press).
249
Karl Barth and Christian ethics

In the closing part of his doctrine of creation (CD III.4 pp. 356–374),
Karl Barth discusses ethics as the ‘command of God the Creator’
(Messer 2014:122). Barth identifies four aspects of this command,
which also corresponds to the four dimensions of his theological
anthropology (CD III.2 § 44–47), namely: freedom before God;
freedom in fellowship; freedom for life; and freedom in limitation.
All four of these dimensions are relevant to a Christian ethical
response on the phenomenon of transnational ART, in particular
egg donation, and also specifically when it involves the most
vulnerable groups in our societies.
Messer (2014):
First and foremost, we know what it is to be truly and fully human in
the light of Jesus Christ, who is both the incarnate Son and the true
human being, our representative. (p. 122)
Neil Messer (2014:122) also remarks that it is worth observing

that ‘if we learn from Jesus Christ what truly fulfilled humanity
looks like, this might serve to unsettle some of our culture’s most
cherished notions of human flourishing’.
For Barth, our recognition of what a fully human life entails,
has to be centred on Jesus Christ as he is revealed in the
Scriptures. Barth’s account, Messer (2014) indicates:
[S]uggests a theologically-shaped understanding of human
flourishing … in the light of the resurrection, survival is no longer of
ultimate importance, because each person’s future is secured not by
his or her avoidance of death, but by God’s defeat of death in and
through Christ. (p. 123)
This does not mean that mortal life is not seen as a good gift
from God. ‘The Christian tradition has persisted in regarding
mortal life in this world as a good, a gift from God to be received
with thanks and used wisely’ (Messer 2014:123). For this reason,
Messer (2014:123) indicates, martyrdom has generally been
honoured in the Christian tradition throughout history, although
suicide has not. Whilst revering the giftedness of life as being
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from God does not exclude the possibility that the life being
gratefully accepted and honoured could be conceived by donor
ova, this does serve as a helpful guiding principle for Christian
ethics, also particularly when reflecting on vulnerable life.
Reflecting on how we relate to others, much is in the balance
for Barth when he notes in his commentary on The Epistle to the
Romans that in our neighbour (Barth 1933):
[W ]e encounter, finally and supremely, the ambiguity of our
existence, since in the particularity of others we are reminded of our
own particularity, of our own createdness, our own lost state, our
own sin, and our own death. (p. 494)
Accordingly, he asks the question of whether we, in our neighbour

whom we cannot know, recognise the ‘Unknown God’ (Barth
1933:494). Barth (1933):
Do we in the Otherness of the other — in whom the whole riddle of
existence is summed in such a manner as to require its solution in an
action on our part — hear the voice of the One? (p. 494; [italics in
original])
If we only hear the voice of the other in our neighbour, and not
also the voice of the One, Barth (1933:495) concludes that ‘then,
quite certainly, the voice of the One is nowhere to be heard’. Here,
David Clough (2016:23) remarks, a movement can be seen from
the neighbour’s otherness to the One who is completely other,
and the ethical significance that this holds.
The notion of community and solidarity is also one that
prominently comes to the fore in Barth’s work. In Church Dogmatics
IV.1, Barth ‘turns from the vertical dimension of Christian love to
the horizontal’ (Clough 2016:85). The love of Jesus Christ, Barth
notes, is all persons coming together, and solidarity exists between
all persons in the fellowship with God (CD IV.1, 105). In Romans,
Barth (1933:335) remarks, ‘there is no limit to this fellowship and
solidarity’. This solidarity and commonality between all people
can serve as a further useful principle in Christian ethical reflection
on the topic of migrant women and the poor and vulnerable being
made use of through systems they are unable to access, such as
251
reproductive technology. In the section ‘Solidarity with the

vulnerable as point of departure for Christian ethics’, this notion
will be developed further.
Solidarity with the vulnerable as

point of departure for Christian
ethics
Russel Botman (2006:84) notes that the Bible is particularly
attentive to vulnerable life and he discovers the ‘hermeneutical
key to reading the Bible in God’s commitment to … vulnerable
life’. For Botman (2006:82), this is also closely connected to the
covenant, ‘a mode of God’s activity that spans the economy of
salvation from creation to redemption to consummation’. In this
notion of the covenant, the ‘urgency and immediacy of the
relationship between God and humanity is … profoundly
expressed’ (Botman 2006:85). In this way, the covenant serves as
an invitation to all living creatures and all of creation to take part
in a relationship with God, as well as challenging humanity to
care for creation by means of ‘covenantal living’ (Botman
2006:85). In the correlation between the covenant and
redemption, Botman (2006) indicates:
[W ]e learn that the destructive powers of cruelty and injustice can be
overcome in ways that do not simply perpetuate the cycle of violence
but create a foundation for a new and more hopeful life. (p. 85)
The hermeneutical key of covenantal thinking can therefore be

expressed, for Botman (2006:84), as ‘God’s commitment to
vulnerable life’, which is rooted in ‘God’s preferential option for
the poor … in the conceptual and practical meaning of covenant’.
A very similar idea of covenant, complete with the invitation
and challenge included, is taken up in the Accra Declaration,
where under the heading ‘Confession of faith in the face of
economic injustice and ecological destruction’, the declaration is
made that (WCRC 2004):
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Faith commitment may be expressed in various ways according

to regional and theological traditions: as confession, as confessing
together, as faith stance, as being faithful to the covenant of God.
We choose confession, not meaning a classical doctrinal confession,
because the World Alliance of Reformed Churches cannot make such
a confession, but to show the necessity and urgency of an active
response to the challenges of our time and the call of Debrecen.
We invite member churches to receive and respond to our common
witness. (p. 6)
Massive threats to life, Accra continues, has as its root cause

‘above all the product of an unjust economic system defended
and protected by political and military might. Economic systems
are a matter of life or death’ (WCRC 2004). The theme of the
covenant is raised again when Accra specifically refers to the
exclusion of ‘the poor, the vulnerable and the whole of creation
from the fullness of life’ (WCRC 2004) as a result of unjust
economic systems. World Communion of Reformed Churches
(2004), Accra Declaration:
In a world of corruption, exploitation and greed, God is in a special
way the God of the destitute, the poor, the exploited, the wronged
and the abused (Ps 146.7–9). (p. 6)
Gustavo Gutiérrez (2009:320) notes that the source of spirituality

can be said to be ‘solidarity with the poor’. This includes ‘a
collective journey with God’, which is observed through
‘thanksgiving, prayer, and a commitment in history to solidarity’
(Gutiérrez 2009:320). The most genuine meaning of this solidarity
with the poor, or commitment to the poor, is ‘to recognize in the
face of the poor “the suffering features of the face of Christ the
Lord who questions and implores us”’ (Gutiérrez 2009:320). For
Gutiérrez (1973:xi), the theological meaning of liberation is not
only a doctrinal issue but one that comprises ‘the very meaning
of Christianity and the mission of the Church’. The complexity of
the means of liberation as a coherent and systematic account is
therefore grounded in ‘the salvific work of Christ’ (Gutiérrez
1973:xi), in whom history is hurled forward towards complete
reconciliation, meaning and completion (Gutiérrez 1973:167).
253
In Christ, God’s gratuitous love irrupts into history, Christ who
embodies God’s solidarity with the poor, who Gutiérrez (1991:85)
notes, ‘smells of the stable’. Liberation therefore reaches its
completest sense in Christ, who becomes fully human within
human history as the liberator (Gutiérrez 1973:175–177);
accordingly, ‘the struggle for a just society is in its own right very
much a part of salvation history’ (Gutiérrez 1973:168).
Human beings, Gutiérrez (1973:159) states, participate in God’s
salvation when they work ‘to transform this world’, by building
‘the human community’. Part of this work is to ‘struggle against
misery and exploitation’ (Gutiérrez 1973:159) and building a
society that is just. For Gutiérrez (1973:x), struggling against a
society that is unjust and oppressive, goes together with
struggling for a society that is just and open, ‘where people can
live with dignity and be agents of their own destiny’.
For a Christian ethical response to transnational ART, and egg
donation in particular, that takes solidarity with vulnerable people
as its point of departure, this has far-reaching effects. As has
been indicated earlier in this contribution, transnational egg
donation processes very often become exploitative and involve
those that are excluded from utilising the same resources that
they provide. In particular, migrant women are often taken
advantage of or even exploited to be used as egg donors. As
migrant people are already acutely vulnerable, these practices
make them even more vulnerable and in need of solidarity. The
Accra Declaration states (WCRC 2004):
We believe that God calls us to stand with those who are victims of
injustice. We know what the Lord requires of us: to do justice, love
kindness, and walk in God’s way (Mic 6.8). (p. 7)
Conclusion
In this contribution, the issue of the utilisation of donors in ART,
and in particular, when this donation occurs across national
borders, was examined. The availability and affordability of
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reproductive technology were briefly mentioned, as well as the

factors that contribute to being included or excluded from
technological developments in this regard. Particularly, the issue
of how the excluded become part of a system that excludes them,
not as beneficiaries, but through exploitation, and in particular,
how this affects migrants, was the unique contribution that this
chapter hopes to make. This phenomenon was reflected on from
the departure point of Christian ethics, focusing specifically on
solidarity with the vulnerable.
In the words of the Accra Declaration (WCRC 2004):
We believe that God calls us to hear the cries of the poor and the
groaning of creation and to follow the public mission of Jesus Christ
who came so that all may have life and have it in fullness (Jn 10.10).
Jesus brings justice to the oppressed and gives bread to the hungry;
he frees the prisoner and restores sight to the blind (Lk 4.18); he
supports and protects the downtrodden, the stranger, the orphans
and the widows. (p. 7)
It is noteworthy for this contribution that the stranger is

specifically included; the stranger, the migrant, the one whose life
is in transit, should also have life in fullness. The practices around
transnational ART, and egg donation in particular, at present is
incompatible with this confession. Standing in solidarity with the
vulnerable, also vulnerable migrant women who either resort to
egg donation in financial desperation or are lured to donate by
false promises made during recruitment, necessitates taking this
confession seriously, to support the downtrodden, the stranger,
the orphan, the widow, the migrant and to speak out against
exploitation.
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Chapter 9
Violence against the

displaced: An African
Pentecostal response
Marius Nel
Keywords: Displaced; Migrant; Xenophobia; Violence; Pentecostal

movement; Church; Philoxenia.
Introduction59
It is argued that whilst historically the Pentecostal movement was
pacifist and directed at the marginalised, including the displaced,
59. Note: This work is based on the research supported by the National Research Foundation
(NRF). Any opinion, finding and conclusion or recommendation expressed in this material is
that of the author and the NRF does not accept any responsibility in this regard.
How to cite: Nel, M., 2020, ‘Violence against the displaced: An African Pentecostal response’,
257
Violence against the displaced: An African Pentecostal response
poor and reviled, the widespread phenomenon of refugees in our

present day plagued by xenophobia necessitates the fact that
the Pentecostal movement reconsiders its pacifist sentiment and
response to the displaced. It is submitted that they can do so
effectively by using metaphors informed by their distinctive
pneumatology that will exchange inbred fear for the stranger for
the mutuality of brotherly love. The solution to the Pentecostal
response to the displaced is suggested in their communities
being informed by Christian hospitality, as the embodiment of
the church as the body-of-Christ-on-earth, serving as a counteract
to the social stratification of the larger society. Then they will be
able to provide an alternative, based on the principle of equality
and dignity of all, and create faith communities where everyone
is welcome regardless of background, status, gender or race. It is
contended that when the church serves as the hospitium of God
it will communicate a sharing, welcoming, embracing and all-
inclusive communality that is in the forefront of efforts to
welcome, house and relocate the alienated.
Refugees as a South African

challenge
Xenophobia is an international phenomenon that comprises the
rejection, exclusion, victimisation and even vilification of migrants
because they are viewed as unacceptable intruders and outsiders
(Masenya 2017:81). It leads to discrimination, violence and abuses
(Akindès 2004:27). It is a discourse that shares space with racism
as both are different sides of the coin of exclusion and segregation
(Rushubirwa, Ndimande-Hlongwa & Mkhize 2015:98).
According to South Africa’s 2011 census, 2.2 million people
(4.2% of the population) were born outside the country. ‘Of these,
about 1.7 million had not acquired South African citizenship’
(Field 2017:1). The Oxfam report of July 2016 states that SA is
hosting 1 217 708 refugees (Oxfam 2016:3). This figure does not
include the majority of illegal migrants.
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Sociological studies show that the hatred for foreigners in SA

‘has a number of causes, among which the fear of loss of social
status and identity; a threat, perceived or real, to citizens’ economic
success’ (Danso & Macdonald 2001:124). When a government
does not guarantee the protection of individuals’ rights, including
those of foreigners as happens in SA, citizens’ perception of the
threat posed by foreigners may lead to xenophobia, especially
where poverty and unemployment are rampant.
The first incidences of violence in SA date back to the 1980s
when political and economic problems in neighbouring states led
to the influx of an estimated 250 000–350 000 immigrants
(Danso & MacDonald 2001:127). South Africa did not officially
recognise anyone as refugees until it became a signatory in 1994
to the UN and Organisation of African Unity Conventions on
Refugees. The Nationalist government granted refugee status to
the immigrants, but allowed them to settle only in the apartheid
black homelands (Dodson 2010:8). The homeland governments
did not allow all the immigrants to settle in their areas. Lebowa
dismissed Mozambican settlers, whilst Gazankulu provided the
refugees with land and equipment (Gordon 2010:61). Refugees
were, however, confined to the homeland; should they enter SA
apart from the homeland they were deported.
Since 1994 xenophobic attacks against foreign nationals
increased dramatically in Gauteng, Western Cape, KwaZulu-Natal
and Free State, probably because of the inequalities that scar the
South African society, a scarcity of job opportunities, competition
for resources and frustration about poor service delivery (Gumede
2015; Koenane 2018:1). South Africa is characterised by enormous
inequality that exists nearly exclusively along racial lines and that
can be attributed to the legacy of apartheid. If it were possible to
distribute the wealth of the country equally, all families in the
country would have been fed. For example, former Deputy Minister
of Finance Mcebisi Jonas pointed out in May 2017 that whilst 63%
259
of white households have a monthly expenditure of R10 000, only

8% of black households are in the same position.60
Most incidents of violence against foreigners were carried
out by black South Africans (Kalityani & Visser 2010:380),
threatening the lives and well-being of thousands of foreigners
who seek refuge from poverty, ethnic wars and government
persecution in SA.61 Workers migrate, mainly in search of higher
incomes; lured by friends and relatives and social networks, in
search of adventure and exploration, fleeing from persecution
and armed conflict and because of climate change challenges
(Wickramasekera 2003). Most migrants not only come from
Zimbabwe, Malawi, Democratic Republic of Congo, Somalia,
Nigeria and Ethiopia but also from Pakistan and Bangladesh.
It should also be noted that most instances of xenophobic
attacks have erupted in poor and marginalised areas
(Karimi 2015).
The perception is widespread among South Africans that all
black foreigners in the country are illegal immigrants, and that
they steal jobs, threaten the economic survival chances of
inhabitants of townships and participate in crime against South
African blacks. Xenophobic attacks are directed nearly exclusively
at foreign African nationals (Afrophobia and at times also
Islamophobia), and not foreigners in general. Rushubirwa et al.
(2015:108) argue that they belong in the category of self-hatred,
a situation whereby black South Africans who have endured
decades of oppression and of having their lives devalued, in turn,
internalise oppression and hence do not value their own lives as
well as the lives of fellow Africans (Afrophobia).
The South African government policy contributes to a
pervasive climate of xenophobia because it is resistant, if not
60. See https://www.fin24.com/economy/8-things-in-the-sa-economy-that-must-change-

20170517.
61. It should be kept in mind that the violent behaviour towards foreigners found among some
South African blacks can only be understood when the historic violence of the colonising and
apartheid systems against them, that is at least part of the mentioned violence, is kept in mind.
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Chapter 9
directly hostile to immigration (Ideheu & Osaghae 2015:83). The

government also created a climate where xenophobia could
flourish (Gumede 2015) by its rhetoric that made a distinction
between ‘us’ and ‘them’ (foreigners or makwerekwere)62 by
seemingly ignoring migrants’ positive contributions to their
destination communities (Crush, Chikanda & Skinner 2015).63
Why did xenophobic attacks increase with the democratisation
of SA in 1994? It is a fact that in SA, structural injustices that
arise from many years of colonisation and subjugation under
apartheid have been compounded by the fact that the majority
of the previously disenfranchised population still lack the
requisite skills and experience to participate meaningfully in the
economy and other institutions of public life with the resultant
poverty (Rushubirwa et al. 2015:109). The mismatch between
skills and labour demands, inadequate opportunities for on-the-
job training and limited mobility arising from high transport
costs are among the major causes of structural unemployment
in SA, contributing to massive unemployment, poverty, crime,
alcohol and drug abuse, death of social capital and HIV and
AIDS, leading to feelings of anger and hopelessness that get
unleashed at times in atrocious xenophobic violence on soft
targets (Cebekhulu 2013). At the same time, Pillay (2017:8)
argues that xenophobia should be related to the South African
historical policy of apartheid which entrenched white privilege
and limited it to whites. The same happens in democratic SA
when institutionalised measures protect the rights and interest
of an ‘in-group’ against an ‘out-group’. Although the government
62. The term Makwerekwere probably originated from a perception of some South Africans
that is related to the sound of the foreign languages spoken by migrants. The term carries
the stigma of migrants being inferior, primitive, violent and criminal. The language excludes
an ‘other’ (Field 2017:2).
63. Field (2017:3) distinguishes between personal xenophobia that represents individual’s
fear of and hostility towards and rejection of foreigners; communal xenophobia, with local
communities defining their identity in contrast to and in exclusion from foreigners; institutional
xenophobia that consists of a culture of hostility towards and rejection of foreigners by
institutions, especially government institutions such as the police and the Department of
Home Affairs; and structural xenophobia that provides xenophobic concepts with legal form.
261
allowed immigrants the right to settle in SA, they failed to

implement a plan that integrates the interests of the local
population and that of the immigrants.
A Human Rights Watch Report published in 1998 narrates how
immigrants from Mozambique, Malawi and Zimbabwe were
physically assaulted over a period of weeks in January 1995 when
armed gangs with the support of the police identified suspected
illegal (undocumented) immigrants in a campaign called
Buyelekhaya [Go back home!] for their supposed contribution to
crime, unemployment and sexual offences (Danso & McDonald
2001:127). Between 2000 and the beginning of 2008, 67 people
died in xenophobic attacks (McDonald 2008:570, in Masenya
2017:83). For instance, in October 2001 residents of the Zandspruit
informal settlement near Johannesburg gave Zimbabweans
10 days to leave the area and those who failed to obey the
ultimatum were ‘forcefully evicted; their shacks were burned
down and looted’ (Morapedi 2007:234, in Masenya 2017:83). The
reason community members gave for their behaviour was that
the foreigners took their jobs and were involved in a number of
crimes. May 2008 saw xenophobic riots that left 62 people dead.
Schwartz’s (2009:9) research shows that the motivating factors
for the riots were intense competition for jobs, commodities and
housing; the willingness of foreigners to work for lower wages;
psychological categorisation of people as ‘others’ who threaten
‘us’ and ‘our’ interests; a feeling of superiority in relation to other
Africans; a sense of exclusive citizenship that excludes others;
micro-politics in townships; the accusation that foreigners spread
diseases such as HIV and AIDS; and the involvement and
complicity of members of the local authority members in
assigning contracts to foreigners who paid the most bribes
(cf. also Mogekwu 2005:12). Many would not even allow their
daughters to marry makwerekwere even if they were impregnated
by the foreign national and the required dowry (lobola) was
offered by the prospective husband. Foreigners were also used
as the convenient scapegoats and masks for individual and
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Chapter 9
government failures. In the time period between 2010 and 2014,

there was an upsurge in the number of attacks, with almost
three-quarters of the attacks in this period since 1994 (Crush
et al. 2015).
After a speech by King Goodwill Zwelithini in 2015 where he
encouraged foreigners to go back to their own countries,64
foreigners’ shops and shacks were looted, leading to some
countries to repatriate their citizens. The perception that
foreigners are the hostile ‘others’ that threaten the ‘self’ in
existentialist terms led to violent irrational attacks on innocent
people (Gumede 2015). Members of smaller ethnic groups are
also at times viewed as foreigners by South Africans; they ‘look
foreign’ because they are ‘too dark’ to be South Africans, making
them victims of xenophobic attacks (Mogekwu 2005:15).
Another reason for xenophobic attacks may be found in the
government’s failure to bring levels of crime under control that
creates a society where some people resort to violence without
fear of being persecuted successfully. By failing to maintain the
rule of law and protecting communities from criminal activities,
the government in effect allows criminal elements to rob, rape and
loot foreigners during community protests (Akindès 2009:126).
Migration is the result of the new ‘South Africa’s emergence
and status as Africa’s preeminent economic, educational and
cultural centre’ (Kalitanyi & Visser 2010:382, in Masenya 2017:85).
From an international perspective one can argue that it is South
Africa’s duty to share its prosperity with African migrants (what
64. He allegedly said, ‘I would like to ask the South African government to help us. We must
deal with our own lice in our heads. Let’s take out the ants and leave them in the sun. We
ask that immigrants must take their bags and go where they come from’ (Herald Reporter
2015:n.p.). The king’s statements followed on those of Billy Masetha, that approximately 90%
of foreign persons found in the Republic were here with fraudulent papers and were involved
in crimes, and Joe Modise’s remark that there were 1 million immigrants in the country
who committed crimes (Koenane 2018:3). Billy Masetha was the head of the South African
National Intelligence Agency and Joe Modise was the Minister of Defence at the time they
made these statements.
263
is needed is that not only SA but also other African countries

need to devise a viable immigration strategy that reflects social
interconnectedness on the continent). At the moment,
immigration has become a major security debate, especially in
the United States of America (USA) and Europe. South African
xenophobia reflects the lack of solidarity with other countries in
the South African Development Community (SADC). What is
needed is that the government should strategise along with the
other SADC countries to create a regional consciousness of
solidarity amongst citizens and policy-makers.
The ‘primary challenge that the government’ (Masenya
2017:87) faces seems to be an educational one, by providing its
citizens through the media a vicarious knowledge of migrants,
immigrants and refugees as people. Perhaps it should be
considered to develop curricula for learning institutions that
include issues such as citizenship and xenophobia. At the same
time, politicians should be held accountable for their remarks
about migrants’ contributions to the South African society and
economy and by harbouring the talents of migrant communities
to benefit both SA and migrants and their origin communities
(Crush et al. 2015).
Migrants experience the reality of fear and anxiety compounded
by the prejudice encountered within local communities (Beetar
2016:99) as well as harassment and intimidation by police and
the dreaded Home Affairs, the government department that
issues residence and work permits, dreaded in part because it
has the power to deny such permits (Beetar 2016:100).65 The
result is that ‘migrant’ and ‘foreigner’ become analogous, where
all undesirable people, mainly poor black people without access
to land and resources, are made to feel like they do not belong in
65. The Department of Home Affairs is known in some circles of migrants as the ‘Department
of Horror Affairs’ (Alfaro-Velcamp & Shaw 2016:995).
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Chapter 9
the community (Naicker 2016:49). Refugees in SA at risk of

xenophobia and violent crime are also at risk of mental illness, as
Labys, Dreyer and Burns (2017:698) argue, including post-
traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), anxiety and depression.
A theology of aliens
Davies (2001:20) explains that the Hebrew name for Israel’s God
in Exodus 3:14 (the Tetragrammaton, YHWH, the one who is) can
be translated as ‘the God who will always be where God’s people
are’, or the acting God who shows a definitive preference for
people moved to the periphery of society where they are easily
forgotten and their rights abused by powerful figures and
institutes. YHWH is then understood to be ‘I am who I am
becoming’, implying that his church should also deal in gerunds,
that is words that look like verbs but function as nouns with an
infinitive sense of being. Louw (s.a.:18) proposes that the church
should use verbal categories and the infinitive tense to confront
its presumed preference for power categories and fixed past
participles. Gerunds presuppose action because they are verbs
used as nouns (Louw s.a.:18) and their function in terms of the
victims of violence can be summarised with the Greek
splanchnizomai (σπλαγχνίζομαι),66 that explains the unbounded
mercy of God made visible by Christians in their unqualified
praxis of hospitality and diakonia. In theopaschitic theology, the
moving of the intestines functions as the church’s practice of the
theology of the cross. Ubuntu requires that one sees ‘the other’
as a true reflection of who oneself is (Koenane 2018:4). Then the
theology of glory (theologia gloriae) and omnipotence can
66. The term refers to ‘an experience of great affection and compassion for someone’ (Louw
& Nida 1996:1:293).
265
develop into a theologia crucis of weakness, suffering and praxis.67

This praxis will interpenetrate and infiltrate within the antinomy
and paradox of fear that paralyses many Christians when they
have to deal with the victim as well as the perpetrator of violence.
To be effective requires an unqualified grassroots encounter with
all stakeholders in the refugee and migrant crisis that moves to
mutual understanding and promotes negotiation with all parties
involved and applies a pastoral polity of presence whilst it
practises hospitable perichoresis that creates room for the
homeless (Louw s.a.:22).68 A person with ubuntu will be
welcoming, hospitable (defined as being-with-and-for-others),
warm and generous, and willing to share because they know that
they are diminished when others are humiliated (Koenane 2018:2).
This is the only viable alternative to xenophobia, and Christians
are ideally equipped to take the lead in communities such as
predominantly black South African squatter camps where
xenophobia surfaces regularly.
In the Hebrew Bible, the Deuteronomists and the priestly
authors (P) all meditated on the same events, but the
Deuteronomists turned virulently against foreign peoples whilst
the priestly authors sought reconciliation (Armstrong 2014:359).
The reason for the difference between the two traditions is to be
found in their different contexts. The xenophobic theology of the
Deuteronomists developed much later when the kingdom of
Judah faced political annihilation (Armstrong 2014:361), whilst
the priests wrote in times of comfortable peace.
67. Prosperity theology is influencing some classical Pentecostal and especially neo-
Pentecostal groups and churches. It is an important subject that requires a study of its own.
68. Pixley (2003:579) argues that the interpretation of the Bible must be pastoral in some
sense if it is to be useful. Louw (2016:7) explains that perichoresis comes from two Greek
words, peri, which means ‘around’, and chorein, which means ‘to give way’ or ‘to make room’.
He uses the term to describe the community within the Trinity, explaining that the spirituality
of compassion is the outcome of Christology and pneumatology.
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Important to note is the Hebrew Bible’s emphasis on Israelites’

treatment of strangers in their midst as well as the motivation for
the provisions in the Mosaic law.69 Consider also the important
injunction found in Deuteronomy 10:19, ‘And you shall love the
alien, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt’ (‫ַו ֲא ַהב ְ֖תֶ ּם אֶת־ ַה ּ֑גֵר ִ ּכֽי־ג ִ ֵ֥רים‬
‫ִיתם ְבּאֶ ֶ֥רץ ִמצ ָ ְֽרי ִם׃‬
֖ ֶ ‫) ֱהי‬.
A Pentecostal response to violence

against displaced persons
Two observations can be made. In the first place, most of the
early Pentecostals were pacifist in their convictions and practice,
as deduced from the restorationist way they viewed their origins
and the way they read the New Testament with the purpose to
realise God’s presence in the faith community. They wished to
restore the early church’s practices, as described in the Book of
Acts (Shuman 1996:72). This trend was followed in continuation
with the holiness, divine healing and Keswick Conference
movements that were pacifist because of its literal obedience to
Scripture (Yoder 1983:307). Pentecostals’ attitudes about the
world were informed by their conviction that true faith is always
threatened by dominant cultural values; they interpreted the
persecution they experienced because of their stubborn
rejection of ‘the world’ as a measure of spiritual strength. They
volubly opposed much of surrounding culture and the sense
that they offered a viable and satisfying counter-cultural and
counter-conventional alternative to this-worldliness was
instrumental in attracting new adherents (Blumhofer 1989a:19).
Those who embodied these values viewed themselves as being
69. cf. Exodus 12:43–45, 48–49; 20:10; 22:21; 23:9, 12; Leviticus 17:8–13; 19:10, 33–34; 22:10–13,
18–19; 24:16, 22; 25:44–45; Numbers 35:15; Deuteronomy 1:16; 10:18–19; 14:21, 29; 17:15; 23:7, 20;
24:14–22; 25:5; Jeremiah 22:3; also Matthew 27:7; John 10:5; Ephesians 2:12; Hebrews 11:13;
13:2; 1 Peter 2:11.
267
part of a tradition with very direct ties to the apostolic church

(Shuman 1996:74). To understand the Pentecostal moral
commitment to pacifism, this restorationist understanding of
church history should be kept in mind (Dempster 1990:27). Early
Pentecostals viewed themselves as a contemporary restoration
of the earliest church that became more and more unfaithful in
time. A significant element of the church’s decline was its
participation in political establishmentarianism, ‘[m]ilitarism
entered the church’s life, from the Pentecostal perspective,
when it backslid and forged a political alliance with the Roman
state’ (Dempster 1990:27). 70 Renewal, hence, requires social
and political disestablishment, explaining why participation in
war was viewed as incompatible with being a citizen of heaven,
and not simply because of the violence inherent in war. At the
same time, the allegiance demanded by war in the form of
patriotism was trivialised by comparison to the allegiance
demanded by God.71 ‘Pentecostals considered themselves
engaged in a conflict infinitely more important than any earthly
struggle’ (Blumhofer 1989b:345). For that reason, patriotism
and nationalism were regarded as sinful and unacceptable by
Pentecostals, ‘[p]ride in nation and race was an abomination’
70. See, for example, the argument of Bartleman ([1919/1920] 2016:150), an early pentecostal
leader: ‘[c]an we imagine Jesus or the Apostles going to war at the behest of the Roman
government? Converting men by the power of the Gospel, and later killing these same
converts, across some imaginary boundary line?’ In another publication I formulate it as
follows, ‘[i]f our world is characterised by wars that kill innocent victims, as all wars do, and
which destroy buildings and land making them useless for human purposes, as modern wars
do, a realistic understanding of our world must propose directions for moving toward a world
without war. Wars are human creations, though it is arguable that they derive from genetic
impulses to aggression, and like all human creations they can be undone and replaced by a
different sort of world without war’ (Nel 2018:58 note 88).
71. Richard Davis (quoted in Peachey 2013:xiii), a former chaplain in the US Army who became
a conscientious objector to war in the 1990s, writes, ‘I realized that the type of allegiance
that the military calls from young people is an idolatrous type of allegiance. It calls you to
a different God … to the god of war. Ultimately, I just had to say I have given my allegiance
incorrectly to the United States of America. I need to retract that … and then give it back
to Jesus Christ because He is the only one that has the right … to call from us this kind of
allegiance’.
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(Blumhofer 1989b:350–351). It is argued that the early pacifist

sentiments should be recovered by Pentecostals as an important
element of their heritage, with the wide-ranging implication for
their lives in a world that they share with the displaced.
A second observation is that there is a historical link between
Pentecostalism and the disenfranchised and marginalised.
Most adherents of the early Pentecostal movement came from
their ranks. Early Pentecostals also associated with the marginalised
because that was where they came from, as was the case for at
least a significant part of the early Christian Church. For instance,
the author of 1 Peter (1:1) refers to the readers of the letter as
parepidēmois (παρεπιδήμοις), literally foreigners or people who are
not citizens of the place where they live, implying that they are
culturally and socially different from the indigenous society who
Source: Nel, M., 2018, Pacifism and Pentecostals in South Africa: A new hermeneutic for nonviolence,
Routledge, London (ISBN: 9780367590864).
FIGURE 1: Pacifism and Pentecostals in South Africa.
269
treat them with suspicion (Field 2017:4). The term refers to people
who live in a specific locality for a short period of time or
temporarily.
As ‘foreigners’ they were dispersed through various towns
in Asia Minor (διασπορᾶς Πόντου, Γαλατίας, Καππαδοκίας, Ἀσίας, καὶ
Βιθυνίας), scattered among the other citizens but also chosen by
God, thus giving them a unique dignity and mission (πρόγνωσιν
θεοῦ πατρός). Whilst society despised them, God honoured them.
They are also called paroikious (παροίκους) in 1 Peter 2:11, implying
that they were immigrants, foreigners or sojourners who had
immigrated to a foreign country. As aliens and strangers they did
not enjoy the rights as citizens and others often discriminated
against them. Whether the author literally viewed them as
migrants and foreigners or whether this is a metaphorical use
of the term, New Testament scholars disagree about. Both
interpretations make sense that the readers were foreigners and
migrants. It can refer to those expelled from Rome, but it can also
denote the identity of Christians in the world in a metaphorical
sense. Foreigners and migrants are alienated from their context
and vulnerable because they might be rejected and even
persecuted and exploited. These characteristics also define
Christian identity (Field 2017:4). As members of a new community,
Christians are alienated from the surrounding society, and it is
important that they do not fall victim to the values and behaviour
patterns of the society. Their loyalty belongs exclusively to the
king of the community and they embody the kingdom’s
eschatological future for humanity. In contemporary South African
terms, they are God’s Makwerekwere and following in the
footsteps of the One they serve who was rejected by his own
kinsmen and died at the hand of Roman rulers as a rebel by way
of crucifixion, a symbol of degradation, humiliation and disgrace.
In contemporary times, the migration of Christianity towards
the global south implies for Buhlmann (1976:23) that the church
is returning to the people where the Christian Church initially
began. In Africa decolonised nations have relatively higher
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Chapter 9
proportions of youth of whom many are without jobs and suffer

from poverty. This was also the case with early Pentecostals. Now
the church has again become the church of the poor, those who
realise how dependent they are on God (Mt 5:3). The church in
the global south is growing, whilst the number of Christians in the
north, consisting of more ‘developed’ countries, is diminishing.
The implication is clear that the majority of Christians are now
living in poverty and political instability (Bediako 1995:128).
Many people in the two-thirds world prefer Pentecostalism as
the facilitator of their religious experiences. Pentecostal theology
is historically contextual, at times bordering on syncretism, and it
explains its popularity because it succeeds in relating successfully
to culturally related issues and challenges. This includes, among
indigenous churches, the affirmation of human dignity and
cultural identities of formerly dominated, oppressed and
marginalised people who were the victims of colonialism (Thomas
1981:26–27). African Pentecostalism attempts to address poverty,
unemployment and xenophobia (Anderson & Pillay 1997:227).
Bediako (1995:148) argues that the presence of migrants
should be perceived as a gift that challenges the church to
become an effective missional church in the present-day world.
What can Pentecostal churches do when shocking
manifestations of xenophobia challenge their communities and
their own members are victims or participants of the emergence
of a xenophobic culture? How can they practically engage to
counter xenophobia and to develop theological resources to
respond to xenophobia? It has been observed that although
foreigners at first came into local churches, very soon the pattern
was that they met separately, explaining that language and cultural
differences are the main reasons for their separation (Pillay 2017:9).
There are three implications that can be drawn from the two
observations made above. The church is the people who pledged
their loyalty to the crucified Christ, consisting of people from
diverse nations, ethnic groupings and cultural backgrounds.
271
What binds them together is the love of God and their loyalty to
him (Field 2017:5). In the words of 1 John 4:20, one cannot say,
‘I love God’, and hate their brothers or sisters, for those who do not
love a brother or sister whom they have seen, cannot love God
whom they have not seen. Not until I love the other am I able to
love God. Believers do not distinguish between the rich and the
poor, the literate and illiterate, male and female and young or old
because in Christ they became new persons (2 Cor 5:17; Gl 3:28;
Eph 2:13). As the World Council of Churches (2015) affirms:
Being en route as a pilgrim, realizing the resident yet alien status of
Christians and Christian communities, lies at the heart of faith from
the very inception of the church. Becoming a pilgrim is the calling
of each individual Christian. Becoming a pilgrim community is the
calling of the church. (p. 20)
The South African context of extreme inequality between the

rich and poor as well as migration and xenophobia challenges
Pentecostals to re-envision what it means to exist as despised
foreigners, God’s Makwerekwere (Field 2017:6). Field proposes
that the implications are varied. To become God’s Makwerekwere
requires a deliberate re-appropriation of a descriptor that is
intended to be denigratory and exclusionary. The intention is to
deliberately subvert the ethos of exclusion and embody the
rejected, excluded, degraded and crucified Jesus.
A first implication is that the faith community should deliberately
engage into radical fellowship and solidarity with the excluded to
become a foreign and disruptive body within society because they
believe that God is characterised by a preference for the rejected
and excluded. In a situation where some people are subjected to
daily humiliation, believers should deliberately affirm their dignity
and value. The church should serve as a foreign and disruptive
presence in the society, specifically because it serves reconciliation
that includes excluded groups of diverse ethnic and racial identities
who in South African society are historically opposed to each
other, asking of the church to reconsider its character and reason
for existence. In Christ, language and culture do not make any
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difference. Reconciliation in Christ does not imply assimilation or

removal of national and ethnic difference. The church life is
enriched by the diversity of their members. The church transcends
and transgresses all boundaries of nationality and ethnicity. The
presence of migrants is a summons to break out of a local mindset
and to discover our spiritual siblings in other countries and
continents (Field 2017:7). Whilst foreigners are prone to leave the
existing churches and form their own groups, the church should
purposefully interact with them, inviting them back into the fold
and catering for their specific needs.
Christians should remember their past when they too were
strangers in Egypt; being religious does not prevent one from
having a xenophobic attitude. They should deliberately respond
to homophobia by their expression of philoxenia, by deliberately
and purposefully treating foreigners with courtesy, loving and
caring compassion and kindness (Koenane 2018:7).
The church will further have to consider xenophobia in terms
of a biblical and theological perspective. Its purpose should be to
establish the church as ‘counter-cultural and counter-conventional
communities shaped by Pentecostal spirituality and piety’ (Yong
2010:13). Then believers will take responsibility for providing
refugees with much needed food, clothing, shelter, documentation
and help in finding jobs. What is required of Christians will be
that they challenge their feelings of prejudice and xenophobic
feelings of hatred and dislike for migrants (Pillay 2017:11),
representing ubuntu ethic.72
Even more is needed from the church and this is the third
implication. It must also struggle for justice in SA, including
economic justice. To make a difference to the lives of the historical
victims of economic inequality, power relations must be shifted
towards the poor. The economic system as such needs to be
72. ‘Xenophilia interpenetrates differences and polarities; in connection to perichoresis,

xenophilia creates room for dislocated human beings and brings about meaningful exchange
of ideas despite fear and the prejudice of xenophobia’ (Louw 2016:7).
273
challenged because a fundamental restructuring of the economy

is required to improve the quality of life of the majority of the
population and to counteract the prevailing inequalities. The
economy should be opened up to create access for the historically
disadvantaged. The church must become the prophetic voice
who addresses inequalities that continue to fracture and divide
people (Pillay 2017:14). What the church needs is a theology of
economics. However, as long as the church is in alliance with
prevailing political–economic systems it cannot speak on behalf
of the exploited and poor people.
Conclusion
Synthesis
Since 1994 South African society has been marred by several
incidents of xenophoic violence. Incidents of violence against
foreigners threatened the lives and well-being of thousands of
foreigners who seek refuge in SA. Migrants experience the risk of
mental illness of PTSD, anxiety and depression because of the
discrimination of xenophobia, a lack of job opportunities,
challenges to their physical safety and housing exploitation.
An important reason for xenophobia is the South African reality
of extreme inequality.
It is argued that Pentecostals in restorationist tradition should
regain their early pacifist sentiment and sensitivity for the
displaced and marginalised in dealing with migrants. Their
restorationist urge to restore the ethos of the early church led to
their offering of a viable and satisfying counter-cultural and
counter-conventional alternative to this-worldliness. Then when
they are faced by shocking manifestations of xenophobia and a
xenophobic culture they will engage to counter xenophobia.
The context of extreme inequality requires from Pentecostals
a re-envisioning of what it means to exist as despised foreigners
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who represent and embody the rejected, excluded, degraded

and crucified Jesus. On the one hand, it requires subverting the
ethos of exclusion by providing purposeful fellowship and
solidarity with the excluded and marginalised. The faith
community must strive to produce a non-violent context in which
those who are subjected to daily humiliation have their dignity
and value affirmed. On the other hand, the church must engage
the issue of xenophobia from a biblical and theological perspective
by analysing the grassroots causes of xenophobia, to speak
prophetically about inequalities by engaging in a theology of
economics. It should also assist refugees with what they need to
survive and combat stereotypes through the deliberate
establishment of friendship between Christians and migrants.
The church should utilise its ‘mixed economy’ of people from
diverse backgrounds to enable believers to transcend cultural
and racial boundaries and learn to respect and accept others. In
this way, the church is established as the ‘body of Christ’ on earth.
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Chapter 10
Religious pluralisation
and the identity of
diaconia in Germany
Johannes Euricha,b
Institute of Diaconal Studies,
a
Faculty of Theology, University of Heidelberg,

Heidelberg, Germany
b
Keywords: Pluralisation; Identity; Diaconia; Migration; Social

change.
Introduction
In light of a large number of people who—over the last years—
came to Germany with different cultural and religious
backgrounds, or who have already become part of the German
society, the general challenge is to see people with different
linguistic, cultural, social and religious backgrounds not as a
How to cite: Eurich, J., 2020, ‘Religious pluralisation and the identity of diaconia in Germany’,
277
Religious pluralisation and the identity of diaconia in Germany
threat, but as a potential for social change.72 Churches as well as

diaconia73 are also confronted with the question of how they
want to operate in the context of an increasingly multicultural
society coined through migration and religious pluralism in
Germany and Europe. In 2014, a statement was formulated during
the Conference of Rhine Churches concerning displacement and
migration (cf. Evangelische Landeskirche in Baden 2004). The
paper proposed a ‘theology of living together’74 when it comes to
the responsibilities of churches and diaconia in a modern society.
This approach aims at an equal participation in society for people
with various backgrounds according to the example of Jesus, in
order to enable people to approach one another without any
reservations. To make this happen, Protestant churches should
not only be ‘churches for others’, but also ‘churches with others’
(cf. Sobrino 2004). The Rhine Church proposed a resolution at
the regional synod in 2014 for a new ecclesiology, ‘in the light of
the unabated active global migration movement and the growing
cultural, ethnic and religious diversity of German society’.75
A ‘cultural opening’ requires a rethinking of ‘preaching, pastoral
care, diaconia and church educational work’ (Evangelische Kirche
im Rheinland 2014):
It is no longer only a matter of seeing people with other cultural and
religious backgrounds as recipients of church and diaconal action,
but moreover of involving them in this framework as equal partners.
Thus, the goal is to also enable them to take part in the service
community and its organization. (n.p.)
72. cf. Tatsachen über Deutschland (Facts about Germany n.d.); Spiegel International (2018).
73. ‘Diaconia’ refers to Christian social services operated by church-based organisations like
Caritas or Diakonie Deutschland.
74. The term ‘theology of living together’ came up with the missiologist Theo Sundermeier
from Heidelberg. cf. Sundermeier (1986:49–100).
75. Template of the resolution ‘Kirchengesetz zur Änderung des Kirchengesetzes über
die ausnahmsweise Einstellung von Mitarbeitenden, die nicht der evangelischen Kirche
angehören’ (Mitarbeitenden-Ausnahme-Gesetz – MitarbAusnG) auf der Landessynode 2014
der Evangelischen Kirche im Rheinland (LS 2014 Drucksache 13).
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Starting from this objective, this chapter considers prerequisites

and opportunities for the interreligious opening of diaconia.76 The
first question is how a diaconal self-understanding can be gained
and introduced in the situation of religious pluralisation because
without any clarification of one’s own self-understanding, so
Knitter rightly concludes, an interreligious dialogue has no great
value because the convictions to which one refers and to which
one professes oneself are not clearly formulated or even completely
missing (cf. Cohen, Knitter & Rosenhagen 2017; Knitter 2013).
To take up the situation of religious pluralisation and to make it
a subject of discussion, in the first step, the change of religious
social forms in a religio-sociological perspective is sketched out
and then its meaning for diaconia is pointed out. What consequences
does this change have for the formation of a diaconal identity and
how can it be presented in diaconal organisations under the
condition of religious pluralisation? These questions are being
addressed in this chapter and will be discussed in the second
chapter on the basis of four approaches to the formation of
diaconal identities. Subsequently, links to the practice of diaconia
will be established and possibilities for learning spaces for an
interreligious opening will be outlined. On this basis, an outlook is
finally given on the question of the interreligious opening of
diaconia with reference to more recent developments.
On the transformation of religious

social forms and their significance
for diaconia
Religion and religiosity in a sociological
perspective
In the transition from modernity to late modernity (cf. ed. Bermeo
& Nord 2000; Brissett 2009; Latourette 1950; Musso 2017;
76. cf. Johannes Eurich (2017:311–331) for more information about diaconia and civil society
in Germany.
279
Parsons 1970:33–70), Karl Gabriel (1992) notes a drastic change

in the social form of religion:
In the old social form there was a high degree of agreement and
proximity between the institutional constitution, individual religiosity
and social -cultural patterns of religion. The modernization push of
the late sixties and seventies dissolved this social form of religion,
which originated in the industrial society of the 19th century. Due to
the melting of milieus and the dissolution of traditional ways of living,
church religion, individual religious styles, and the social-cultural
patterns of religion are drifting apart in society in a way it has never
appeared before. (p. 67)
Because the legitimacy of religious and social guidelines for one’s

own life style is being more and more questioned, these normative
ideas about a ‘good life’ are being replaced by references
produced individually—the individual himself becomes the ‘daily-
life reproduction unit of the social’ (Beck 1986:209). He or she
only selectively relies on the Christian tradition for orientation
and interpretation of his or her own biography, a binding claim to
universality is no longer accepted (cf. Steininger 1993:61). The
validity of religious patterns is measured by the assignability to
one’s own questions and problems in life. This choice is being
made on the basis of one’s own experiences and to the fact that
one’s own experiences are not equally plausible or valid for other
people (cf. Drehsen 1995:67). Religion thus has a reflexive function
for the purposes of individual self-thematisation. In earlier days,
religion had a direct impact on social life and thus individual ideas
were less differentiated and more standardised. Religion served
as a frame of reference to position oneself concerning one’s own
ideology and belief. Nowadays individualisation requires an
intensified self-awareness (Schimank 1985):
The reflexive subjectivist makes [...] the subjectivity of each individual
the frame of reference for all his experiences and actions. He thus draws
the consequence from the fact that in a functionally differentiated
society there are no longer any universally valid cognitive and
normative orientations as a foreign-referential foundation for the
meaning of individual existence. (p. 460)
This development has different effects on the institution church

and on individual religiosity (cf. Pollack 2003:137).
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Thus, a loss of significance of religion overall can be assumed

— institutional religiosity as well as individual; as there seems to
be — a still existing — close connection between these two
(cf. Pollack 2003:137). An increasing religious individualisation
certainly belongs to the characteristics of religiosity in modern
societies, but these religious individualisation movements take
place mainly within the inner church milieu. This is contrary to
the thesis (cf. Luckmann 1991:126) of an intensified ‘outside of
the church’ religiosity whilst at the same time church piety is
supposedly losing its relevance. This means: Even with a growing
number of people who leave the church, there is by no means
an equally strong interest in religious offers which take place
outside of the church. Increased secessions from the church
therefore do not correspond to an increasing interest in
alternative forms and practices of faith, but to a decline of piety
and faith in general. This is an indication for the still important
role that the church plays when it comes to shaping a culture,
even though its role has changed and it suffered a loss of
resonance (Pollack 1996):
Explicit and implicit religiosity, church practice and individual
faith belong closely together. Due to growing church distance,
individual spirituality also declines. Religiosity is still primarily
defined by the church. If churches lose social significance, so
does religion. (p. 78ff.)
Consequently, the definition of the social purpose of religion is

much differentiated in today’s society. This social development is
going to expand, for example, because of further forms of
religious commitment by migrants (Gabriel 1992):
If the old social form seemed rather visible and determined, the
new social form is profound in a double sense: On the one hand,
the importance of religious communication in society remains
unchanged, even though this is not publicly visible. On the other
hand, religion loses its social influence. It becomes - like other areas
of life - more informal and more individual.77 (p. 67)
77. Gabriel, Tradition und Postmoderne, 67.
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What impact does this change

have on diaconia?
The developments outlined above have far-reaching consequences
for diaconia. Diaconia considers itself to be part of the church
and, as a confessional welfare association or as a Christian
provider of social services, derives its legitimacy from the social
approval of the social work of the church. At the same time
diaconia—because of its social commitment—contributes to a
high social approval of the church in general. Even non-Christians
concede and confirm that it is the task of the church to care for
the poor, the sick and the marginalised (Evangelische Kirche in
Deutschland 2014:93ff.). In order for church-based care centres
and social aid services to be newly understood as agents of the
church in the world, they have to maintain or develop a diaconal
identity. A diaconal identity refers to a Christian profile in social
services of the church. How can these activities be part of the
church’s mission to the world as church-based organisations?
Yet, Christian social services are highly professionalised, whilst
their employees are as pluralistic as modern societies are in
general. How can, for example, a church-based hospital be
considered to be part of the church’s mission to the world without
imposing its religious point of view on its employees or patients?
The change in religious social forms also means that—for some
time now—diaconia can no longer assume that only people with
a certain denominational milieu make use of its services. Today,
the situation of religious pluralisation, especially in large cities,
requires the introduction of the Christian profile in such a way
that people with other religious and ideological orientations also
want to demand the services of diaconia. In order to support a
Muslim resident in a nursing home to practise his religion or to be
able to better consider culturally conditioned questions in
healthcare, Muslim employees are of advantage. In this way,
questions of personnel recruitment are gaining new importance
because due to a change in usual conditions previous regulations
are called into question.
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How should diaconia react to this situation? What approaches

are there to define and promote diaconal identity in a situation of
growing religious pluralism? In 2011, two Swiss authors, Heinz
Rüegger and Christoph Sigrist, published an introduction to
diaconal studies with the explicit aim of providing a general
human basis for helpful action. According to them, the reference
to the church or to Christ as the foundation of church and diaconia
should be replaced by a reference to the inborn urge of humans
to help one another (cf. Rüegger & Sigrist 2011). This philanthropic
approach to the justification of diaconia aims at turning away
from an alleged narrowing Christological basis of diaconia to
open up to new opportunities for spiritual help and action
(cf. Rüegger & Sigrist 2011:184ff.). By this, they attempt to get in
contact with a diffuse individual spirituality which supposedly
takes place beyond church religiosity. In contrast to this, there
are other approaches which adhere to the fact that diaconal help
without its concrete references to contents and conditions of the
Christian faith not only loses its Christian identity but, at the same
time, also its religious references in general (eds. Eurich & Hübner
2013; Eurodiaconia n.d.).
On the question of diaconal identity

In the following section, diaconal identity is taken up as a question
of the Christian self-understanding of diaconia. This question can
be related to different organisational levels or stakeholders; for
example, to decisions made by the organisation ‘diaconia’ overall,
or by the management level. Employees and customers can also
be asked about their understanding of the Christian foundations
of helping others (Chung 2014). At present, the establishment of
a diaconal corporate culture is being discussed, which indicates
how many different levels and elements must be taken into
account (cf. Hofmann 2010). I will limit myself to the question of
how such Christian orientations, which are counted among the
core of diaconal self-understanding, can be introduced within
diaconal organisation. For this purpose, I present four different
283
approaches to the mediation of Christian foundations, which —

of course — can overlap each other or complement each other in
parts (cf. Eurich 2016:92ff.):
1. Christian orientation of employees: In many diaconal
institutions, deaconesses (cf. Von Dressler 2006) have shaped
the image of diaconia for a long time; externally because of
their costume, internally through the basic Christian attitude
with which they provided their service. The sisters’ work for
people in need had its motivation in the love of God and was
carried out with Christian piety and with a self-sacrificing
attitude — as a form of Christian affirmation. Even if today
some aspects of the deaconess model are viewed critically,
the deaconesses nevertheless explicitly contributed to the
Christian identity of the house and decisively shaped its climate
and piety practice. This has changed because the number of
deaconesses has decreased and the number of employees who
are at a greater distance from Christian faith has increased. As
a result, the diaconal institutions lost a group of employees,
who represented the basic Christian attitude, a group that was
also easily recognisable from outside. To counteract this, some
institutions are now trying to revive communitarian forms of life
and to anchor them in their institutions as the basis of Christian
charity (cf. Von Dressler 2006); in other institutions faith courses
are offered for diaconal employees.78 Overall, offers such as
literature on questions of faith and spirituality are increasing in
diaconia to promote Christian orientation or at least openness
for a spiritual dimension among a pluralistic staff.
As important as these offers are, it must nevertheless be noted
that only certain groups of employees can be effectively
addressed by explicitly religious offers.79 Therefore, looking
for a future-orientated way, it is being discussed that employees
78. cf. Diakonie Deutschland. Evangelischer Bundesverband und Evangelisches Werk für
Diakonie und Entwicklung e.V. (ed. 2012), Berlin 2012.
79. According to different studies only 15% – 20% of the employees are responsive to offers
of continued education that refer to religion in an explicit way. cf. Johannes Eurich (2013:194).
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agree with the ideological–ethical principles of a diaconal

institution, without having to adopt these as a personal
confession. Nevertheless, diaconal institutions also need
employees who authentically stand up for Christian convictions
(internally), and who are willing to share their values with
others (externally) (cf. eds. Haas & Starnitzke 2014; Eurich &
Ritter 2015:87–110). In addition to this, especially for the
formation of religious identities, it is important to come into
contact with concrete religious contents, to be able to form an
opinion. Therefore, spiritual offers in diaconal institutions have
their meaning in initiating this contact and enabling employees
to make up their own mind.
In this context, however, the question of interreligious
dialogue about helping is only rarely in view. In many cases the
discussion refers to the training of a diaconal self-understanding
of the employees or the agreement of the employees to the
Christian foundations of the institution in the sense of an
internal assurance. Interreligious concepts for diaconia often
have not yet been developed.80
2. Functionalisation of theological foundations: A frequently
used approach is the functionalisation of theological
foundations for organisational purposes in highly
professionalised organisations, for example, within the
framework of social welfare management models or hospital
management concepts (cf. Eurich 2013b). The limitations to
which such functionalisations are subject to are to be shown
by reference to the management models that have been
widely used since the 1990s. Corporate mission statements
are expected to present in a generally understandable way
‘what the identity and the main tasks of an institution
are’ (Schmidt 2005:54). They should show the goals and
intentions, the underlying motives and value orientation of an
institution, in short: the ideal framework within which individual
80. Firstly, pragmatic concepts were presented by the Association of the Caritas of the
diocese Rottenburg-Stuttgart (cf. Caritas 2010, abrufbar unter: https://www.caritas-
rottenburg-stuttgart.de/cms/contents/caritas-rottenburg-s/medien/dokumente/was-uns-
wichtig-ist/viele-religionen-in/impulse_nr._15_endfassung.pdf?d=a&f=o.)
285
social services are to be located. Guiding principles are a

necessary instrument of diaconal business management, but
the difficulty lies in the fact that such ‘theologisations’ offer
support and orientation on the level of reflection, but cannot
replace lived practice. The gap created by the above-described
decrease of employees with an explicit Christian identity in an
organisation cannot be filled by this model or similar
instruments. This is because of the fact that guiding principles—
just like theological framework programmes, Christian
leadership principles, theological guidelines and so on—can
indeed create a normative basis from a Christian perspective,
but they do not contain any supporting statements on how
these foundations can be implemented into practice, for
example, in professional work or under specific organisational
conditions. There is a lack in experience when it comes to
making concrete decisions concerning needed action, for
example, for therapeutic methods or in healthcare. Therefore,
on an operative level only a limited effect can unfold (cf. Krech
2001:96). Thus, corporate mission statements can be seen as
a distinguishable characteristic of diaconal institutions and
they have a function with regard to the communication of
values within the organisation as well as to outsiders, but they
remain on a symbolic–semantic level and in this way cannot
unfold a control-relevant force on the operative level. This is
their limitation, also with regard to the question of diaconal
identity. Furthermore, the situation of religious pluralisation
and the drop of the binding forces of denominational milieus
now seem to lead to the fact that in some corporate mission
statements diaconal institutions only refer to generally
accepted values such as charity or the creation of humans in
the image of God. So the institutional guidelines are presented
in a non-religious language using terms like philanthropy or
human dignity.81 These terms are fine as such, but with the
81. cf. The examination of the argumentations of confessional welfare organisations in

Alexander Nagel (2016:111–131).
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elimination of religious terms within corporate mission

statements the break away from Christian traditions is being
supported. The idea is to ensure the assignability of these
basic values such as solidarity or human dignity, to people
who are less religiously influenced, but this leads to a wasted
opportunity when it comes to making the Christian orientation
of diaconal institutions plausible for others and also to come
into discussion with differently oriented employees about the
perceived strangeness of biblical texts and the ideological
foundations of diaconia.
3. The above-indicated development of the elimination of
specifically religious terms becomes an underlying concept in
the third approach: the abolition of any differences between
Christian and other philanthropic-oriented institutions. As a
further reaction to the changing role of religiosity in society,
approaches such as that of Rüegger and Sigrist can be
referred to, which seek to connect religious terms to a
generally human-interpreted philanthropy in referring back to
the first article of faith of the Apostles’ Creed (cf. Rüegger,
Sigrist & Diakonie 2011). This creation-theological approach,
however, creates a clear distance to the second article of faith
because for both authors the reference to Christ and his
salvation leads to a '“Christological trap” of diaconal self-
description’ (cf. Rüegger, Sigrist & Diakonie 2011). With the
avoidance of explicitly Christological contents, Rüegger and
Sigrist propose to no longer use the term ‘diaconia’ (cf.
Rüegger, Sigrist & Diakonie 2011:8, 31). Diaconal identity is
then no longer understood as explicitly Christian, but refers
to a general human spirituality. Differences in regard to
individual religious concepts or between religious and non-
religious employees do not play such a big role anymore when
it comes to helping one another. Helping can then simply be
characterised as human. The difficulties of this approach are
based on the ignorance of the different understandings in
regard to helping in the different world religions (cf. The
overview of Heinrich Pompey 2000:152–169).
287
According to Pompey (2000:167), ‘a diaconia based on

compassion and empathy which actively tries to reduce
suffering, misery and illness of fellow human beings is not
necessarily accepted by Hindus or Buddhists. Rather, especially
in Hinayana-Buddhism, a more passive-meditative form of
spirituality is practiced to address suffering on earth, which
aims at detaching from suffering as a way of overcoming it,
i.e. distance from the world is practiced rather than an active
participation in the world to be able to shape it’.
A further difficulty of characterising help as simply human
lies in the ambivalences of helping others, which are largely
ignored. Only by displaying helping others as something that
is simply a good action Rüegger and Sigrist can define it as an
inborn human urge and use it as a positivistic basis for general
helping (cf. Rüegger, Sigrist & Diaconia 2011:35). The latest
scandals of sexual abuse of children in church homes point to
the fact that help can be misused, instrumentalised and a
danger to the persons being helped as well as—in the case of
burn out or the helping syndrome (cf. Schmidbauer 2002) —to
the helping people as well. This must be taken into account by
diaconal institutions and critically reflected on, in the light of
the cross, to become a compelling element in the formation of
a diaconal identity.
Finally, Rüegger’s and Sigrist’s approach leads to a serious
problem of legitimacy: If help rooted in the Christian tradition
is characterised as general human aid, which does no longer
require any specific religious reference, in what ways do
diaconal organisations still differ from other altruistic
organisations? (cf. Eurich 2014a). The effects on diaconal
institutions would be tremendous: If there are no longer any
distinctive features between these two types of organisations,
there is also no reason why diaconal welfare associations need
to continue to exist and could not merge with philanthropic
institutions.
4. Transparticularisation: A fourth attempt to react to religious
pluralisation is the so-called transparticularisation of theological
interpretations, which can be used as an approach to form
a diaconal corporate culture. Peter Dabrock understands
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transparticularisation as a process of dialogue between

Christian contexts of justification and values and the context
of justifications ‘of foreign discourses or cultural practices’
(Dabrock 2004:139). Transparticularisation is characterised
by a twofold movement: on the one hand, ‘for the creation
and justification of norms’ (Dabrock 2002a:30; cf. Dabrock
2002b:202–206, 279–283) by referring back to Christian
contents; on the other hand, by openness for dialogue with
other moral and religious norms. It must be emphasised that
the religious — also the Christian — claim to truth is not to be
understood and introduced as an absolute claim to truth, but
rather as a relative claim, entirely in the sense of Paul Knitters’ first
guideline for interreligious dialogue, ‘[d]ialogue can and must
be based on an absolute obligation towards truths, which we
regard as relative and limited’ (Knitter 1996:235ff.). This demand
for a ‘confession’ of those involved in the dialogue leaves us
looking for the specific characteristics of Christian charity
action can be formulated with reference to the Christ event,
which form essential elements of a diaconal self-understanding
and which cannot be dispensed with (cf. Eurich 2014b:208ff.).
These characteristics must then be related to the particular
organisation and its field of action, that is, contextualised. In such
contextualisation processes, an adaptation and reassurance
as well as a discussion with other orientations take place (cf.
Maaser 2017:32). To promote a diaconal self-understanding,
the twofold movement of ethical–anthropological discursivity
is important: Communication with the outside environment
as well as dogmatic reassurance on the inside, especially in
discussions with other norms and orientations.
What Maaser states for the church applies equally to diaconia,
‘[i]n this constant process of orientation, she identifies
similarities and differences with others, affirms certain views or
rejects them’ (Maaser 2017:32). For diaconia transpar-
ticularisation consequently means that, on the one hand, it
should clearly refer to its Christian foundation, but not without
reflecting the relative claim of validity of this particular position,
289
but, on the other hand, it should also be willing to encounter

other claims of validity with tolerance and openness. This
means for a diaconal self-understanding in view of a growing
religious pluralisation: diaconia must have the courage to refer
to its Christian foundation more strongly again, but in a way
that it still recognises other orientations as equal and searches
for common overlaps with others. Diaconia thus has the
opportunity as well as the task to make its Christian foundations
understandable for its pluralistic staff and the public and to
take into account the religious pluralisation by transcending
the particularity of its own tradition towards universalisation
without completely giving it up.82
Possible links to diaconal practice83

Even though the process of transparticularisation requires to
keep the somewhat difficult balance between the reassurances
of one’s own tradition whilst opening up towards other religious
traditions, it is by far the most adequate way towards upholding
a diaconal identity. It also points out that the forms of religious
language and interpretations must be recognised as indispensable
resources and kept present in diaconal fields of action. By this,
the transcending character of emergency situations may be
taken up by referring to God, if the person being helped assents
to this. Because of its ongoing process of reflection, the concept
of transparticularisation can also help employees and others to
be open-minded for dialogue and to not insist on one’s own
positions.
However, this approach needs specific spaces in which one
can gain access to Christian traditions, to allow people to build
82. A difference to the functionalisation of theological content (see above 2) is the attempt
to save the Christian context of justification in the concept of transparticularisation and
not only refer to such aspects that can be understood in only one diaconial management
interpretation, for example, aspects of competition.
83. cf. regarding spiritual care: Lester Liao (2017); Elizabeth Johnston Taylor, Carla Gober
Park and Jane Bacon Pfeiffer (2014); Scott Howard Snyder et al. (2017); Helen Fowles (2012).
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their own opinion within the process of engaging with others.

The advantage of this approach over a much more open, spiritual-
related approach is seen in the possibility of still maintaining and
shaping a Christian self-understanding of diaconia. Spirituality is
(Karle 2010):
[N]ot necessarily about searching for God, but rather about the search
for oneself or about the search for the meaning of life, especially in
situations which are experienced as very challenging and unmerciful
[...]. (p. 545)
Spirituality is located at the ‘blurred edges of religiosity’ and is a

syncretistic phenomenon; because of this it is suitable to describe
and symbolise indeterminacy and contingency (Graf 2004:245).
The contents of religion, the communication of certain value
orientations and attitudes therefore move into the background of
the authenticity of speech, so that religious communication
‘becomes increasingly detached of contents’.84 Even if the
vagueness of the concept of spirituality consequently implies a
great openness, which could be beneficial for an open dialogue,
this openness nevertheless results in a ‘deconcreation and
desensualization of religion’ (Karle 2010:554). A contrary
indication is the fact that (Karle 2010):
Religion in its historically grown form is always related to concrete
contents, rituals and social forms and shaped by the environment in
which it is practised. If religion becomes abstract and vaguely defined,
it is disembodied and desensualized, formalized and schematized.
What remains is a fleshless skeleton that has lost its essence. (p. 552)
If one wants to open access to religious experiences in diaconal

practice, one should therefore refer to concrete forms of religious
traditions and initiate access to them. In the following four
aspects will be emphasised:
1. To be able to differentiate itself from other assistance offers,
diaconal action must allow itself to be influenced in its social
identity and structure: by other religious perspectives, by
84. Armin Nassehi, (2009:40), quoted acc. to Karle (2010:545).
291
other ethnic groups and by people who are stigmatised in

society. By overcoming these boundaries on the basis of faith,
diaconal action can open up to those who are on the other
side of the border. It can recognise them and help them to
participate in the community.
2. To allow this to happen, diaconia should create spaces of
experiences in which people can meet and share their experiences
of misery and failure in an atmosphere of brotherly love which
makes them feel comfortable and in good hands. In this way,
solidarity can develop with people who have had a completely
different life journey because of displacement, but also because
of illness or disability. Furthermore, one can also gain an insight
into one’s own limitations. By sharpening the sensitivity for their
own limits and weaknesses and granting others the same right
to live and survive, these places could develop to be ‘social
learning schools’ (Fuchs 2014:36). In such places, solidarity
could be practised that extends not only to one’s own experiences
in life but also to foreign. Furthermore, a faith that is not
authoritarian but open to other religious perspectives can result
out of these.
3. To remain sensitive to the diversity of perspectives, diaconal
action should understand these spaces of experience as
learning pathways in which the gospel is not introduced from
a position of supremacy, but ‘in the belief that the holy spirit
of the gospel will be reflected in different cultures with their
distinctive history’ (Fuchs 2014:30).
4. Also, for diaconal action to be recognised as such, it must
bear the tension between one’s own identity and the ‘being
questioned from outside’ and try not to get into an imbalance
concerning these two.85
Considering the approaches mentioned above it may become
clear, how diaconal organisations can understand their ministry
in a specific religious way, precisely in a way arising from the
85. See above ‘(4) transparticularisation’.
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Christian faith which then also can serve as a recognisable

Christian profile for interreligious dialogue, whilst, at the same
time, an openness for dialogue with other religious views is
maintained and the process of a common learning experience
together with other religious traditions can take place.
A practical example of a church-based diaconal service as
means of illustration is the engagement for refugees in Germany
that took place in fall of 2015. At the Patrick Henry Village in
Heidelberg, a former US Army facility, the state of Baden-
Württemberg located its state registration centre. All refugees
entering the state had to be registered here first, before they
were assigned to various residential living areas within the state.
The ‘Diakonisches Werk’ (diaconal facility) of the Protestant
Church of Heidelberg together with the ‘Caritas Verband
Heidelberg e.V.’ (the Catholic diaconal facility) set up an
‘Independent Social and Procedural Counselling Service’ for
refugees at the state registration centre, operated by specialised
church ministers with the help of volunteers. One of the big
issues in counselling was and is the topic of justice which was
not only addressed from a biblical point of view, but also included
the perspectives of the refugees themselves. The counselling
service describes its activities as follows (Diakonisches Werk
Heidelberg 2020):
The concern here is to portray one’s own perspective, experience and
history with reference to justice from a diaconal perspective. The focus
is on the topic of language, which, as a direct bridge to integration,
also plays a connecting as well as dividing role in social and procedural
consultation. Indispensable in counselling, it seems to play only
a secondary role for children. For children, communication is not
primarily focused on language. Between these two fields — language
to promote integration and language as assistance — creativity and
being a child without the need for words — the children, together
with co-workers, designed the door with the word ‘justice’ in various
languages and colours and complemented it with their own ideas. The
painted door is in daily use in the refugee counselling centre. (n.p.)
Sharing life in a playful and artistic way and by this presenting

one’s concerns in public and at the same time receiving assistance
293
through social counselling to gain a foothold in one’s new home

country is a practical expression of such a ‘social learning school’
which may well be understood as an expression of the Christian
notion of caring for strangers without forcing this view on others.
Outlook: Migration as an invitation

to the interreligious opening of
diaconia
Already in 2011, the Conference of Rhine Churches issued a
declaration stressing the social bridging function of churches by
inviting them (Gemeinschaft Evangelischer Kirchen in Europa
2011):
[T]o contribute to the integration of migrants. In their congregations
places of belonging are at hand, where all people are warmly
welcomed. In this way they fulfil an important bridging function
between immigrants and the receiving society. In particular they
take care of the socially underprivileged. They open their church
communities and diaconal institutions in an intercultural manner and
make it possible for migrants to participate in society and also to
shape it. (n.p.)
In his dissertation ‘Inter-culturalism’ (Heinemann 2012:193ff.),

Stefan Heinemann underpinned this target perspective with
guidelines, which may serve as an orientation for diaconal and
church action, when working in migration contexts. Biblical
references for these guidelines are the banquets of Jesus, where
Jesus ‘exemplified the acceptance of every human being in the
knowledge and appreciation of his biography and his socio-
cultural background’ (Heinemann 2012:131). As a symbolic
announcement of the coming world of God, the following aspects
are derived from the banquets of Jesus, which are supposed to
promote the participation of the stranger in social life: A change
of perspective is requested from natives and migrants in order ‘to
become aware of the relativity of one’s own cultural standards
and to learn to accept foreign cultural standards as equal life
plans with their specific advantages and disadvantages ...’
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(Heinemann 2012:193). Also, for this learning process specific

places of learning are intended, which should result out of a
growing voluntary work within the churches. The aim is to give
foreigners a sense of belonging and a home by building personal
relationships, which volunteers are more able to do than
professional employees in diaconal institutions. Professional
employees, on the contrary, can follow a target-group-specific
way of working and be aware of cultural differences. They can try
to integrate the religious and cultural identity of migrants in a
sensible manner—something that secular social workers cannot
do to the same extent. One of the core elements of diaconia is
the possibility for everyone to participate in all areas of society
(Heinemann 2012:193). Therefore, it is a high ranking objective of
the institution to promote the involvement of migrants and other
people concerned in the decision-making process.
Last but not least, diaconal institutional contacts and
cooperations can be used to find alliance partners of ‘good will’
among the self-organisations of migrants beyond the borders of
their own denomination or religion (Heinemann 2012:195). Church
congregations can build up partnerships with mosque
congregations and congregations of foreign-language origin and
also learn something about the symbiosis of Christianity and
Western culture. In accordance with this, the position paper of
the diaconal institution of the Protestant Church of Hesse-Nassau,
entitled ‘Intercultural orientation and opening of diaconia’
(Diakonisches Werk in Hessen und Nassau 2010), calls for a
theological reflection of one’s own practice of faith as a basis for
intercultural and interreligious opening processes. However, the
paper also points out what contributes to the Christian profile of
the individual diaconal institutions. In principle, diaconia is seen
as an institution which is orientated towards principles of justice
and human rights and which sees as its main task pointing out
and addressing inequalities, also concerning power. Especially if
diaconia wants to increase opportunities for migrants to
participate in society, it has to lower entry barriers and to involve
people, thereby appreciating their social and cultural diversity,
295
and it must open itself up in an interreligious and intercultural

manner and understand itself as a learning institution. In various
areas of work, employees and teams have long realised this
challenge and they are already working ‘cross-culturally’. These
experiences can help in designing the proceeding intercultural
opening of diaconia, which covers the entire organisation, from
staff management up to the management level (Diakonisches
Werk in Hessen und Nassau 2010:30). This is especially important
because transformation processes also always have a central
impact on the self-conception of a company. The interreligious
opening of diaconia requires convincing and comprehensive
concepts, which make clear, how this interreligious opening can
succeed without losing reference to one’s own faith tradition. In
the meantime, some diaconal institutions have presented
corresponding concepts, such as the one in Baden: The concept
exemplifies how biblical–theological justifications and current
socio-ethical orientations such as equal participation for
everyone can together be regarded as the basis of interreligious
competence of diaconia (ed. Diakonisches Werk Baden 2018:9ff.).
To make this work in practice it is important that diaconal
institutions open up communication spaces for the gospel, where
people can ask themselves and discuss how the Christian
interpretation of reality in regard to helping is questioned, but
also appreciated through encountering others. The fundamental
principles of this Christian understanding are to be found and
lived in an appreciative and accepting manner within the dialogue.
According to this, the Christian rationale for diaconal identity
must be placed in relation to other religious orientations under
the condition of religious pluralism—an inner-Christian dialogue
is no longer sufficient.
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Life in transit: From

exiles to pilgrims –
A missiological
perspective on
humanity’s global
movement
Keywords: Globalisation; Urbanisation; Mission; Secularism;

Identity.
How to cite: Ferreira, I.W., 2020, ‘Life in transit: From exiles to pilgrims – A missiological
perspective on humanity’s global movement’, in M. Kotzé & R. Rheeder (eds.), Life in Transit:
Theological and Ethical Contributions on Migration (Reformed Theology in Africa Series
volume 2), pp. 297-318, AOSIS, Cape Town. https://doi.org/10.4102/aosis.2020.BK219.11
297
Life in transit: From exiles to pilgrims – A missiological perspective
Introduction
Whilst globalisation, spearheaded by urbanisation, is changing
the face of our global world, ‘the church in the west86 is in deep
trouble’ (Dowsett 2001:448). Amidst the greatest period of
human migration in world history (Bakke 1999:225), the centre
of Christianity is shifting away from its traditional association
with Western culture (Jenkins 2011:2). We are now seeing the
formation of global Christianity87 at the very same time as the
unreached peoples of the world are gathering in the cities of
the world. This global people movement is shifting the frontier
of the mission. ‘A hundred years ago we sent missionaries to the
nations to look for the cities. Today you go to the cities and you
find the nations’ (Conn, Ortiz & Baker 2002:38). What about the
Western Church?88 The traditional Western Church is in rapid
decline and is also part of a Western civilisation that is facing
enormous challenges. The Western Church is experiencing an
existential crisis that is according to Frost (2006:4) mirrored in
the experience faced by the ‘exiles’ in Babylon in biblical times.
This article endeavours to engage this ‘identity crisis’ of the
Western Church in order to identify its origin, to address its
unbiblical assumptions and attitudes by looking again at what
the Bible reveals, and then to refocus and realign the Western
Church missionally with God’s redemptive movement in the
urbanisation of his world and the internationalisation of its cities
86. Also known as the Western world, the West is a broad term that encapsulates a sizeable
group of countries that share, albeit loosely, similar philosophical, political and economic
principles and origins. Values that are synonymous with the West or Western civilisation
include capitalism, democracy, consumerism, globalisation, liberalism and secularism
(see https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=The%20West).
87. This is also called the Third Church, or Southern Church. Christianity outside of Western
cultural Christianity is called Christendom.
88. Western Church is the Church in its historical association with and within Western culture.
It is also known as Christendom, which is now dead or dying (Cashin 2005).
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(Bakke 1987:62). Life in transit, for the ‘beleaguered’ Western

Church, would be to move from acting and living like ‘exiles’ in
the world to being ‘pilgrims’ that move with God. The Western
Church should urgently ‘wake up’ from the hypnosis it has been
subjected to whilst being part of Western cultural civilisation for
so long (Goudzwaard 2001:13).
Identify the origin of the Western

Church’s ‘perennial urban despair’
Urgent questions should be asked: What is at this very moment
happening in the churches coming from Christendom? How are
these churches, especially the churches in the reformed or
Protestant tradition, living and ministering within our modern
world that is experiencing the effects of globalisation, people
migration and urbanisation?
It is important to note that after biblical times, Christianity
developed within a very privileged and protected Western
cultural context. These churches became part of Christendom
and are for the past few decades in serious decline in the Western
world (Pew Research Center 2019; Sherwood 2018). Christianity
is, however, alive and well and is rapidly shifting away from and
growing outside the Western context (Granberg-Michaelson
2015). Although Christians should be celebrating the rapid growth
and expansion of Christianity outside of Western culture, there is
also great concern. It should concern us that there is a lack of
focus on why the remaining Christendom churches, for the most
part, never were and still are not ready to respond or to engage
the globalising realities of our urbanising world. This is especially
true of the Protestant churches still living within the Christendom
paradigm. The concern of this article is for the remnant of the
Western Church. It is important to understand why it is (still) not
responding to the realities of our time.
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Globalisation from above: History

of our modernising world89
The answer to what really happened may be revealed when
studying the historical development of Western culture. The
question would be what happened in the Western world that was
coming out of the Dark Ages. Although the process of globalisation
can be traced back to the very beginning of human history, the
deep and profound changes experienced in our modern
urbanising world started when the Western world departed from
and developed out of the so-called Dark Ages.90 History teaches
us that the rise of the city stimulates the advancement and
formation of a civilisation (Ward 1999:145). One needs to revisit
the historical development of Western civilisation.
According to Ward (1999), the first epoch of city change in
the modern time was during the Renaissance period.91 It is
89. This article will focus on the history of Christianity coming from the so-called Middle
Ages. Gabriel de Bras (Van Engen 1986:521) studied the origins and pace of Europe’s
‘de-Christianisation’ and concluded that medieval Europe was not actually all that thoroughly
Christianised as previously anticipated. Other renowned scholars are now also speaking about
the ‘myth of the Christian Middle Ages’, and according to Van Engen (1986:531) are referring
to this period as a great ‘age of folklore’. It seems as if it was only a nominal Christianity that
was visible during these years. This would explain the rapid de-Christianisation of Europe that
was experienced in the time following the Middle Ages.
90. The ‘Migration period, also called the Dark Ages, or the Early Middle Ages, is the early
medieval period of western European history — specifically the time (476 – 800 ce) when
there was no Roman (or ‘Holy Roman’) emperor in the West… More generally, it can be
indicated as the period between 500 and 1000 ce, which was marked by frequent warfare
and a virtual disappearance of urban life. The name of the period refers to the movement of
so-called barbarian peoples — including the Huns, Goths, Vandals, Bulgars, Alani, Suebi and
Franks — into that what had been the Western Roman Empire. The term “Dark Ages” is now
rarely used by historians because of the value judgement it implies. Though sometimes taken
to derive its meaning from the dearth of information about the period, the term’s more usual
and pejorative sense is of a period of intellectual darkness and barbarity’ (Encyclopaedia
Britannica, n.a.a).
91. Definition of Renaissance: The transitional movement in Europe between medieval and
modern times beginning in the 14th century in Italy, lasting into the 17th century, and marked
by a humanistic revival of classical influence expressed in a flowering of the arts and literature
and by the beginnings of modern science (Merriam-Webster dictionary n.d.b).
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within this time that the city as metropolis92 developed. Cities

grew in, through and because of the accelerated secularism of
the 16th and 17th century (Ward 1999:146). The shift between
the Middle Ages and the Renaissance was characterised by
great socio-economic, political and religious changes. Politically,
the feudal system of the Middle Ages was exchanged for a
more stable centralised republic or monarchy system that gave
the people more freedom and input. Religiously secularism
became more important, as stability gave people a chance to
concern themselves with the ‘here and now’, rather than simply
the ‘hereafter’. Socially there was a shift from dogma and
unshakeable belief to humanism and the ability to interpret
things for oneself. From here on, the development of Western
civilisation also led to the time of the Enlightenment.93 According
to Bauman (n.d.:16), these developments also coincided with
the first wave of human migration where people were emigrating
from the ‘modernised centre’ to the ‘empty lands’. It was a time
of discoveries and the explorers were constantly extending the
borders of the developing world. There were also deep changes
within Western society. As the secular world began to dominate,
the Christian worldview began to collapse (Ward 1999:147).
Rationalism and secularism pushed religion to the periphery of
the developing Western civilisation. More and radical changes
were yet to come.
The Western world was then exposed to the second epoch of
city change during the time of the Industrial Revolution.94 This
was the time of the rise of market consumerism. The Western
92. A metropolis is the largest, busiest and most important city in a country or region.
93. Definition of Enlightenment: ‘1: the act or means of enlightening: the state of being
enlightened. 2 capitalized: a philosophical movement of the 18th century marked by a
rejection of traditional social, religious, and political ideas and an emphasis on rationalism’.
(Merriam-Webster dictionary n.d.a).
94. Definition of Industrial Revolution: ‘A rapid major change in an economy (as in England in
the late 18th century) marked by the general introduction of power-driven machinery or by
an important change in the prevailing types and methods of use of such machines’ (Merriam-
Webster dictionary n.d.c).
301
economy started flourishing and it became the time of speculative

capital in chase of rich returns. Faith became fully privatised and
the secular world started to run itself through the advancement
of capitalism, humanism and further growth in secularism.
Because of the privatisation of faith, the city became a city
without a church, and the city was given over to the economic
production of goods to consume.
The third epoch in the development of the modern city is the
post-industrial time where service economies flourished, after
manufacturing commercialism declined. This resulted in ghettos
of deprivation (Ward 1999:153). Cities developed into
overurbanisation (also called ‘overshoot’), as it synchronised with
the second wave of people migration. Bauman (n.d.:16) calls this
‘the empire emigrates back’. Things started to get more difficult.
The cities of the Western world could no longer provide ample
job opportunities, education, welfare or basic public services for
their increasing populations, and the age of the city seemed to
be at an end (Ward 1999:153). It was, however, not the end of
globalisation. As globalisation still intensified, the next wave of
modern migration started. It is called the age of diasporas.95
What happened to the people of the Western world? The
physical and geographical expansion of cities has been
accompanied by a significant cultural change, in which human
beings have come to be defined as consumers (Smith 2011:85),
and the concrete symbol of this cultural shift is the hypermarket
or shopping mall. Cities have become sites of and for material
consumption. The new industries that developed were the leisure
industries. This is the contemporary culture of seduction where
people are buying what is offered (Ward 1999:154), and the desires
95. Definition of diaspora: ‘1. Judaism. a: The Jews living outside Palestine or modern Israel
members of the Diaspora. b: the settling of scattered colonies of Jews outside ancient
Palestine after the Babylonian exile. c: the area outside ancient Palestine settled by Jews.
2. General. a: people settled far from their ancestral homelands, members of the African
diaspora. b: the place where these people live. c: the movement, migration or scattering of
a people away from an established or ancestral homeland, the black diaspora to northern
cities’ (Merriam-Webster dictionary n.d.d).
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that operate in the culture of seduction are cannibalistic

(Ward 1999:160). This is the world in which the modern city
developed, wherein Westerners are hypnotised, are making bad
economic decisions and are passively accepting malformed
institutions that they helped to create (Goudzwaard 2001:9). The
development road to the modern Western global city was fast
and overwhelming and all-consuming. It must be kept in mind
that this historical development of Western ‘civilisation’ also
included two devastating World Wars. Engulfed in this historical
movement was Christianity enveloped in Western culture, namely
the Western Church (called Christendom).
This is the final phase of contemporary economic globalisation
that, according to Reed (quoted in Goudzwaard 2001:10),
exposes the religious root crisis of Western-led globalisation. It
stresses the fact that Christians are far too much a part of the
darkness, rather than part of the light. This was the context
wherein Western Christianity had to respond to the challenges of
globalisation, urbanisation and human migration, and in some
way, they became trapped in it.
Globalisation from below—an

‘urbanism’
How did the Christian Church in the Western world respond to
these ‘overwhelming’ processes of globalisation, urbanisation
and people migration? The answer lies in understanding that not
only is globalisation a process from above but that it also
facilitates a process of globalisation from below. This leads to the
creation of a new ‘urbanism’.96
How did the Christian Church respond? Smith (2011:19–22)
identifies a probable anti-urban bias in the reading and
interpretation of humanity’s, and specifically the Western
96. While urbanisation refers to the comprehensive process of metropolitan growth, this
chapter will focus more on urbanism: the behavioural effect of living in urban areas on values,
norms, customs and behaviour (Pitcher 1997).
303
Church’s, transition from the garden to the city. He confirms a

contrasting interpretation of Scripture in reacting to urbanisation
throughout history. The ultimate results of humanity’s living East
of Eden97 is depicted as living under God’s wrath, and this human
existence in an urban environment has been contrasted with the
longing of man to return to paradise. In this view, all the primal
and rural values of humanity are treated as normative and
essential for human well-being and constitute a never-ending
yearning to go back to paradise. This anti-urban reading of the
biblical narrative sees humanity’s building of cities only as a
disaster. This is not only a historical verdict on the establishment
of the earliest cities, it also became amplified regarding the
formation of the modern cities since the time of the Industrial
Revolution. During this time, cities grew to unprecedented size
and influence and had a profound influence on humanity. During
these times of development, religion became privatised and did
not really influence all the rapid developments of the growth of
Western civilisation (Pocock, Van Rheenen & McConnell
2005:168). Christianity was never comfortable in the development
of the modern city.
Roger Greenway, one of the first urban missiologists, also
alludes to this anti-urban bias when he concludes that Protestant
churches were always ineffective in the city. He diagnoses it as
‘Protestantism’s perennial urban despair’ (Greenway 1974:13). He
(Greenway 1974) quotes Douglass by saying:
Protestants have long been rural-oriented and generally they have
failed to come to grips with urban culture. The underlying cause is
an anti-urban bias which has become almost a point of dogma in
American Protestantism. (p. 20)
Greenway (1974:106) takes time to convincingly explain what

happened. He alludes to the fact that thousands of Protestant
churches that identified with the middle and upper classes opted
for absence from the more unpleasant parts of the developing
97. ‘East of Eden’ refers to humanity’s life outside of Eden, after the Fall.
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urban scene and refused to take the demands of labour seriously.

He confirms that their ‘escape from the city’ has created the
‘suburban church’.98 In the suburbs, the more affluent middle
class tried to recreate a more rural existence. The problem with
the church’s presence in suburbia is the imminent danger of
being swept away by secularism and materialism—where the
neighbourhood’s lifestyle and secular values receive religious
approval (Greenway 1974:108). The temptation becomes very
real to forget the city as far as Christian witness is concerned.
Christian missionaries historically had been more successful in
rural areas and have seen much less fruit in cities (Sills 2015:24).
Greenway (1974:101) concludes that it is painfully clear that
Protestants in the city are still wringing their hands and
wondering what they should do. His final comment in his book
(Greenway 1974) is:
Racially and culturally, the majority of our city churches are far
removed from the very neighbourhoods in which they are located
and are ill prepared for effective urban missions. (p. 128)
Abraham Kuyper (1898) in his Lectures, also sheds some light on

the struggles of the Western Church, when he concludes that the
church (Western Church) was hypnotised by Western culture. He
stated that the 19th century was dying away under the hypnosis
of the dogma of evolution (Kuyper quoted by Goudzwaard
2001:13). What did he mean? Kuyper called the Western Church
to ‘wake up’ and understand the spirit of the age they were living
in. He was adamant that the church needed to identify the spirit
of the age, especially at the key moments of historical transition.
It seems as if that did not happen. The Western Church was
subjected to the changing processes of globalisation, but nobody
really admits that it indeed succumbed to it. The church became
a part of the problem and not a symbol of God’s solution to the
problem. According to Smith (2011:97), it was the uncritical
acceptance of Western urban models based on the assumptions
of the Enlightenment that alienated the Western Church from the
98. Suburbia is a reaction to the city – it is an attitude, a mindset (Greenway 1974:7).
305
modern city. Bakke (1997:21) calls it the ‘cultural captivity of the

church’. He even admits that when he started his ministry in the
city, he was confronted with the realities of the modern city and
he became acutely aware of the fact that he did not have a
theology that addressed the world he was experiencing (Bakke
1997:22). This clearly identifies a deficiency in theological
reflection and even in theological education when it comes to
urban ministry and urban mission. Western theology was never
really missionally focused. Missiology never really formed part of
the theological curriculum.
As Western Christians, we are now living in an age of crisis in
which ‘civilisation’ appears to be under threat, but wherein,
according to Smith (2011:24), theologians have been strangely
indifferent to the issues and challenges posed by the growth of
an urban world. It is a time of advancing capitalism, humanism
and secularism divorced from any need for God (Ward 1999:148).
When Western culture privatised religion, the Western Church
moved to the periphery of society. She has now retreated to the
suburbs and is living in an ‘exilic mode’. This is the reason why
the Western Church, still stuck in a Christendom paradigm, is
living in a ‘perennial urban despair’ (Greenway 1974:13).
Identifying the problem: The problem

of ‘identity’ in a globalised world
Bauman (n.d.:17) is convinced that the new people migration
casts a question mark upon the bond between identity and
citizenship, individual and place, neighbourhood and belonging.
People on the move are constantly adapting to their changing
environment and are therefore fluid and adaptive in their
attitudes. Bauman (n.d.:1) is of the opinion ‘that “identity” has
now become the prism through which other topical aspects of
contemporary life are spotted, grasped and examined’ (Bauman
2002:471). The topic of identity and its problems come to the
fore today more often than ever before in modern times. What
do you identify with if your world and circumstances are
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constantly changing? The uncertainty within an ever-changing

context creates an identity crisis. No other aspect of contemporary
life attracts the same amount of attention these days from
philosophers, social scientists and psychologists (Bauman n.d.:1).
The spectacular rise of the ‘identity discourse’ certainly reveals
more about the present-day state of human society than its
conceptual and analytical results have so far (Bauman n.d.:1).
Modernity sets the world in motion by exposing the fragility
and unsteadiness of things and throws open the possibility (and
the need) of reshaping them. Marx and Engels99 praised the
capitalists, the bourgeois revolutionaries, for melting the solids
and profaning the sacred things which, according to them, had
for long cramped human creative powers (Bauman n.d.:3). The
philosophical viewpoint is also clearly articulated in the
statements of a few philosophers who advocated these new
ideas that influenced the globalising world:
•• Giovanni Pico della Mirandola (Dougherty 2019), an Italian
philosopher during the time of the Renaissance, said ‘[l]et
some holy ambition invade our souls so that, dissatisfied with
mediocrity, we shall eagerly desire the highest things and shall
toil with all our strength to obtain them, since we may if we
wish’.
•• Leon Battista Alberti (Snell 2019), an Italian Renaissance
philosopher, declares: ‘A man can do all things if he but wills
them.’
•• Jean-Jacques Rousseau (Bertram 2017) was a Genevan
philosopher, writer and composer. His political philosophy
influenced the progress of the Enlightenment throughout
Europe, as well as aspects of the French Revolution and the
development of modern political, economic and educational
thought. He declares: ‘Man is born free and everywhere he
99. The Communist Manifesto Survey (Encyclopaedia Britannica 2019) declares that it was
destined that history from the age of feudalism down to 19th-century capitalism should be
overthrown.
307
is in chains. The world of reality has its limits; the world of
imagination is boundless.’
•• Marx and Engels believed passionately that scientific theory
could transform the world: ‘To [man] it is granted to have
whatever he chooses, to be whatever he wills.’
The problem with the processes of Western globalisation and the
growing secularism of the development of the modern world is
that it is ‘melting the solids’—creating a ‘fluid’ society wherein
everything is in a state of change. According to Zygmunt Bauman,
this is only the preliminary ‘site-clearing stage of the modern
undertaking, to make the world more suitable for human
habitation’ (Bauman 2002:474). The ‘incompleteness of identity
and particularly the individual’s responsibility for its completion
are in fact intimately related to all other aspects of the
modern condition’ (Bauman 2002:474). ‘Individualisation consists
in transforming human “identity” from a “given” into a “task”’
(Bauman 2002:474). It creates a perpetual ‘disembeddedness’ —
an experience of individuals; a ‘problem of identity haunting men
and women’ since the advent of modern times (see Bauman
2002:471–482). It is not difficult to see that it eventually leads to
what Christopher Lasch (1991) refers to as the ‘Culture of
Narcissism’, and on which Sookhdeo (2017) wrote a book, The
Death of Western Christianity, to clarify his thoughts in this regard.
What precisely happened to the Christian Church in Western
culture? In Sookhdeo’s new book, (2017), he quotes Lasch who
surveys the current state of Christianity in the West, and also by
looking specifically at how Western culture has influenced and
weakened the church (Whelchel 2018). Sookhdeo (2017) identifies
the root problem confronting the church as an identity problem.
His diagnosis is echoed by Micheal Horton (2008), who wrote the
book Christless Christianity: The Alternative Gospel of the
American Church and The Gospel-Driven Life: Being Good News
People in a Bad News World (Horton 2009). Horton concludes
that the Western Church had been taken captive by the culture
and ideals of the world. The culture he refers to is the culture and
ideals of consumerism, pragmatism, self-sufficiency, individualism,
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positive thinking, personal prosperity and nationalism. All that

remained of the gospel is a message of moralism, personal
comfort, self-help and self-improvement.
Long (2009:117) agrees with Horton’s assessment of the
Christendom Church. He states that preachers in mainstream
Western churches have become ‘apostles of progress’—moral
progress, social improvement, the ‘power of positive thinking’,
church growth, together with a psychotherapeutic gospel. The
solid foundation of traditional Christianity has given way to the
fluid relinquishment of the individualistic and narcissistic task of
self-realisation.
At the heart of the matter lies a lack of understanding of what
the church is — this is a very clear identity problem. Nel (2017) is
convinced that understanding identity determines purpose;
therefore, identity comes before purpose. When the Western
Church becomes irrelevant and without any purpose, it is because
of a lack of identity. Amidst a rapidly changing world, the church
is being challenged to transform its basic identity and vocation.
As the people of God, the church must rediscover who it is, and
what it should be in its life and witness.
Is there a way to save the Western

Church?
The root problem of the Western Church is a ‘crisis of identity’. It
will only be able to reclaim lost ground if it rediscovers its identity.
In this regard, Conn (2009:62) reminds us of an important fact:
Theology was never primarily meant to be a finished product, but
it is supposed to be a process. Conn describes it as theology-on-
the-road. Linthicum (1991:23) identifies it as faith in search of
understanding. With the solid biblical foundations that can never
change, the church needs to engage with the ever-changing
context that it must live and minister in.100 Gornik (2011:8) calls on
us to reflect on the important fact that the city in an age of
100. See the book by Harvey Conn (n.d.), Eternal Word: Changing Worlds.
309
globalisation creates a forward space that enables us to see the

present and future of the church and the world. It is the opportune
time for the Western Church to rethink and reform and (re)-engage
the city. Smith (2011:25) is correct when he states that theology
surely risks the complete loss of whatever credibility it still retains
if it fails to meet this central challenge of our times. The central
challenge that the Christian Church faces at this very moment in
time is globalisation and urbanisation. The reality of a world in
movement has brought us into the fourth era of modern missions—
reaching the cities (Conn 2009:80). This incredible ‘kairos’
mission moment in the history of the church should not be
missed. We need to rethink and revisit God’s revelation. The
church needs to go back to the Bible.
God’s purposeful and redemptive

movement in human history
The Bible is clear that from creation (Gn 1) to the final
consummation (Rv 22), the triune God is moving redemptively in
human history. This is called missio Dei.101 It was already planned
by God (‘pactum salutis’102) before creation. This ‘mystery of
God’s will’ is revealed to us in the Bible (Eph 1:9).
What do we learn from God’s Word? God’s redemptive focus
and missional outreach to fallen humanity follows the contours of
human history even in its mobility after the Fall (East of Eden).
The challenge that our urban world presents to Christian theology
and practice demands a willingness to listen afresh to the Bible
(Smith 2011:122). The following, coming from biblical revelations,
should be taken note of:
101. Missio Dei is a Latin Christian theological term that can be translated as the mission of
God, or the sending of God. This concept has become increasingly important in missiology
and in understanding the mission of the church since the second half of the 20th century.
102. Simply said, the covenant of redemption (pactum salutis) refers to the eternal agreement
between the Father and the Son to save a people, chosen in Christ before the ages began
(De Young 2019).
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•• Christians confess that the Bible reveals that God created one
world and sent forth the first man and woman to be fruitful
and to populate the entire earth. God’s creative purpose
clearly has a global focus (Ac 17:26–27 NIV): ‘From one man,
He made all the nations, that they should inhabit the whole
earth; and He marked out their appointed times in history and
the boundaries of their lands. God did this so that they would
seek him and perhaps reach out for him and find him, though
He is not far from any of us’.
•• According to biblical revelation, the story of humanity begins
with God’s creation in a garden (Gn 1–2) and it will ultimately
end with the final consummation in a city (Rv 22). Human history
would be a movement (pilgrimage103) towards a very distinctive
and final goal. // Gods redemptive posture towards fallen man is
revealed in two questions. These two questions clearly reveal
that God is primarily concerned about humanity’s relationship
with their Creator and their fellow humans. That would also be
the focus of God’s covenant with his chosen people. It would
be the first of two determining factors of their ‘identity’ as
God’s people.
•• Where are you? (Gn 3:9): Man’s personal or individual
relationship with God.
•• Where is your brother? (Gn 4:9): Man’s communal and
interpersonal relationship with the rest of humanity.
•• God’s redemptive posture towards cities as human settlements
is revealed in the biblical revelation regarding two cities – the
city of Babel,104 later Babylon (Gn 11), and the city of Salem,
103. Pilgrimage, a journey undertaken for a religious motive. Although some pilgrims have
wandered continuously with no fixed destination, pilgrims more commonly seek a specific
place that has been sanctified by association with a divinity or other holy personage
(Encyclopaedia Britannica n.d.b).
104. Between the first and the last books of the Bible, the city of Babylon is synonymous with
all that is dark and evil in a city. Throughout Scripture, Babylon is a symbol of a city fully given
over to Satan (Linthicum 1991:24).
311
later Jerusalem105 (Gn 14:18). From the Book of Genesis to the

Book of Revelation these two cities would become the symbols
of God’s interactive urban dealings with humanity and its
civilisations as they move through history. The corporate
‘culture’ of these cities would be another determining factor of
the ‘identity’ of its inhabitants. Linthicum (1991:25) concludes
that the idealised Jerusalem (that never existed) and the dark
and evil Babel or Babylon are two types of cities, pressed to
their logical extremes as a continual reminder to the reader
that every city includes both elements. These two cities are the
symbols of the two extremes.
•• The primary focus of biblical revelation is not determined by
humanity’s movement away from God, but it is determined by
God’s movement towards humanity. Firstly, in the Garden of
Eden after the Fall (Gn 3:9), God was seeking man who hides
himself. Secondly, the Calling of Abram and his descendants
was to be a blessing to all nations (Gn 12). Abram and his
family were heathen and were enemies of God. Thirdly, in John
3:16: this movement towards humanity is called missio Dei and
finds its ultimate expression in the ‘incarnation’ (Phlp 2) — the
coming of Jesus Christ to this world to reconcile the fallen
humanity with God and to send his church to the ends of the
earth to be part of God’s movement (Mt 28; Ac 1).
People movement (diasporas) within

God’s divine plan
It is very clear that the interactive processes of globalisation
and urbanisation are part and parcel of God’s missio Dei.
A historical overview of the Old and New Testament attest to
the fact that people movements or diasporas are intrinsically
related to redemptive history and are sovereignly planned,
105. Between the beginning and the end of the Bible, an idealised Jerusalem was celebrated
as the example of what a city was meant to be – a city belonging to God (Linthicum 1991:25).
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executed and carried out by the Father, Son and Holy Spirit
(Medeiros 2013:174). God’s chosen people were ‘on the move’
from the time that God called Abram. When He rescued the
people of Israel from Egypt, they were again ‘on the move’
through the desert for a very long time. Whilst the people of
Israel were living in Canaan, they were living in a very strategic
location where different peoples and even empires were
constantly ‘moving’ in a way that impacted their existence as a
people. When God, because of their sin and apostasy, eventually
sent his people into exile, they experienced another Diaspora.
This exile or Diaspora had a very definite missional purpose.
Medeiros (2013), commenting on Acts 17, states:
God not only uses diaspora, but … he designs, conducts, and employs
such diasporas for his own glory, the edification of his people, and
the salvation of the lost everywhere. (p. 174)
This is confirmed in the New Testament. When God sent his own
son, Jesus Christ, to this world, it is also a case of Diaspora
(Medeiros 2013:175). Jesus Christ being born in this world is the
culmination of God’s missio Dei — his movement towards fallen
humanity. Jesus Christ was born in a borrowed barn in Asia and
he became an African refugee in Egypt (Bakke 1997:29). The
work of the Holy Spirit in Diaspora by sending the Christians from
Jerusalem (through persecution, as recorded in the Book of Acts)
is also a confirmation of what God is doing in this world (Medeiros
2013:175). Most of the New Testament books were written from
outside of the city of Jerusalem by servants of the Lord living and
ministering in a Diaspora context. Two books in the New Testament
were written to believers in Diaspora, viz. the books of James and
1 Peter. It must be concluded that to be missional is to think,
speak, act and live as one who is sent by the migrant son (Medeiros
2013:175). The people of God who participate in the missio Dei
were never supposed to be destitute exiles, but purposeful
pilgrims. An exile struggles with an identity problem, whereas a
pilgrim is supposed to know where he or she is going. Both are
mobile, but only the pilgrim is destined.
313
Identity: Not exiles, but pilgrims

When the people of Israel were in exile in Babylon, they struggled
to come to terms with the situation they found themselves in
(Ps 137).106 Whilst in Babylon, they were inclined to respond to
the false teaching of several false prophets who promised them
that they would shortly return to Jerusalem (Jr 28). They were
living as exiles and longed for Jerusalem. God had to send his
prophet Jeremiah to the people to inform them that they should
not be longing to go back to Jerusalem, but that they should
seek the shalom of Babylon (Jr 29). God confirmed that he had
purposefully taken them to Babylon. They were not supposed to
live like exiles in despondency, by only focusing on their own
self-interest. They were not called to survive. The exiles had a
very distinctive missional purpose. They were missionaries and
had to live with a pilgrim’s identity. Cavanaugh (2008) defines
this identity as follows:
Pilgrimage was a kenotic movement, a stripping away of the external
sources of stability in one’s life … the journey (of a pilgrim) required a
disorientation from the trappings of one’s quotidian identity, in order
to respond to a call from the source of one’s deeper identity. (p. 349)
It is important to note that God wanted his people to be very

clear on who they were (identity) – even and especially now
that they were ‘on the move’. God promised that they would
return after 70 years (Jr 29), but their life in Babylon was
supposed to be purposeful and they should benefit the city of
Babylon by not only praying for the city, but also seeking its
advancement. It is very clear that the ‘exiles’ in Babylon struggled
106. Psalm 137 is one of the best-known imprecatory psalms that focus on the traumatic
experience of exile in Babylon. The Psalm reveals the sufferings and sentiments of the people
who probably experienced, at first hand, the grievous days of the conquest and destruction
of Jerusalem in 587 bce. They also shared the burden of the Babylonian captivity after their
return to their homeland. At the sight of the ruined city and the temple, the psalmist vents
with passionate intensity his deep love for Zion, as he recalls the distress of alienation from
their sanctuary. Therefore, this Psalm touches the raw nerve of Israel’s faith (Simango 2018:217).
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to understand their situation and expressed an attitude of

‘lostness’. Through his prophet Jeremiah, God had to convince
them that they were not destitute exiles but missional pilgrims
in Babylon. Diaspora is therefore a missional activity decreed
and blessed by God under his sovereign rule. The purpose was
to promote the expansion of his kingdom and the fulfilment of
the Great Commission (Medeiros 2013:176). The apostle Peter
uses two different words that also relate to the Diaspora context
of New Testament believers: ‘pilgrims’ and ‘strangers’ (1 Pt 1:1).
Pilgrimage is a long-standing form of popular Christian
spirituality (Gornik 2011:219). In pilgrimage a theology is not so
much defined, as experienced (Gornik 2011:221). Pilgrimage is
focused on seeking a destination—new sites of pilgrimage.
Gornik (2011:221) is of the opinion that this concept must be
developed in a flexible manner to take account of its interplay
with globalisation.
We must be careful not to misunderstand the term migrant
church. Medeiros (2013:174) uses the terms ‘migrant churches’,
‘churches in diasporas’ and ‘diasporas churches’ interchangeably.
The Bible teaches that God defends strangers (Moore quoted by
Medeiros 2013:180) and God expects his people’s attitude toward
the stranger and sojourners in their midst to reflect his own
attitude.
We should conclude that God’s people should not try to
escape from, or even exclude themselves wilfully, from the ever-
changing context of our globalising and urbanising world. The
Christian Church in the city is supposed to lovingly engage the
city, seeking its ‘shalom’ (seeking to make it a Jerusalem — city of
God), even if it is rather a ‘Babylon’ (city of Satan). The Western
Church in its ‘perennial urban despair’ should rid itself from its
‘exilic confusion’ and embrace the new realities of the global
village with a ‘pilgrim’ identity and a missionary zeal. A pilgrim is
not only on ‘a way towards’ but also engages in a task whilst
‘passing through’ (Douma & Velema 1979:46).
315
Answer of hope: The next step—

move with God
It is time to understand that migration is more than a sociological
and anthropological challenge.107 The issue of Western
secularisation caused one to rethink mission (Baker 2009:22).
We should not only focus on ‘what’ is happening. Theology needs
to contribute to the research by highlighting the ‘why is it
happening’ question. The struggle of the exiles in Babylon is very
much the struggle of the Christian Church in today’s globalising
and urbanising world. It is an identity problem, specifically in
Western culture, where the Christian Church was hypnotised by
Western culture and made captive to the worldview of modernity.
The Western Church needs to rediscover its missional calling of
being ‘pilgrims’ in the world that should be part of God’s missio
Dei. Diaspora and the creation of ‘migrant churches’ is at this very
moment a global phenomenon with significance, and it is crucial
in the Christian mission today. Medeiros (2013:173) is adamant
that ‘God scatters to gather through his people.’ He is also of the
opinion that Christians living in the Diaspora context represent
the largest self-supporting contingency of missionary force that
has been located within many of the so-called ‘unreached
peoples’ (Medeiros 2013:177). By not only lamenting the negative
effects that globalisation has initiated, the church could and
should be awakened to the fact that God is still moving
purposefully in our own world and time.
Examples to follow and to learn from

The Western Church should learn from, and also with, the new
Christianity.108 This new Christianity is experiencing globalisation
from below and clearly understands God’s purpose and missional
107. Augustine used the city as the central theme of his theological reflection. His was, like
ours, an age of crisis in which civilisation ‘appeared to be under threat’ (Smith 2011:24). The
title of his book: The City of God.
108. New Christianity is a synonym of Global Christianity, Third Church and Southern Church.
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focus on the diasporas of our own time.109 The Western Church

should seek to understand a new urbanism and embrace a
globalism in the biblical sense (Tiplady 2003:254). The only way
in which this will happen is through ‘encounterology’.110. Mashau
and Kritzinger (2014:11) are referring to the ‘pavement encounters’
where Christianity engages with the realities of urban life. They
(Mashau & Kritzinger 2014) describe the attitude a Christian
should express in these encounters:
It does not see a city in the first place as a site of sin or depravity, but
as a space where people meet God and one another and where God’s
will can (and should) be done. (p. 11)
Conclusion
What is the future of the Western Church? To really find hope in
a seemingly hopeless situation, we need to look for a biblical and
especially for a missional perspective (Afrane-Twum 2018:2). The
future of Western civilisation is in the balance. Unfortunately,
both Western political rhetoric and the ideology of consumerism
suppress the truth, employing forms of double-speak in which
economic growth is presented as the solution to the ills of the
world, when in fact in the current form, it is the source of those
ills (Smith 2011:102). We have seen the disturbing predictions of a
growing number of social and urban analysts that the pattern of
life that has developed within the deeply divided urban world is
unsustainable. It is leading inexorably towards catastrophe (Smith
2011:102). On 04 June 2019, the Independent of Britain published
a report by Harry Cockburn (2019) under the title: ‘High Likelihood
of Human Civilisation Coming to End by 2050’.
109. There are numerous scholars who are publishing their research and numerous ministries
that can be visited and learned from. This is the cutting-edge of missional and theological
research.
110. Missiology understood as ‘encounterology’ explores the complex dynamics of all the
encounters of their ongoing efforts, to embody and share the fullness of life that they
experience in Christ (Mashau & Kritzinger 2014:11).
317
There is a growing sentiment that the prospect of the urban

world in the 21st century is in many respects discouraging and
threatening. Smith (2011:91) is of the opinion that many careful
and respected scholars view the future of cities with an almost
apocalyptic foreboding. He confirms a fear that humanity is
‘rushing into a Dark Age’ (Smith 2011:92). The consensus is that
humanity cannot continue on the road that it is on. Humanity
should carefully consider its next step.
What will be remembered of the 21st century is the great and
final shift of human populations out of a rural, agricultural life into
cities. The modern city is the product of the final great human
migration (Saunders 2010:1). This was always part of God’s plan
for humanity. God is moving within this reality and his church
should be moving with Him.111 The clarion call of Kuyper in 1899
should again be repeated: The Western Church should urgently
‘wake up’ from its hypnotic captivity by Western culture. If not,
God will move, but He will move past the Western Church!
111. Missio Dei should become missio ecclesiae.
318
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357
Index
A challenges, 3, 5, 7–9, 13, 44, 48–50,
accept, 10, 98, 207, 213, 230, 233, 235, 52, 55, 70, 72, 75–76, 82, 84, 86,
257, 275, 294 101, 122, 140, 144, 167, 253, 260,
acceptance, 27, 98, 112, 154, 187, 219, 271–272, 274, 298, 303, 306
294, 305 change, 9, 12, 65, 91, 124–125, 129, 133,
Acts, 7–8, 26, 41, 47, 51, 56–57, 60, 137, 165–168, 234, 260, 277–280,
66–70, 72–74, 77–78, 82–84, 282, 294, 300–302, 308–309
89, 96, 98, 102, 109, 134, 145, character, 8, 10, 37, 42, 47, 51, 53, 61,
187, 189–190, 198, 206–207, 228, 63, 65–66, 69, 83, 100, 140, 145,
230, 267, 313 156, 159–160, 162, 168, 196–197,
Africa, 1, 3–4, 11, 15–16, 47–48, 85, 203, 229, 232, 272, 290
121, 143, 160, 171, 195, 209–210, characteristics, 10, 225, 270, 281, 289
212, 214, 216–218, 220, 222, child, 5, 39, 94–95, 135, 152–154, 178,
224, 226, 228, 230, 232, 234, 242, 293
236, 238–239, 257–259, 263, children, 36, 107, 119, 136, 138, 178, 194,
269–270, 277, 297 240, 245, 248, 288, 293
African, 1, 4, 12, 15–16, 47, 50–51, 85, church, 3, 6–8, 12–13, 43–44, 47–48,
121, 139, 143, 209–211, 214–215, 50–51, 53, 55, 58, 66, 68, 70–71,
239, 244, 257–264, 266, 268, 74, 82, 84, 86, 88, 90, 98, 101,
270–272, 274, 297, 302, 313 104, 108, 115–117, 121, 133–141,
age, 3, 109, 122, 162, 166, 210, 300, 179, 184, 190, 199–201, 204, 228,
302, 305–307, 309, 316, 318 230–234, 251, 253, 257–258,
attitude, 93, 95, 100, 127, 164, 265, 267–275, 278, 280–283,
237–238, 273, 284, 305, 315, 317 288–289, 293–295, 298–299,
autonomy, 209, 220, 224, 228–229 302–306, 308–310, 312, 315–318
awareness, 86, 106, 138, 174, 211, 280 citizenship, 258, 262, 264, 306
community, 4, 7, 9, 11, 17–19, 27, 41,
B 44, 50, 64, 67, 70–71, 73, 89,
Bavinck, 59, 171, 176–181, 200–204, 92, 95, 100, 104–105, 107, 115,
206–208 123, 131–132, 134–137, 140, 157,
behaviour, 24, 124, 129–130, 133, 195, 159, 193–194, 199, 211–212,
260, 262, 270, 303 220, 222–224, 226, 229–231,
business, 48, 197, 201, 204, 286 233–238, 251, 254, 262–267,
270, 272, 275, 278, 292
concept, 7, 10, 16–18, 21, 23–25, 28–29,
C
43, 61, 74, 81, 89–90, 97, 101, 110,
care, 5, 8, 21, 62–63, 65, 75, 80, 82,
135, 144, 146, 148–150, 154–155,
95, 128, 138, 157, 164, 168, 189,
158–160, 164, 191, 201, 220, 224,
206, 211, 218, 221–222, 230–231,
227, 229, 231–235, 287, 290–291,
234–235, 240, 244–245, 252,
296, 310, 315
278, 282, 290, 294
359
Index
context, 7, 9, 11, 17, 43, 45, 47, 53, dignity, 6, 12, 93, 127, 138, 143, 155–156,
55, 68, 72–73, 76, 86, 88, 95, 160–162, 168, 186, 203, 206,
104, 116, 118, 125, 131, 134, 145, 219–220, 225–226, 235, 254,
150, 153–154, 168, 178, 213, 258, 270–272, 275, 286–287
221–223, 238, 241, 244, 270, 272, displaced, 1, 12, 20, 49, 93, 122,
274–275, 278, 285, 289–290, 128, 257–258, 260, 262, 264,
299, 303, 307, 309, 313, 315–316 266–270, 272, 274
contextual, 10, 88, 145, 271 diversity, 98, 122–123, 131, 134–136, 192,
covenant, 12, 24, 26–28, 36, 40–42, 200, 273, 278, 292, 295
57–61, 71, 73, 89, 91, 101–103,
132–133, 156, 159, 163, 168, 196, E
226, 239–240, 252–253, 310–311 economic, 2, 18, 45, 48–49, 64, 78,
create, 8, 40, 78, 92, 128, 166–167, 228, 86, 91, 97, 104–105, 118, 126–127,
241, 246, 252, 258, 264, 274, 137–138, 162, 180, 198, 210, 214,
286, 292, 303 218, 247, 252–253, 259–260,
creating, 12, 128, 130, 216, 308 263, 273–274, 298, 301–303,
creation, 5, 10, 56–57, 59, 61, 75–76, 307, 317
80, 92–93, 101, 119, 133, 135–136, education, 3, 104, 122, 137, 189, 213,
143–145, 149–152, 155–159, 161, 218, 284, 302, 306
163, 165–166, 168–169, 181, 225, egg donation, 239, 241–243, 248–250,
230–232, 250, 252–253, 255, 254–255
286–287, 289, 303, 310–311, 316 emigration, 11, 209–212, 214–230, 232,
culture, 5–6, 44, 87, 98, 108, 125–126, 234–236, 238
132, 173, 190, 201, 204, 250, 261, environment, 10, 106, 137–140,
267, 271–272, 274, 281, 283, 288, 143–146, 148, 150, 152, 154, 156,
295, 298–300, 302–306, 308, 158, 160, 162, 164, 166, 168, 210,
312, 316, 318 217, 225, 230, 237, 289, 291,
304, 306
D ethical, 1, 4, 6–7, 10–11, 13, 15–17, 25,
defined, 55, 90, 122, 124, 135, 210, 242, 37, 47, 60–62, 64, 85–86, 113,
266, 281, 291, 302, 315 121–123, 130–131, 136, 143–145,
develop, 12, 43, 51, 55, 60, 82, 87, 98, 155–156, 158, 161, 164, 167, 171,
100, 126, 140, 181, 194, 196–197, 179–181, 200–201, 208–210,
264, 266, 271, 282, 292 212–214, 218–219, 221, 223–225,
developing, 8, 51–53, 82, 84, 144, 154, 228–229, 236–244, 246,
301, 304 248–252, 254, 257, 277, 285,
development, 1, 6, 9, 15, 17, 47–48, 289, 296–297
55, 85, 88, 106, 121, 130, 143, ethics, 3–4, 6, 10–11, 15, 60–61,
153–154, 166, 209, 213, 217–218, 99, 110–111, 113, 115, 118–119,
221–223, 239, 242, 257, 264, 122–123, 144, 164, 166, 171, 182,
280–281, 287, 297, 300–304, 208–209, 213, 221, 224, 231, 238,
307–308 249–252, 255
diaconia, 12, 277–280, 282–292, Europe, 127, 129, 139, 172–174,
294–296 177, 240, 246–247, 264, 278,
diaspora, 8–9, 67–68, 85–98, 100–106, 300, 307
108–112, 114–120, 123, 302, 313, exclusion, 30, 127, 137, 197, 223, 241,
315–316 253, 258, 261, 272, 275
360
Index
exploitation, 11, 38, 137, 165–166, 168, 210–213, 219–220, 225–226,

239–240, 248, 253–255, 274 228–232, 234–235, 237–238,
240, 243, 246, 248–250,
F 254, 262, 268, 271, 273, 283,
families, 24, 98, 107, 126, 138, 193–195, 286–288, 294–295, 298,
198, 205, 227, 230, 259 300–304, 307–308, 310–311,
family, 6, 18–20, 23, 30, 33, 71–72, 317–318
93–94, 96, 107, 122, 138, 193–194, humaneness, 10, 143–144, 146, 148,
200, 204, 206, 218, 226–227, 150, 152, 154, 156–158, 160, 162,
230–231, 243, 248, 312 164, 166, 168
father, 85, 94, 97, 101, 107, 184, 225, humanity, 5, 13, 53, 59, 79, 81, 84,
229–230, 310, 313 89, 147, 156–158, 164, 168, 181,
fear, 12, 87–88, 95–96, 122, 126, 137, 187–188, 192, 194, 197, 250, 252,
175, 258–259, 261, 263–264, 270, 297, 303–304, 310–313, 318
266, 273, 318
formation, 4, 6, 9, 105, 109, 123–124, I
130, 136, 153, 279, 285, 288, 298, identity process theory, 9, 121, 123
300, 304 identity, 3–5, 9–10, 12, 87, 90–92,
97, 104–106, 109, 112, 121–141,
173, 248, 259, 261, 270,
G
277–280, 282–288, 290–292,
Galatians, 10, 99, 101, 103, 117, 121, 123,
294–298, 306–309,
131–135, 137, 230–231
311–316
globalisation, 2, 48, 87, 115, 297–300,
impartiality, 47, 66, 68, 78, 134
302–303, 305, 308, 310, 312,
implementation, 13, 119, 161, 169
315–316
implications of, 8, 54–55, 70, 132, 158,
government, 44, 75, 107, 172, 189, 218,
161–162, 188
259–261, 263–264, 268
importance, 62, 90, 198, 204, 250,
growth, 119, 139, 217, 299, 302–304,
281–282
306, 309, 317
inclusion, 71–72, 95, 175
inclusive, 12, 74–75, 107, 135–136
H inequality, 243–244, 259, 272–274
health practitioners, 11, 209–210, 212, influence, 4, 6, 9, 53, 76, 78, 107, 126,
214, 216, 218, 220, 222, 224, 226, 151, 158, 160, 173, 201, 204, 211,
228, 230, 232, 234, 236, 238 218, 281, 300, 304
hijab, 171–175, 206 inside, 78, 204, 289
holistic, 48, 178 instruction, 177, 222
human dignity, 6, 93, 127, 143, 156, integrate, 10, 19, 40, 42, 44–45, 55,
160–162, 168, 219–220, 225–226, 107, 123, 136, 139–140, 173, 295
235, 271, 286–287 integration, 15, 17, 37, 40, 42, 44–45,
human rights, 77, 127, 144–145, 160, 98, 108, 117, 125, 127–128, 174, 191,
162, 169, 212–213, 219, 237, 293–294
262, 295 integrity, 139, 156–157, 180,
human, 4, 6, 8, 10, 13, 53–54, 57–58, 194–195, 199
74, 76–79, 81–83, 87, 93, 95, 111, interests, 11, 138, 219–220, 224, 229,
118–119, 122–124, 127, 130–133, 235–238, 262
143–169, 176, 188, 192–194, 197, interpret, 118, 301
361
Index
interpretation, 33, 45, 56, 86, 100, 116, migrants, 1–3, 5, 7–8, 11, 16, 43–45,
144, 157, 228, 241, 243, 266, 280, 47–50, 52, 62, 65, 68, 79–80,
290, 296, 303–304 82–84, 86, 93–94, 102, 104,
investigation, 20, 22, 220 107, 117, 119, 122, 126, 156,
Islam, 171, 173, 176, 181–182, 185, 162, 169, 204, 210, 212, 223,
189–191, 197–198, 206 225, 240–242, 246, 255, 258,
Israel, 7, 9, 16–17, 19, 23–29, 31–45, 260–261, 263–264, 270–271,
57–61, 63–64, 66–67, 70–73, 85, 273–275, 281, 294–295
89, 91, 94, 96–99, 101–102, 109, migration systems theory, 9, 121, 126
118, 133, 183–184, 227, 265, 302, migration theology, 8, 47, 50–52,
313–314 82, 88
migration, 1–10, 13–16, 43–44, 47–56,
58–60, 62–72, 74–80, 82–92,
J
94–96, 98, 100–102, 104–112,
justice, 3, 10, 35, 38–39, 45, 63–65,
114–116, 118, 120–124, 126–128,
93, 144, 158, 160–161, 163, 165,
130, 132, 134, 136, 138, 140,
168, 176, 183, 185, 188, 193, 195,
143–144, 146, 148, 150, 152, 154,
197–200, 202–204, 206, 221,
156, 158, 160, 162, 164, 166, 168,
229, 232, 254–255, 273, 293, 295
171, 209–210, 212–215, 220–221,
225, 227–228, 235, 239,
K 241, 243, 257, 263, 270, 272,
Kuyper, 171, 176–177, 182, 188, 197–198, 277–278, 294, 297–303, 306,
204–206, 305, 318 316, 318
mission, 3, 5–6, 9, 66, 70, 74, 76, 78,
L 81, 89–90, 96, 105–106, 115,
language, 5–6, 44, 53, 86, 106–107, 112, 117, 119, 200, 204, 206, 233,
134, 138, 261, 271–272, 286, 290, 253, 255, 270, 282, 285–287,
293, 295 297–298, 306, 310, 316
laws, 2, 7, 16–17, 19, 23–32, 34–45, moral, 9, 11, 60, 76, 81, 119, 127–128,
60–61, 65, 76, 94, 100, 103, 109, 131, 137–140, 151–152, 155, 158,
126, 138–139, 158, 163, 172–174, 161–162, 164–169, 178, 180, 192,
199, 206, 220, 245 207–208, 212–213, 219–221, 223,
leadership, 90, 114, 286 235, 248, 268, 289, 309
legislation, 17, 34, 38, 171 motivation, 31, 63–64, 161–162, 247,
Leviticus, 8, 20, 22–23, 26, 29–34, 267, 284
36–38, 47, 51, 56, 60–65, 74, Muslim immigration, 4, 10–11, 171–172,
77–78, 83, 94, 99, 267 174–178, 180–182, 184–186,
188–190, 192, 194, 196–200, 202,
M 204, 206–208
marginalisation, 127, 223
media, 48, 89, 245, 264 N
migrant context, 7, 47, 72–73 narrative, 4–5, 21, 24, 42, 61, 79, 87, 95,
migrant, 2, 5–8, 47, 49–53, 72–74, 80, 99, 116–117, 150, 183, 190, 225,
82–84, 86, 113, 118, 120, 124, 230, 304
156–157, 223, 225–227, 241, 247, need, 8, 17–18, 30, 33, 38, 43, 50,
251, 254–255, 257, 264, 266, 81–82, 113, 137, 140, 158, 161–163,
313, 315–316 178, 181, 189, 193–194, 197, 201,
362
Index
207–208, 223, 230, 234–235, pluralisation, 12–13, 277–280, 282,

254, 264, 268, 275, 284–285, 284, 286, 288, 290, 292,
288, 293, 306–307, 310, 317 294, 296
needs, 5, 52, 59, 87, 174, 181, 189, pluralism, 176–177, 181, 278, 283, 296
206, 223, 273–274, 290, 300, politics, 2, 4, 175, 178, 195,
309–310, 316 200–201, 262
networks, 6, 48, 98, 105, 126, poor, 12, 18, 31–34, 38, 43, 69, 118–119,
130, 260 128, 137, 140, 157, 162, 166–167,
178, 180, 188, 210, 218, 223,
P 230, 234, 241, 244, 251–255,
paradigm, 10, 70, 144, 162, 192, 258–260, 264, 271–274, 282
299, 306 poverty, 6–7, 17, 34, 38, 91, 178, 217,
parents, 95, 178, 227 223, 230, 244–245, 259–261, 271
participation, 17, 26–27, 98, 116–117, power, 6, 75–76, 78–80, 110, 115,
134, 144, 268, 278, 288, 117–118, 146, 148, 163, 167–168,
294, 296 173, 182–184, 202–203, 205,
Paul, 8–9, 85–88, 90–92, 94, 96–120, 232, 264–265, 268, 273, 295,
123, 131–135, 137, 145, 165, 228, 301, 309
230–232, 235, 237, 243, 289 process, 4, 8–9, 48, 82, 87, 90, 109,
peace, 70, 89, 100–101, 113, 137–138, 115, 118–119, 121, 123, 130, 139,
140, 158, 161, 165, 168, 185, 151, 174, 218, 224, 227, 246, 248,
188–189, 191, 195, 266 289–291, 293, 295, 300,
Pentateuch, 7, 15–17, 21–25, 27–29, 32, 303, 309
34, 36–37, 40–44 protection, 17–18, 38, 43, 122, 152, 167,
pentecostal movement, 12, 169, 220–221, 226, 228,
257–258, 269 235, 259
people, 1–2, 4–5, 7–10, 15–16, 18, 21, purpose, 13, 36, 40, 75, 79, 82–83,
23–24, 28, 31, 36, 40–43, 47–52, 86–87, 92, 102–103, 110, 162,
54, 56–58, 60–62, 64–74, 164, 210, 218, 220–221, 237, 240,
76–84, 88–96, 98–102, 106, 108, 247, 267, 273, 281, 283, 309, 311,
111, 114–115, 118, 122, 124–125, 313–316
128–129, 134, 137, 140–141,
145–146, 148, 156, 158, 160–162, R
164, 166–167, 169, 183–184, recognition, 126, 137, 139, 160–162, 169,
189, 196, 201, 205, 207, 210, 190, 193–194, 223, 250
221–228, 230–231, 234–236, relation, 9, 23, 58, 68, 90, 116, 146,
238, 240–242, 244–246, 251, 150–151, 155–162, 234, 262, 296
254, 258, 262–265, 268–272, relationship, 9, 21, 27, 40, 54, 58–61,
274–275, 277–278, 280–282, 64, 71, 97, 105, 107, 110, 131, 156,
284, 287–288, 290, 292, 163–164, 168, 248, 252, 311
294–296, 298–299, 301–303, research, 8, 10, 13, 48, 50, 73, 86–89,
306, 308–317 91–92, 97, 117–118, 144, 161,
personhood, 10, 143–146, 148, 150–152, 211–212, 214, 216–218, 257, 262,
154, 156, 158, 160, 162, 164, 166, 299, 316–317
168–169 resources, 101, 137, 218, 221, 224, 254,
philosophy, 100, 149, 160, 165, 307 259, 264, 271, 290
philoxenia, 12, 257, 273 responsibilities, 138, 233–234, 278
363
Index
responsibility, 11, 77, 157, 173, 190, 198, 226, 228, 230, 232, 234, 236,
209, 211, 219–224, 228–236, 238, 238–239, 257–259, 263, 269,
257, 273, 308 277, 297
rhetoric, 98, 118, 261, 317 space, 6, 9, 44, 73, 87–88, 92, 98, 104,
rights, 2–3, 11, 18–19, 21, 24, 34, 39, 116–117, 122, 192–193, 197, 199,
44, 77, 127, 138–139, 144–145, 206, 219, 241, 258, 310, 317
160, 162, 169, 188, 206–207, spaces, 9, 82, 84, 92, 98, 121–124, 126,
212–213, 219–220, 223–224, 228, 130, 136, 193–194, 279, 290,
236–238, 259, 261–262, 265, 292, 296
270, 295 status, 12, 19, 23, 31, 40, 62, 97, 104,
risk, 43, 242, 248, 265, 274 124, 132–133, 135–139, 155, 157,
219, 223, 237, 248, 258–259,
S 263, 272
salvation, 37, 47, 57–59, 61, 66, 68–76,
78, 80–84, 102, 105, 111–112, 118, T
153, 202–203, 229, 252, 254, teach, 5, 63, 65, 83, 119, 138, 180, 201
287, 313 theology of life, 143–144
Schilder, 171, 176, 182–190, 205–206 theology, 1–6, 8, 10, 13, 15, 47, 50–57,
school, 99, 109, 131, 197, 294 60, 80, 82, 85–88, 100, 110,
schools, 99, 112, 172, 195, 198–199, 115, 117–119, 121, 131, 143–144,
205–206, 216, 292 152–153, 156–158, 161, 166, 168,
secularism, 174, 297–298, 301–302, 171, 195, 209, 214, 225, 239, 257,
305–306, 308 265–266, 271, 274–275, 277–278,
services, 12, 172, 278, 282, 286, 302 297, 306, 309–310, 315–316
social responsibility, 11, 209, 219, Torah, 9, 85, 90–91, 95–96, 100–102,
221–224, 229–236, 238 104, 119
societies, 2, 44, 61, 122–123, 125–128, transformation, 100, 104, 119, 166,
130, 138–140, 167, 195, 220, 250, 279, 296
281–282 transnational assisted reproductive
society, 1, 9, 12, 15, 19, 34, 44, 47, 62, technology, 11, 239–240, 242,
65, 85, 115, 121, 123, 125–127, 244–246, 248, 250, 252, 254
129–130, 134, 137–141, 143,
161, 195, 197, 201, 204, 209, U
213, 220–222, 224, 230–231, UNESCO, 209, 212–213, 219–224
233–234, 239, 246, 254,
257–259, 263–265, 269–270, V
272, 274, 277–281, 287, 292, value, 80, 107, 128, 151–152, 154–156,
294–295, 297, 301, 306–308 160, 162, 168, 214, 219, 223–224,
solidarity, 12, 26, 29, 36–40, 81, 90, 235–236, 260, 272, 275, 279,
193–194, 239–240, 251–255, 264, 285, 291, 300
272, 275, 287, 292 values, 9, 90, 124, 127, 138, 160, 180,
South Africa, 1, 3–4, 11, 15–16, 47–48, 213, 223–224, 267, 270, 285–287,
85, 121, 143, 160, 195, 209–210, 289, 298, 303–305
212, 214, 216–218, 220, 222, 224, victim, 266, 270
364
Index
violence, 12, 93, 137, 167, 173, 185, 187, worship, 61–62, 104, 109, 116, 133,
189–191, 193–199, 201, 205, 218, 137, 150
252, 257–268, 270, 272, 274 written, 111, 131, 158, 313
W X
well–being, 137, 235–237, 260, xenophobia, 6, 8, 12, 95, 137, 162,
274, 304 257–261, 264–266, 271–275
365
The world we live in is struggling with the diversity of humanity more than
ever before. The more diversity is recognised, the more people react in a
polarising way, determined to protect individual identity. This protection of
the self above all else in many cases leads to violent outcomes. In light
of this, this edited work is a welcome addition to create awareness of the
multifaceted phenomenon that is migration. It cuts to the heart of migration’s
impact in real life and provides broad ethical guidelines for all to navigate
the tension between the known and the unknown, or unique identity and
increasing diversity. It reminds us that, in a sense, all of us are migrants and
therefore we have the privilege and responsibility to welcome the stranger –
if we want to call ourselves followers of Christ.
Dr Tanya Van Wyk, Department of Systematic and Historical Theology,
Faculty of Theology and Religion, University of Pretoria,
Pretoria, South Africa
In Life in Transit the editors, Kotzé and Rheeder, have brought together a
moving collection of theological and Christian ethical essays that aptly
contributes to deliberations on the theme of migration. The title ambiguously
refers, of course, to life that is on the move, to migration. It also, however,
refers to life in or within migration, to life in or through movement. Also, to
life’s temporality, on the move, to life on the way as in not-yet-there, in transit
– in eternal hope – a hope that the moves of those able will migrate, migrate
towards life – that is, a transit in life for life.
Dr Henco Van der Westhuizen, Department of Historical and
Constructive Theology, Faculty of Theology and Religion,
University of the Free State, Bloemfontein, South Africa

aosis.2020.BK219
The human dilemma of
displacement
Towards a practical theology
and ecclesiology of home
Edited by
Alfred R. Brunsdon
displacement
Published by AOSIS Books, an imprint of AOSIS Publishing.
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How to cite this work: Brunsdon, A.R. (ed.), 2020, The human dilemma of displacement:
Towards a practical theology and ecclesiology of home, pp. i-267, AOSIS, Cape Town.

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displacement
Editor
Alfred R. Brunsdon
Commissioning Editor
Andries G. van Aarde, MA, DD, PhD, D Litt, South Africa
Board Members
Jan Botha, Professor in the Centre for Research on Evaluation, Science and Technology,
University of Stellenbosch, South Africa
Joan Hambidge, Deputy Dean at the Faculty of Humanities for the University of Cape Town
and Professor for the School of Languages and Literatures, South Africa
Sakari Häkkinen, Dean of the Diocese of Kuopio, Finland
Glenna Jackson, Associate Editor, Professor Chair, Department of Religion and Philosophy,
Otterbein University, Westerville, OH, United States of America
Gregory C. Jenkins, Dean-elect, St George’s College, Jerusalem, Israel
Reina-Marie Loader, Director and Filmmaker, CinémaHumain, Vienna, Austria
Babita Marthur-Helm, Senior Lecturer in Organisational Transformation and Development;
Managing Diversity Gender Empowerment, University of Stellenbosch Business School,
Christopher Mbazira, Professor of Law and Coordinator of the Public Interest Law Clinic,
Makerere University, Kampala, Uganda
Piet Naudé, Professor, Ethics related to politics, economics and business and Director,
University of Stellenbosch Business School, Stellenbosch, South Africa
Charles Neill, Professor, Department of Business Administration, The British University in
Egypt, El Sherouk, Cairo Governorate, Egypt
Cornelia Pop, Full professor at the Department of Business, Faculty of Business, Babes-
Bolyai University, Cluj-Napoca, Romania
Michael Schratz, Professor, Institut für LehrerInnenbildung und Schulforschung, Dekan der
School of Education, Leopold-Franzens-Universität Innsbruck, Austria
Johann Tempelhoff, Professor, Research Niche for Cultural Dynamics of Water (CuDyWat),
School of Basic Sciences, Vaal Triangle Campus of North-West University, Vanderbijlpark,
South Africa
Anthony Turton, Professor Centre for Environmental Management and Director TouchStone
Resources, University of Free State, South Africa
Willie L. van der Merwe, Professor and Chair, Philosophy of Religion, Apologetics and
Encyclopaedia of theology and Professor Extraordinary, Stellenbosch University, South Africa,
Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam, Amsterdam, the Netherlands
Christi van der Westhuizen, Associate Professor, Department of Sociology, Faculty of
Humanities, University of Pretoria, South Africa
Joke van Saane, Professor, Amsterdam Center for the Study of Lived Religion, Vrije
Universiteit Amsterdam, the Netherlands
Paul van Tongeren, Professor, Department of Philosophy, Radboud University Nijmegen, the
Netherlands
Robert G. Varady, Deputy Director and Research Professor of Environmental Policy, Udall
Center for Studies in Public Policy, The University of Arizona, Tucson, United States of America
Anné H. Verhoef, Associate Editor, Professor, Faculty of Arts: School of Philosophy,
North-West University, Potchefstroom, South Africa
Xiao Yun Zheng, Professor and Assistant President of Yunnan Academy of Social Sciences
(YASS) and Director International Center for Ecological Culture Studies (ICECS-YASS),
Yunnan Academy of Social Sciences, Kunming City, China

The publisher (AOSIS) endorses the South African ‘National Scholarly Book Publishers Forum
Best Practice for Peer Review of Scholarly Books’. The manuscript was subjected to a
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reviewers not revealed to the author(s). The reviewers were independent of the publisher
and/or authors in question. The reviewers commented positively on the scholarly merits of
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reviewers recommended revision and/or improvements to the manuscript, the authors
responded adequately to such recommendations.
In this book, social responsive theological research converges in order to provide practical
theological and ecclesiological perspectives on the growing human dilemma of displacement.
The main contribution of this collaborative work is to be sought in the practical theological and
ecclesiological perspectives it provides. The book presents original and innovative research of
practical theologians and missiologists whose work pertains first and foremost to the (South)
African context. The book engages the critical questions of what kind of church would be
relevant in today’s world and what kind of care the church should provide in the face of the
growing predicament of human displacement. The theological and theoretical principles
uncovered in the different chapters are functional for academic exploration and use by
theologians from multidisciplinary research areas focusing on communities that are challenged
with the growing realities of strangers on their doorsteps and in their pews. Methodologically
seen, the different fields of expertise of the contributors within the broader field of practical
theology worked towards a unique compilation of themes, each relevant to the issue at stake.
The majority of chapters are theoretically orientated, except where authors refer to empirical
work conducted during previous research. The centre target consists of scholars in one or
more of the fields of theology and religious studies. No part of the book was plagiarised from
another publication or published elsewhere before.
Alfred R. Brunsdon, Department of Practical Theology, Faculty of Theology, North-West

University, Mahikeng, South Africa
Contents
Abbreviations and Figures Appearing in the Text and Notes xv
List of Abbreviations xv
List of Figures xv
Notes on Contributors xvii
Acknowledgements xxv
Preface xxvii
Chapter 1: On becoming a ‘streetwise home-church’ within

the dynamics of social co-existence: Reforming ‘cathedral
ecclesiologies’ within the migrant dilemma of human
displacement 1
Daniël J. Louw
Abstract 2
Introduction 2
The core civil societal question in the predicament of
displaced refugees and migrants: Integration or segregation? 4
The migrants and refugees: Who are they? 5
The predicament of human displacement: The social
pathology of xenophobic alienation 8
The ambiguous complexity of human displacement:
The dilemma between Heimat (welcoming – sense of
belongingness) and hell (experience of rejection – not
being wanted) 10
Towards a graphic design in a diagnostic approach:
The healing of ‘seeing the bigger picture’ within the
predicament of displacement and social polarisation 13
Towards a praxis of cooperative peaceful co-existence 18
Believing in ‘some-T(t)hing’: The religious and theological
dimension of peaceful co-existence 21
Spiritual directives within a theological interpretation of
‘hospitable accompaniment’: The migrating God 22
vii
Contents
On becoming a streetwise church within the complexity

of social polarisation: Between xenophilia (inclusivity of
hospitality) and xenophobia (exclusivity of fear or paranoia) 25
Conclusion 29
Chapter 2: Negotiating nostalgia: A pastoral reflection

on the notion of ‘home’ within the context of displacement
on the African continent 31
Alfred R. Brunsdon
Abstract 31
Introduction 32
Placing displacement 33
Displacement and human displacement 33
Expressions of human displacement: From (in-)voluntary
migration to fleeing in order to survive 33
Quantifying displacement 36
Displacement on the African continent 37
Challenges resulting from displacement 38
Displacement in a pastoral and ecclesial framework 41
Finding a suitable paradigm for pastoral care within the
context of displacement in the African context: The loss
of home 42
Seeking the meaning of home 42
‘Home’ (oikos) within the Christian tradition 43
‘Home’ (ekhaya) within the African tradition 44
Seeking an outcome for pastoral care within the context
of displacement (loss of home) in the African context:
Negotiating nostalgia 45
Conclusion 48
Chapter 3: Complexities of migration challenges in

South Africa and a theological perspective: The Good
Samaritan framework 51
Christopher Magezi
viii
Contents
Abstract 51
Introduction 52
The complexity of the challenges of migrants in
South Africa 54
Foreign nationals face discrimination in the labour
market and accusations of stealing jobs from the native
people 54
Foreign nationals suffer exploitation in the
labour market 57
Foreign nationals working in the formal sectors
and foreign students at tertiary institutions suffer
discrimination from work colleagues and fellow
students 60
Migrants are accused of illegally owning properties 62
Foreign nationals are targeted by high-profile
people’s reckless utterances on social media 63
Identifying the concepts of neighbourliness and
Ubuntu in the African context 65
The origin and meaning of the concept of Ubuntu
in the African context 66
Challenges associated with the concept of Ubuntu 69
Luke 10:25–37: Towards Jesus’ extension of the definition
of a neighbour as every fellow human being in need 73
The purpose of Luke and the immediate context
of Luke 10:25–37 73
Discussion of Luke 10:25–37 in view of Jesus’
extension of the definition of a neighbour as
every fellow human being in need 75
The concept of neighbourliness in Luke 10:25–37 as
a theological theory that affects how one may think
and act positively in response to migrant challenges 80
Conclusion 84
Chapter 4: Towards understanding migrants’ coping

mechanisms and development of an operative ecclesiology
as church care response: Home away from home migrants’
church care 85
Vhumani Magezi
ix
Contents
Abstract 86
Introduction 86
Towards a kingdom reversal and eschatological recognition
framework 88
Conception of home amongst migrants and some coping
strategies 90
Eschatological perspective within the notion of home
amongst migrants 93
Reversals and eschatological home as operative
ecclesiological framework 96
Conclusion 101
Chapter 5: Evaluating ‘prophecy’ as a South African

Neo-Pentecostal pastoral response to the challenges of xenophobia 103
Marius Nel
Abstract 104
Methodology 104
Xenophobia in South Africa 105
‘Prophecy’ in the Neo-Pentecostal churches in South Africa 109
‘Prophecy’ as a pastoral response to xenophobia 116
An evaluation of the Neo-Pentecostal pastoral
response to xenophobia 119
Conclusion 126
Synthesis 126
Acknowledgements 127
Chapter 6: The plight of unaccompanied migrant

children in South Africa: Challenges en route to a
practical theology and ecclesiology of home 129
Hannelie Yates & Sinenhlanhla S. Chisale
Abstract 130
Introduction 130
Unaccompanied migrant children in South Africa 132
Methodology 135
Lived experiences of unaccompanied migrant children 137
x
Contents
Home as a safe place and a space of care, love and

respect 137
Home as relational and communal 139
Challenges of finding home and ‘being at home’ 142
Xenophobia 142
From a culture of xenophobia to a culture of
welcoming 143
Absence of the extended family 144
From living in isolation to a community of love and
companionship 145
Cultural–spiritual dynamics 146
From a fragmented cultural–spiritual life to a
contextualised holistic cultural–spiritual life 147
Conclusion 148
Chapter 7: A life beyond iron bars: Creating a space of

dignity and hope for the displaced father in prison 151
Fazel E. Freeks
Abstract 151
Rationale 152
Introduction 154
The Potchefstroom remand detention facility (previously
known as Potchefstroom correctional services) 158
The fatherhood training and equipping programme 158
An ideal and unique programme for convicted inmates
(fathers) 158
Layout of the fatherhood training and equipping
programme 159
Purpose of the fatherhood training and equipping
programme 159
The role of Families South Africa 160
Who and what is Families South Africa? 160
The aim of Families South Africa 161
The dilemma of refugees, foreigners and displaced people 161
Background 161
xi
Contents
The refugee and the displacement crisis in the world 162

Who is a refugee: A displaced person and a stranger? 165
God’s view and his care for refugees and the displaced
persons 166
Displaced fathers could be reintegrated in society if
we restore their dignity and build spiritual resilience 168
Christian’s responsibility for the displaced fathers 169
Chapter 8: Migrants, missio Dei and the church in

South Africa 171
Johannes J. Knoetze & Paul Verryn
Abstract 171
Introduction 172
Background 172
Application to Matthew 13:1–23 175
Context of the parable in the text 175
Application of the parable to migration 177
Seed along the pathways 177
Seed on rocky places 178
Seed amongst the thorn bushes 179
Good soil 180
Implications of migration for the church as kingdom
community 183
The pathways exposing the need to create community 183
The rocky places exposing the need to act and serve as
church 184
The thorn bushes expose the need to respect the
ministry of clergy and laity 185
The good soil exposes the full potential of the
church as a vibrant community 186
Conclusion 186
xii
Contents
Chapter 9: A pastoral encounter with the stranger: The

basic ambivalence of hostility to hospitality inherent to
the human response 189
Amanda L. du Plessis
Abstract 189
Introduction 190
Do not call anything that God has made clean as impure 192
An encounter with a stranger 194
Changing world 197
Helping without hurting: From divine definition to divine
infinition 201
Conclusion 205
Chapter 10: Embracing compassion, hospital-

ity, forgiveness and reconciliation: The quest for
peaceful living in the human displacement crisis 207
Rudy A. Denton
Abstract 207
Introduction 208
The complexity of human displacement 212
Challenges of human displacement 213
Prejudice 214
Polarisation, separation and isolation 215
Xenophobia 215
Tolerance and hospitality 216
Compassion and hospitality 218
Biblical references to displaced people 219
Displacement of strangers and foreigners residing
amongst God’s people 221
Embracing forgiveness and reconciliation in the human
displacement crisis 223
xiii
Contents
The quest for peaceful living 227

Conclusion 228
References 231
Index 261
xiv
Abbreviations and
Figures Appearing in
the Text and Notes
AIC African Indigenous/Initiated/Independent Churches
ATR African Traditional Religion
FAMSA Families South Africa
GEM Global Extremism Monitor
IDP Internally Displaced Person
NGO Non-governmental Organisations
NWU North-West University
RDP Reconstruction and Development Programme
SAHRC South African Human Rights Commission
UDHR Universal Declaration of Human Rights
UNHCR United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees
URM Unaccompanied Refugee Minors
WCC World Council of Churches
List of Figures
Figure 1.1: Five dynamic dispositions: Dynamics of attitudes
(habitus) – different options. 15
Figure 1.2: Dynamics of spiritual networking: Paradigmatic
framework for peaceful co-existence and a ‘hospitality of
accompaniment’. 24
Figure 1.3: Theological components in an operative,
streetwise ecclesiology of home 28
Figure 4.1: Interactive migrant responses within an
operational ecclesiology. 98
xv
Daniël J. Louw
email: djl@sun.ac.za
Daniël J. Louw is a professor emeritus at the Faculty of Theology,

University of Stellenbosch and extraordinary researcher at the
Faculty of Theology, North-West University, Potchefstroom
campus. His research interests include practical theology, pastoral
care and counselling, healing of life, marriage and family
enrichment, and clinical pastoral care in a hospital environment.
He holds the following degrees: BA (Adm) cum laude, Stellenbosch
(1965); BA (Hons Philosophy) cum laude, Stellenbosch (1967);
BTh cum laude, Stellenbosch (1968); MA (Philosophy) cum laude,
Stellenbosch (1968); Licentiate Theology cum laude, Stellenbosch
(1969); DPhil, Stellenbosch (1972); DTh, Stellenbosch (1983).
Professor Louw has authored a number of major academic books
in practical theology and pastoral care, and published more than
85 articles in accredited national and international journals. He is
involved in ongoing scholarly projects such as the migrant crisis
within the framework of an ecclesiology of homecoming, practical
theology as life care and healing of life and spiritual lifestyles:
fides quaerens vivendi. In October 2000, he received the Totius
Award for Biblical Languages and Theology from the South
African Academy for Science and Arts.
Alfred R. Brunsdon
Mahikeng, South Africa
Email: alfred.brunsdon@nwu.ac.za
Alfred R. Brunsdon is an associate professor in practical theology at the

Faculty of Theology of the North-West University (Mahikeng campus).
xvii
He holds a PhD in practical theology (2007). His areas of interest

include the contextualisation of practical theology and pastoral care in
the African context. He is responsible for teaching and learning as well
as supervision of postgraduate students in a multicultured context. He
has published his research in accredited journals and peer-reviewed
books since 2003, is a member of a number of local and international
academic associations, and has presented a number of academic
papers at local and international conferences. Professor Brunsdon is
serving as the subject chair and subgroup leader for practical theology
since 2016 at the North-West University (NWU) and coordinates both
teaching and learning and research within this subject group. In 2018,
he was awarded the Distinguished Teaching Excellence Award by the
NWU in recognition of his contribution to teaching and learning in the
online open-distance environment, where he developed modules in
pastoral care and homiletics. He is an ordained minister of the Dutch
Reformed Church and is married to Rev Elizabeth Brunsdon. They have
two adult sons and reside in Lichtenburg in the North West Province.
Christopher Magezi
Email: magezichristopher@gmail.com
Zimbabwean born Christopher Magezi is a postdoctoral fellow at

the Faculty of Theology, North-West University (Vaal Triangle
campus). His PhD (2018) in practical theology focused on
theological understandings of migration and its implications for
church ministry. It employed a biblical redemptive historical
approach to analyse the biblical text and its relevance to the
impact of migration on the church. The study is located within a
systematic theological reflection, with an intentional gospel
ministry application in contemporary urban ministry and
intercultural experience, as well as human co-existence in global
ministry context, with particular focus on South Africa. He has
published several articles in accredited academic journals.
xviii
Vhumani Magezi
Email: vhumani.magezi@nwu.ac.za
ORCID: https://orcid.org/0000-0002-5858-143X
Vhumani Magezi is an associate professor in practical theology

and pastoral care at the Faculty of Theology, North-West
University (Vaal Triangle campus). His research focusses on
public practical theology and public pastoral care, which is the
intersection of church or theology with social issues. He has
published in the following areas: Church and Public Ministry;
Congregational (Church) Ministry Designs; Church-Driven
Development (Church and Public Health; Church and Community
Development); Public Pastoral Care; Pastoral Care, diagnosis and
Spirituality in Africa; and Church and Civil Society Leadership. He
is involved in faculty senior management as a coordinator. He is
the president of the African Association for Pastoral Studies and
Counselling (AAPSC), and an active member of academic and
professional organisations that include the International Academy
of Practical Theology (IAPT); Association of Practical Theology
(APT) (USA); Society for Pastoral Theology (SPT) (USA);
International Council of Pastoral Care and Counselling (ICPCC);
and Society for Practical Theology of Southern Africa (SPTSA).
Marius Nel
Unit for Reformational Theology and the Development of the South African
Society,
Email: marius.nel@nwu.ac.za
Marius Nel is a research professor and he occupies the Chair of

Ecumenism: Pentecostalism and Neo-Pentecostalism at the Unit
for Reformed Theology of the Faculty of Theology at the
Potchefstroom campus of the North-West University in South
Africa. He has been a pastor of the Apostolic Faith Mission of
South Africa with 35 years of experience. He specialises in
apocalypticism in the Old Testament and New Testament, the
xix
history of the Pentecostal movement and the study of its doctrine.

He is a C2 National Research Foundation-rated researcher.
Hannelie Yates
Email: hannelie.yates@nwu.ac.za
Hannelie Yates is a senior lecturer in practical theology at the

Faculty of Theology, North-West University (Potchefstroom
campus). Her academic career is steered by her profound concern
for children. She received her undergraduate, honours and
master’s qualifications in theology with specialisation in youth
work at Huguenot College, and then continued to gain
international exposure in Sweden and the Netherlands, focusing
on the rights and agency of children in their daily living
environment. She completed her PhD in practical theology at the
University of Stellenbosch (2012). In recent years, her primary
research interest is related to the position, role and voice of
children in faith communities and relational spaces in civil society.
Sinenhlanhla S. Chisale
Pretoria, South Africa;
Department of Religious Studies,
Faculty of Arts, Midlands State University,
Zvishavane, Zimbabwe
Email: sinengwenya@gmail.com
Sinenhlanhla S. Chisale is a postdoctoral fellow under the

mentorship of Prof. Yolanda Dreyer. Her project, ‘Pastoral care in
a context of gender-based violence (GBV), sexuality, migration
and disability’, is embedded in the broader research project titled
‘Gender studies and practical theology theory formation’ directed
by Prof. Dreyer in Department of Practical Theology, Faculty of
Theology and Religion, University of Pretoria. She is also a lecturer
in the Department of Religious Studies in Midlands State
University, Zvishavane, Zimbabwe. She holds a Doctorate in
xx
practical theology (2014, UNISA), Master of Theology and

Development (2009, UKZN) and a Master of Arts degree in
Sociology (cum laude) (2017, UNISA). She is ordained into ministry
in the Evangelical Lutheran Church in Southern Africa (ELCSA).
Her research focusses on pastoral care, decolonisation, gender,
migration, disability and childhood. Her responsibilities include
research and part-time teaching and learning, including
supervision of postgraduate students in practical theology,
pastoral care and gender studies, mainly from an African context.
She has published numerous articles in accredited journals and
books since 2014 and is a peer reviewer for several journals
and the National Research Foundation. Professor Chisale is
affiliated with local and international academic associations and
has presented several academic papers at local and international
conferences.
Fazel E. Freeks
Email: fazel.freeks@nwu.ac.za
Fazel E. Freeks is an associate professor and Coordinator of

Community Engagement in the Faculty of Theology, North-West
University (Potchefstroom campus). He holds doctorates in
Education, Pastoral Studies and Missiology with the focus on
values and character-building, fatherhood and father absence,
community engagement and training and equipping. His
responsibilities include teaching and learning as well as supervision
of postgraduate students, especially in the field of fatherhood and
the family context. He is also the author and co-author of numerous
articles in accredited journals, has presented papers at national
and international conferences, and has authored six popular
books, mainly on fatherhood. He collaborates with Families South
Africa (FAMSA), correctional services (Remand Detention Facility)
and schools and communities. Professor Freeks is currently
managing and driving the LIFEPLAN® Training and Equipping
Programme in the Northern Cape farm communities and the
xxi
fatherhood training and equipping programme with its project, ‘A

life beyond iron bars’ in the North West Province, especially at the
Potchefstroom remand detention facility. He is also a member of
the South African Academy for Science and Arts.
Johannes J. Knoetze
Department of Missiology,
Email: hannes.knoetze@nwu.ac.za
Johannes J. Knoetze is an associate professor in missiology at

the Faculty of Theology of the North-West University (Mahikeng
campus). He holds a Doctoral Divinitatis in Missiology (2002). He
serves in different management positions within the Faculty of
Theology, such as faculty coordinator of Teaching and Learning
and is a member of the Faculty Management Committee. He has
published articles in different accredited journals as well as
chapters in peer-reviewed books. His research focus is on
Missional Diaconate in Africa, with specific focus on the millennial
(emerging adults) population and the alleviation of poverty. He
acts as an external examiner for different universities, as well as a
reviewer for international academic journals in his field of
research. Professor Knoetze is a member of the following
associations: South African Mission Society (SAMS), SPTSA,
International Association of Missiological Studies (IAMS), World
Reformed Fellowship and International Society for the Research
and Study of Diaconia and Christian Social Practice (ReDi). He
also serves as a board member of NetACT Africa and as a member
of the Moderamen of the General Synod of the Dutch Reformed
Church in Southern Africa.
Paul Verryn
Methodist Church,
Soweto, South Africa
Email: paulverryn@gmail.com
Paul Verryn is an ordained minister of the Methodist Church in

South Africa and former bishop of the Central District (Gauteng).
xxii
He became known for his ministry amongst refugees in the city

centre of Johannesburg for housing, mainly Zimbabwean
refugees, in the Johannesburg Central Methodist Church. Verryn
is currently residing in Soweto and ministering to the poor under
the auspices of the Church Unity Commission.
Email: amanda.duplessis@nwu.ac.za
Amanda L. du Plessis is a senior lecturer in practical theology at

the Faculty of Theology, North-West University (Potchefstroom
campus). She holds a PhD in practical theology (2008) and
became a postdoctoral fellow at the North-West University
Potchefstroom campus in 2011. During this period, she furthered
her research in pastoral care towards inner healing from a
reformed perspective. In 2015, she was appointed as a senior
lecturer on the Mafikeng campus of the North-West University.
Her current areas of interest include the contextualisation of
practical theology and pastoral care in the African context. Her
responsibilities include teaching and learning, as well as
supervision of postgraduate students. She has published
numerous articles in accredited journals since 2011. She is also
member of a number of local and international academic
associations and has presented a number of academic papers at
local and international conferences.
Rudy A. Denton
Email: rudydenton@outlook.com
Rudy A. Denton is a reverend of the Netherdutch Reformed

Church Student congregation in Potchefstroom and a researcher
in practical theology at the Faculty of Theology of the North-
West University (Potchefstroom campus). His research interests
xxiii
include pastoral studies with the focus on forgiveness and

Christian Psychology from a reformed perspective. His research
responsibilities also include supervision of postgraduate students.
He has published a number of articles in accredited journals,
presented academic papers at local and international conferences
and contributed chapters to collective works. He is the secretary
of the Society for Practical Theology in South Africa (SPTSA) and
also a member of local and international academic associations.
Doctor Denton is currently the chairperson of the research ethics
committee of the Faculty of Theology of the North-West
University (Potchefstroom campus).
xxiv
Acknowledgements
Chapter 5 represents substantial reworking (more than 50%) and
amalgamation of two published articles:
Nel, M., 2019, ‘The African background of Pentecostal theology:
A critical perspective’, In die Skriflig / In Luce Verbi 53(4), a2418.
https://doi.org/ 10.4102/ids.v53i4.2418
Nel, M., 2019, ‘Prophetic witness in weakness: A response to
Prof Robert Vosloo from a Pentecostal perspective’, In die
Skriflig/In Luce Verbi 53(4), a2419. https://doi.org/10.4102/ids.
v53i4.2419
These two articles were published under the Creative
Commons Attribution 4.0 International (CC BY 4.0) licence,
according to which permission is granted for reworking.
xxv
Preface
Alfred R. Brunsdon
The dilemma of human displacement is rapidly spreading across

the globe. Irrespective of the angle from which this phenomenon
is viewed, it remains a disaster of epic proportions. The harrowing
plight of humans that find themselves at the centre of this
phenomenon makes it a crisis that is difficult to ignore.
As practical theologians calling Africa their home, a need
arose to contribute to the growing academic discourse
surrounding human displacement. Living and working on the
southern tip of Africa, there was a collective decision amongst
practical theologians of the North-West University (NWU) in
South Africa to reflect about displacement on the African
continent. The African continent, being one of the areas globally
where migration is very rife, and South Africa, in particular, being
the last outpost and beacon of hope for many, invoked the
collective empathy of the participants to apply their minds to this
challenge and to heed the duty to be socially responsive.
The theological reflection recorded here is essentially from the
paradigm the authors know best, namely, practical theology.
Hence, this book represents critical theological reflection at the
intersection of Christian faith and one of the direst human
conditions, namely, those in transition to ultimately find
themselves homeless.
The title of the book was carefully formulated through a team
effort to bring into a dynamic interplay what contributors thought
to be the unique challenges that relate to this phenomenon.
How to cite: Brunsdon, A.R., 2020, ‘Preface’, in A.R. Brunsdon (ed.), The human dilemma of
displacement: Towards a practical theology and ecclesiology of home, pp. xxvii–xxxi, AOSIS,
xxvii
Preface
As such, it attempts to contribute much needed theory to inform

the praxis of faith communities in ministering to the destitute.
Methodologically, the work relied on documentary studies
regarding the topic and brings together the insights of both
young and mature theological voices.
In Chapter 1, Daniël J. Louw challenges current ecclesiologies,
‘On becoming a “streetwise home-church” within the dynamics
of social co-existence: Reforming “cathedral ecclesiologies”
within the migrant dilemma of human displacement’. In this
chapter, he grapples with the question as to how local churches
can bridge the gap between the xenophobic insiders and the
displaced outsiders that comes to the fore in an age of migration.
The chapter offers a grassroots and operational ecclesiology of
home in order to ‘home in’ on the dilemma of displacement. A
pastoral approach of compassionate co-existence is proposed to
achieve an operational ecclesiology of home.
Alfred R. Brunsdon presents a pastoral view on the phenomenon
of displacement on the African continent through the lens of
nostalgia in Chapter 2. Relating the notion of nostalgia to the
notion of home, this chapter attempts to understand how the
idea of ‘home’ can both ‘cause’ and ‘cure’ nostalgia as one of
the main challenges stemming from displacement. These notions
are reflected upon within a pastoral framework and hope to
provide some suggestions that will be of value for pastoral care
within the context of displacement on the African continent.
In Chapter 3, Christopher Magezi explores the complexities of
migrant challenges in South Africa from the perspective of the
Good Samaritan (Lk 10:25–37). In so doing, he attempts to
develop a theological theory on complex migrant challenges that
foster constructive theological thinking that can result in the
embracing of migrants and appropriate responses to their
existential needs. This reasoning is premised on the notion that
people are intricately linked together by their common humanity
as the bearers of the image of God.
xxviii
Preface
Chapter 4 by Vhumani Magezi shifts the focus back to the

pastoral responsibilities of the church towards migrants. The
unique contribution of this chapter, ‘Towards understanding
migrants coping mechanisms and development of an operative
ecclesiology as church care response: Home away from home
migrants’ church care’, is found in the challenge to develop an
understanding of migration that places responsibilities on both
migrants and host nations in their social and ecclesial interactions.
It develops a framework resting on the notion of eschatological
home as an understanding that informs an inclusive approach to
migrant response and integrated churches.
Chapter 5 by Marius Nel links onto the growth of the Pentecostal
movement in Africa. He argues that prophecy, as one of the main
characteristics of the Pentecostal movement, can be seen as a
possible solution for one of the most disturbing results of
displacement, namely, xenophobia. Prophecy stands in the
service of Neo-Pentecostals’ emphasis on salvation and healing,
within the wider context of an African cosmological view of a
spirit world populated by good and evil spirits, and animating the
seen world. Evil spirits are supposedly responsible for the
occurrence of some cases of death, barrenness, illnesses and
other misfortunes; the prophet can decipher and uncover the
human and spiritual causes of events and prescribe a possible
way to overcome it. Neo-prophecy provides guidance for the
displaced as well as for those who are challenged to accept and
welcome the displaced strangers in their midst. This chapter
describes the phenomenon of neo-prophecy and evaluates its
benefits and shortcomings as a pastoral response to xenophobia.
In the co-authored Chapter 6, ‘The plight of unaccompanied
migrant children in South Africa: Challenges en route to a practical
theology and ecclesiology of home’, Hannelie Yates and
Sinenhlanhla S. Chisale attend to vulnerable children in the
framework of displacement. This chapter problematises the crisis
of displacement from the perspective of migrant children in the
xxix
Preface
construction of a practical theology of home. The primary focus is

on the category of unaccompanied migrant children in the context
of South Africa. Yates and Chisale apply the hermeneutics of
listening to identify challenges to the construction of a practical
theology of home based on the lived experiences of unaccompanied
migrant children.
Fazel Freeks retains focus on the impact of displacement on
families in Chapter 7. In ‘A life beyond iron bars: Creating a space
of dignity and hope for the displaced father in prison’, Freeks
engages the reality of displaced fathers who are jailed. This
chapter draws on the fatherhood training and equipping
programme used to guide, train and equip displaced fathers with
skills and knowledge about their role. The author argues that
when an effort is made to restore dignity and build resilience,
displaced fathers can be reunited with their families and the
society successfully.
Chapter 8 welcomes the contribution of missiologist, Hannes
Knoetze and migrant-veteran, Paul Verryn. This chapter
contributes further to a migrant-friendly ecclesiology from a
missional perspective and suggests possible responses for the
local churches in South Africa towards migrants. The parable of
the sower, as found within the context of Matthew 13, is used as
an analogy to discuss these responses. The personal engagement
of the authors with migrants contributes to these responses.
Amanda du Plessis brings together ecclesiology and pastoral
caregiving in Chapter 9. In ‘A pastoral encounter with the stranger:
The basic ambivalence of hostility to hospitality inherent to the
human response’, Du Plessis focusses on the role of the church
and the pastoral caregiving ministry in helping displaced persons
find the resilience, not only to cope but also to find a sense of
meaning in life in helping others who suffer as a result of the
same circumstances. The chapter unfolds in four parts. An
exegetical study of Acts 10 provides the scriptural foundation for
the calling of believers to witness and care for strangers. The
focus then shifts to what a pastoral encounter with a stranger
xxx
Preface
entails. This is followed by a discussion of the rapidly changing

world of today. The chapter concludes with a view on how to
help without hurting, an explanation of the paradigm shift from
divine definition to divine infinition and three guidelines or
principles for a pastoral encounter with the stranger.
Finally, in Chapter 10, entitled as ‘Embracing compassion,
hospitality, forgiveness and reconciliation: The quest for peaceful
living in the human displacement crisis’, Rudy Denton challenges
faith communities to live in peace with migrants. At the same time,
it is a challenge to move away from prejudice and discriminatory
discourses in order to address feelings of resentment, panic, fear,
suspicion and insecurity towards the stranger. To this end, the
chapter engages the multidimensional concepts of compassion,
hospitality, forgiveness and reconciliation. He argues that this is
imperative if there is a collective will to replace xenophobia with
xenophilia. In a world characterised by human beings in flux, the
chapter posits that embracing compassion, hospitality, forgiveness
and reconciliation is our only chance for peaceful living in an age,
which is characterised by migration.
The realisation of this book was a team effort. I want to convey
my sincere gratitude to each colleague who contributed to this
project. The Faculty of Theology of the NWU and especially the
Unit for Reformational Theology and the Development of the
South African Society deserve mention for their ongoing support
of research that is socially responsive. Their financial support of
this project testifies to a true commitment to develop the South
African society through responsible theological reflection. The
authors are also indebted to AOSIS Books who were willing to
publish the research. The efficient guidance of all of the staff
involved in this project deserves special mention.
I trust that this book will contribute to pastoral-ecclesial
thinking and practices that will enable us to offer a home to the
strangers and the destitute that faith communities encounter on
a growing basis.
xxxi
Chapter 1
On becoming a
‘streetwise home-
church’ within
the dynamics of
social co-existence:
Reforming ‘cathedral
ecclesiologies’ within
the migrant dilemma
of human displacement
Daniël J. Louwa,b
a

b
How to cite: Louw, D.J., 2020, ‘On becoming a “streetwise home-church” within the
dynamics of social co-existence: Reforming “cathedral ecclesiologies” within the migrant
dilemma of human displacement’, in A.R. Brunsdon (ed.), The human dilemma of
displacement: Towards a practical theology and ecclesiology of home, pp. 1–30, AOSIS,
1
On becoming a ‘streetwise home-church’
Abstract
Migration has become a feature of mobility in the global society.
The refugee crisis stirs a new kind of global paranoia: xenophobic
fear for the strange ‘other’ and threatening foreigner. The global
migrant crisis causes a human dilemma: the complexity of
interculturality. The following existential and political questions
surface: separation, integration or sheer indifferentism?
Governments face a gigantic national and social dilemma:
foreclosure or embracement? Communities of faith wrestle with
the ambivalence: the hospitality of welcoming or the comfort of
unemployed and poor church members? Thus, the research
questions are as follows: how does the local church bridge the
gap between the xenophobic insiders and the displaced
outsiders? What is meant by a public hospitality of accompaniment
within cultural diversity? Should ecclesiologies be designed to
keep merely denominational doctrine and clerical concerns going
(cathedral ecclesiologies), or should be redesigned to feature as
safe havens, shelters (xenodochia) for both fearful victims and
displaced others? A grassroots and operative ecclesiology of
home is designed in order to home in on the dilemma of
displacement. With reference to a hermeneutical approach in
caregiving, diagnostic charts are developed in order to assess
both the character of the displacement crisis and what a
ministerial approach entails. A pastoral approach of compassionate
co-existence is proposed.
Keywords: Streetwise ecclesiology of home; Theology of
compassion; Displacement crisis; Xenophobia; Co-existence;
Pastoral diagnosis.
Introduction
In his response to the migrant crisis, practical theologian Emanuel
Lartey pointed out that the refugee dilemma poses a gigantic
challenge to the provision of care. ‘Global migration has become the
critical defining issue of the dawn of the 21st century’ (Lartey 2018:x).
2
Chapter 1
The current refugee paranoia, and its connection to

Islamophobia, creates a kind of political explosive confusion on
the level of emotions. The emotional turmoil also causes a global
kind of political helplessness that oscillates between two
incompatible polarities: foreclosure (Abschottung) and
integration (Bauman 2016). The current migration crisis is indeed
ambivalent and has the capacity to end in a moral debacle – a
kind of immoral indifferentism regarding the tragedy and the
desperate cry of suffering, vulnerable people. On a spiritual level,
we face the inflation of compassion.
On an ecclesial level, it has also the capacity to turn church
polity into the exclusivity of denominationalism: maintaining
merely ‘our church’ – the cathedral position (cathedra = throne of
the bishop). ‘Church’ is then about clerical defensive positions
and survival of the denomination by means of merely top-down
strategies, rather than bottom-up approaches that are engaged in
grassroots strategies; that is, to approach the displacement crisis
from the viewpoint of human weakness (astheneia) and suffering.
The latter option is about ecclesiologies and theological paradigms
that use crises in life as a point of departure for redefining and
reforming existing inappropriate ecclesial self-understandings.
The core question for a practical theological approach is posed
by Kessler (2014): can the church exploit the refugee and migrant
crisis of human displacement, the encounter with the predicament
of the homeless foreigner along the sprawling malls and forsaken
pavements of established, affluent societies in order to create new
paradigmatic frameworks for theological reflection and ecclesial
self-understanding (Migration als Ort der Theologie)? This challenge
is underlined by Polak (2018), who states that the migrant crisis
challenges the church to rethink its theological and ecclesial stance:
We therefore can consider flight and migration a locus theologicus: a
place, where theology can validate itself and create new theologies
on one of the most important ‘signs of times’. (p. 43)
In fact, migration is not only about a new starting point for

reflection on the essence of being the church within human
3
displacement (reforming ecclesial thinking). Displacement is

even a theological category indicating a mode of God’s being-
with suffering human beings: God as both the displaced God in
our human history of suffering (passio Dei) and the migrating
God, Deus migrator – God the migrant journeying with displaced
human beings (Phan 2016:845–868).
The quest for rethinking and redefining church polity shifts the
debate on being the church from fixed decrees and axiomatic
doctrine to the predicament of the homeless other within the
public domain of civil societal life. The quest is an ecclesiology
with ‘Christian humanism’ (De Gruchy 2009; Kaunda 1967)1 as a
focal point in the design of an ecclesiology of home for displaced,
homeless people. Thus, my attempt is to translate the public
ministry of the church into the paradigm of ‘streetwise
ecclesiologies’.
The core civil societal question

in the predicament of displaced
refugees and migrants: Integration or
segregation?
Keeping the current suffering of human displacement in mind,
Bauman (2016) poses the following intriguing question: is the
political and social option of inclusive integration an appropriate
route to take when human habitus is determined by scepticism,
anxiety, hate and delimitation? The latter leads to exclusive self-
maintenance, a discriminatory ethos of ‘apartheid’ and
stigmatising practices of xenophobia. It becomes actually an
1. The connection between humanism and a Christian approach is not necessarily acceptable
to all researchers. In an article on the connection between ‘Christian humanism’ and social
transformation, De Gruchy (2018) points out that Christian humanism is, for some, an
oxymoron for the simple reason that humanism today generally refers to its secular variety, and
Christianity has long been regarded as its antagonist. Within the realm of ‘African thinking’, it
was the former president of Zambia, Kenneth Kaunda, who wrote a book in the 1960s entitled
A Humanist in Africa. He advocated for a humanist approach to life (Christian humanism)
because of the communal spirit within different African spiritualties (Kaunda 1967:22).
4
Chapter 1
aggressive mode of masked enculturation and social assimilation,

which is ‘a typical Western approach’ – thus, the reaction of
Bauman (2016:122) and his argument that inclusion and integration
could become the strongest offensive strategies in the west.
Therefore, the very poignant research question is as follows: is
integration the eventual goal of attempts to deal with the migrant
crisis on a political and social level? Is integration a kind of instant
political and social solution that will solve the migration crisis?
(Bauman 2016:123). In his response, Bauman points out that in
the history of humankind, integration and segregation always
accompany one another within the unhealthy tension of we and
them2 – the polarisation between self-defensive insiders and
marginalised outsiders.
My further basic research question is: instead of integration,
could the notion of co-existence perhaps help the church to start
creating meaningful networking on grassroots level of societal
diversity (even cultural friction) in order to overcome the social
impasse of separation – integration?
The migrants and refugees: Who

are they?
Human beings are constantly on the move, looking for a better place
to live and to stay. In the February edition of the National Geographic
Magazine (Gorney 2008), it was forecasted that the phenomenon of
migration will cause a critical challenge to governments worldwide;
migration has become a sign of the times (eds. Gruber & Rettenbacher
2015) – a central, permanent and constant feature of life (eds. Padilla
& Khan 2013). That will be demonstrated in a very profound way on
the border between the United States and Mexico. Migration has
become a transnational phenomenon and is evoking a kind of
‘transnational revolution’. It brings about a new sense of civil
interconnectivity and national identity.
2. ‘Wir müssen die Kunst der Integration ganz neu lernen, unter Verzicht auf das Entweder-
oder, wenn wir unserer Lage gerecht werden sollen’ (Bauman 2016:124).
5
The migrating refugees are part of a new kind of ‘transnational

diaspora’ (Polak 2014). In this regard, Polak’s research is important
because very timely she pointed out that it is going to challenge
core ecclesial approaches in practical theological thinking and
pastoral caregiving. The fact is that Homo sapiens is at the same
time a homo migrans.3 Migration is not merely about people
flying from despotic political regimes; it is about a new mode of
being within global forces, dictating the agenda of market-driven
economies and expectations as created by the social media.
There is always the utopic projection of ‘beter places’ elsewhere –
the glamour of new ‘smart cities’ (Castles & Miller 2009:299).
Migrants represent the notion of homo viator; the restless
human being in his or her search for a better life is migrating
towards the utopia of ultimate happiness. However, between the
zest for fortune and success lurks always fate, and the unpredictable
reality of tragedy and inhumane suffering. The pursuit of
happiness, the utopia of a happy ending elsewhere, is often
merely the illusion of a fata morgana, ending most of times in
disastrous disillusionment and unhappiness (Brown 2017:17).
We live in a global world of diversification within mass
pluralisation.4 Smart phones wipe out all local limitations, and
3. One needs to differentiate between migrants and refugees. A migrant is a person who moves
from one place to another in order to find work or better living conditions, while a refugee
is someone who has been forced to flee his or her country because of persecution, war or
violence. Both have one common characteristic in that they move from one place to another in
search of better working conditions or more appropriate lifestyles despite cultural differences.
A refugee has a well-founded fear of persecution for reasons of race, religion, nationality,
political opinion or membership in a particular social group and thus has experienced life within
specific national or local boundaries unbearable and dangerous. According to international law,
such a person immediately has legal status or refugee status in the new country and cannot be
deported without substantial reasons. They are defined and protected in international law and
must not be expelled or returned to previous threatening situations.
4.‘Die“Super-Diversifizierung”globalerMigrationführtzueinemnichtmehrüberschaubarenAusmaß
an Pluralisierung und Mobilität. Zeitgenössische Mobilitäts- und Kommunikationsmöglichkeiten
fördern “transnationale Migration” und lassen Mehrfachzugehörigkeiten entstehen, die nicht
mehr in die klassischen Formate von “Heimat” und “Fremde” passen. Rund um den Globus findet
eine “transnationale Revolution” statt, die Gesellschaften und Politiken neu formt’ (Polak 2014:3).
6
Chapter 1
challenge our understanding of notions like national states, ‘civil

society’, ‘democracy’, ‘human dignity’ and on being the church
for the ‘homeless other’ and often ‘threatening stranger’.
Migrants can be people who enter a country legally (with
documents) or illegally (without any document or by fraud). They
can also be people who are forced to leave home and then be
removed to foreign places (townships and forced removals as in
the time of apartheid). Migrant people can also be people who
are moving from one stage in their life to another, for example,
from their home to security estates or retirement villages. All of
them are exposed to the phenomenon of displacement.
Refugees are people who are forced to leave their country
against their will. In terms of international law, when refugees
arrive in another country, they cannot be repatriated by force.
Therefore, there is a necessity to understand the diaspora
situation of most migrants. In the long run, migrants must become
citizens of their ‘new state’. On the other hand, for many
generations, they want to keep up their own identity, and this is
the reason why migrants cannot easily be assimilated.5
Migrants have become the challenging and even disturbing
others in many developed countries. In terms of Levinas’ (1968)
concern, the migrant becomes the quest and source for authentic
humanity, founded in the prior of a face-to-face encounter
(visage) and directed by the principle of l’un-pour-l’autre [one
for the other]. The threatening other is even in terms of Levinas’
mystical metaphysica, an invitation to instil hope; hope is
anchored in the presence of the frail and disturbing other; care is
then directed by the ethical principle of ‘one for the other’ [l’un-
pour-l’autre] (Levinas 1968).
5. ‘Sie assimilieren sich nicht oder nur noch oberflächlich, anders als die Einwanderer
des 19. Jahrhunderts. Die Türken in Deutschland wollen lojalen Bürger in Deutschland sein,
aber sie wollen auch Tüken bleiben. Warum? Sie sind alle produkte von Migration, nicht von
Immigration. Doch wir fahren fort, so zu tun, als wäre Migration gleich Immigration – planbar,
regulierbar, kontrollierbar duch die Regierung in Berlin, Paris oder London’ (Bauman 2016:123).
7
The threatening presence of the other leads to the widespread

fear of the other, namely xenophobia. It also challenges a
profound basic principle in Christian spirituality, namely the
principle of hospitality – that is, the challenge to invite the
stranger into a space called ‘home’. The challenge is then to share
the public space of civil society in such a way that the outsider
could become an insider.
The predicament of human

displacement: The social pathology
of xenophobic alienation
Displacement can be called a feature of life between birth
and death.6 Displacement infiltrates our understanding of place
and space and underlines the quest for ‘intimate dwelling’ and
‘trusting bonds’ that can establish a sense of meaning (Bollnow
2011:261). Without the networking of trusting relationships, life
experiences can be viewed as a kind of existential death; one is
being amputated from the very fabric of significant existence.
Displacement should, thus, be connected to our basic quest for
human dignity; it is about the striving towards a better humane
society (free from violence, oppression and fraud). One can even
say that the ‘pursuit of happiness’ as institutionalised by the
Constitution of the United States frames in a very subconscious
way the aspirations for a ‘better world’ and a ‘better place’. Wong
(2012:19) also links the striving towards a new world order and a
more cooperative and humane society as an expression of the
quest for purposeful living (Klinger 2012:23).
Without any doubt, displacement is about more than a physical
space and place. It embodies the striving for purposeful living.
6. Søren Kierkegaard (1962:317) connected life and death paradoxically in order to understand
the aesthetics or value of life better. ‘Thus, death is the briefest summary of life or life reduced
to its briefest form’. Within the ambiguity of life and death, ‘sunshine’ and ‘shadow’, the
beauty of life and hope emerges.
8
Chapter 1
It is essentially a spiritual category.7 If Michael Jackson’s song is a

plea for a better place, one can translate this plea into what can
be called a kind of ‘sanctification of the cosmos’ (Religion als
heiliger Kosmos) (Berger in Drehsen, Gräb & Weyl 2005:262).
Displacement within this framework can be called both a
religious and a spiritual phenomenon. Therefore, everyday
experiences should be translated and articulated into a
comprehensive cosmic system that, in its normative directive
capacity, would become a ‘holy cosmic network’. The current
refugee crisis for the church should thus not merely be a question
about integration or segregation, welcoming or foreclosure, but
a question about exercising a kind of public theology of cosmic
and social spiritualisation of human life, about what one can call
‘a hospitality of interfaith religiosity’ beyond the exclusive
categories of denominationalism and ‘doctrinal religiosity’. Thus,
the question is, how can Christians and Turks (Muslims), insiders
and outsiders cooperate in order to overcome enmity and hatred
by means of respectful tolerance and human hermeneutics of
socio-cultural understanding?
How can the church apply the spiritual principle of neighbourly
love, even the extreme command of ‘love your enemy’, irrespective
of whether the other is a Christian or a Muslim, in order to establish
an ecclesiology of home within the realm of severe social
pathology and xenophobic paranoia?8
7. Steger (2012:165–175) argues that psychological well-being cannot ignore spirituality, that
is, the general sense of transcendence and connection with something larger than one’s self
(Steger 2012:175). Spirituality is then identified and described as the pursuit of significance in
that which is sacred about life (Steger 2012:175).
8. Fear for the ‘foreign other’ has become the most profound pathology of living in a global
world shaped by instant mobility. This paranoia of xenophobic fear (Shuster 2018:28–33) is
what Angela Merkel has to face in her ‘welcoming politics’ when asked how she is going to
deal with the many Muslims in Germany in order to prevent the threat of ‘Islamization’, with
so many Muslims entering Germany: ‘[f]ear has never been a good adviser, neither in our
personal lives nor in our society. Cultures and societies that are shaped by fear will without
doubt not get a grip on the future’ (Vick, Shuster & Simon 2015).
9
Xenophobia reveals a worldwide dilemma in the refugee and

migrant crisis, with a huge political challenge,9 namely how to
deal with domestic resistance (anxiety and hate) and the moral
emphasis of outreach, and how to address the spiritual and
humane demand for acceptance (trust). The dilemma becomes
even ideological: tolerance and accommodation or suspicion and
resistance? And what about the threat of a negative political
backlash, even conservative radicalism?
All of these questions challenge the very essence of Christian
spirituality, namely the quality of compassion. Displacement
and xenophobia expose compassion to gradual emotional and
habitual inflation. Compassion becomes merely compulsory and
formal tolerance. According to António Guterres, the UN High
Commissioner for Refugees, ‘[t]here is definitely a battle of values,
with compassion one side and fear on the other’ (Vick 2015:32),
thus, the danger of the inflation of compassion; ‘[t]he limits of
compassion, coupled with wariness of Muslims, comes [sic] into
remorseless focus, even in an immigrant nation’ (Vick 2015:34).
The ambiguous complexity of human

displacement: The dilemma between
Heimat (welcoming – sense of
belongingness) and hell (experience
of rejection – not being wanted)
Because of complexity, it seems that for human displacement
there is no instant solution and straightforward answer (Klein
2015:24). Rather than to opt for an instant solution, the challenge
is to approach the crisis from a hermeneutical perspective, that
is, to understand the complexity of displacement within the
networking space of social interaction, existential reactions and
attitudinal responses. What is most needed in a pastoral and
hermeneutical approach is a different perception and new
9. ‘Right-wing parties that promote nativism and xenophobia were already on the rise in
France, Greece and other E.U. nations well before the latest surge of migrants’ (Vick 2015:32).
10
Chapter 1
conceptualisation of the displacement predicament, offering a

hermeneutics of ‘migration reality’ and a migrational re-
interpretation of theology (eds. Gruber & Rettenbacher 2015).
In a hermeneutical approach to the complexity of displacement,
a praxis approach should differentiate between complexity and
complication. In complication, the attempt is to find rational
answers and practical solutions (Taleb 2010:9). In complification,10
one opts for a solution; in complexity, one faces the difficulty of
decision-making without the guarantee of a necessary solution
(Nilson 2007:239).
Complexity is not about a manual how to solve a problem. It is
about understanding and insight on how different polar tensions
and paradoxical tendencies appeal to the making of wise
decisions contributing to meaning and significant engagement
rather than offering quick-fix answers. To understand how
opposing polarities are interconnected creates new insights
about change and healing. It could eventually help people and
institutions to revisit existing approaches and structures.
Hermeneutics challenges all institutions to start to design
alternatives (the heuristic stance).
In hermeneutics of complexification,11 the pointers are not
positivistic solutions on the level of the cognitive. One should
rather turn to the realm of disposition, attitude and aptitude
(habitus). This is the reason why the sociologist and philosopher
Bauman (2016:122) is convinced that the only option to deal with
the crisis of displacement is the route of compassionate solidarity.12
10. ‘A complicated process or phenomenon can be decomposed and reduced to solvable

parts and it therefore follows that with such an ontological standpoint the positivistic
paradigm prevails’ (Nilson 2007:238).
11. Complexification (Morin 2008:20–21) steers away from statistics, predictability and
calculated certainty. It accommodates uncertainty and only tries to ‘see the bigger picture’
despite the paradox of smaller entities. Complexity works with indetermination and implies
the risk of engagement without a fixed plan and making choices within the awareness of
possible failure.
12. Bauman (2016:122) emphatically states, ‘Es gibt keinen anderen Ausweg aus die Krise, in
der die Menschheit sich befindet, als Solidarität’.
11
It is right at this point where the image of Angela Merkel comes

into play and could be viewed as an icon of how the civil society
could deal with the challenges of the migrant outsider and display
social solidarity and sympathetic compassion.
To my mind, Angela Merkel13 is an exception in global politics.
I want to see her visionary leadership as a kind of piety that
embodies the diakonia of reformed Christian spirituality. She
could even be called the Calvin and Reformer of Berlin. Living in
the former Eastern Germany, she was constantly exposed to the
predicament of displacement. She oscillated between her
Christian tradition as a child of a pastor and the experience of
estrangement under a communist and even fascist regime (Vick
& Shuster 2015b:30). However, she boldly continued to emphasise
the fundamental attitudinal change.14
Very surprisingly, the influential German magazine Der Spiegel
(29 August 2015) made a plea for a hermeneutical approach that
promotes attitudinal change. The challenge is to understand the
plight of the refugees from their perspective (Amann et al.
2015:28). The front cover page put it very boldly: Germans will
have to change their attitude (‘Es liegt an uns, wie wir leben
werden’ – Our attitude determines the how of our life). And
change without sincere compassion will immediately be
interpreted as merely political window dressing.
13. ‘The German Democratic Republic, where Angela Merkel grew up, was neither democratic
nor a republic; it was an Orwellian horror show, where the Iron Curtain found literal expression
in the form of the Berlin Wall. The shy daughter of a Lutheran minister, Merkel slipped into
politics as a divorced Protestant in largely Catholic party, a woman in a frat house, an Ossi in
the newly unified Germany of the 1990s where easterners were still aliens’ (Gibbs 2015:23).
14. Angela Merkel was elected as ‘Person of the Year’ by Time Magazine (Vick & Shuster
2015a). The core of her pilgrimage from behind the Wall in Berlin to The Reichstag (parliament
building in Berlin) is captured by the phrase, ‘Welcoming the stranger’. Her politics implies
therefore more than merely finding a political solution. She took the risk of following her
heart and conscience. To my mind, she has become both an icon of being a displaced
stranger (reunification of Germany), and of a welcoming host for the foreign outsider and
outcast in society.
12
Chapter 1
In terms of the previous outline, one can conclude and say

that the crisis and dilemma are basically a crisis of attitudes,
disposition and skewed perceptions. Behind all of these lurk
different inappropriate ideologies and political agendas (Manheim
1966:49). Paradigmatic frameworks determine people’s reactions.
Thus, there is an urgent need to provide a diagnostic tool that
can help people to start ‘seeing’ behind the turmoil of displacement
new avenues for compassionate accommodation and the
humanisation of the civil space of humane interconnectedness.
Towards a graphic design in a

diagnostic approach: The healing of
‘seeing the bigger picture’ within the
predicament of displacement and
social polarisation
The previous outline reveals that displacement is inevitably
enclosed by an investable social and bipolar tension: the tension
between distancing (kind of normal form of resistance) as an
indication of the existential realism of detachment (to differentiate
oneself from the other – isolation and cultural separation or
segregation) (e.g. I am a South African, you are a foreigner and I
am different) and hospitable welcoming (the need to create an
intimate space of recognition, acknowledgement and
accommodation).
In severe conflict settings of social polarisation and social
friction, the danger exists that the bipolar poles become isolated
from one another. They become fixed and ideological polarities
lead to more social and political friction and tension (even violence):
•• The threat of fixed prejudice and enmity – social segregation.

In South Africa, this position leads to the ideology of judicial
and discriminating apartheid.
•• The irrational attempt of social assimilation. This option tends
to fuel the danger of social and political totalitarianism – social
13
engineering as the artificial attempt to mould diversity into

a forced unity dominated by the strongest cultural and
political party. In this regard, the notion of the ‘strongest tribe’
(political power play) eventually dictates the quality
of interconnectedness (totalitarian assimilation; oppressive
patronising).
In pastoral hermeneutics and diagnostic approach (Figure 1.1),

the first step is to probe into the realm of social and relational
polarisation by asking the following four questions:
1. What are separating human beings and how does one
understand one’s own unique identity? (The necessity of
dealing with the phenomenon of differentiation: identity
identification and detachment as creating a constructive space
of distancing in order to gain perspective). The necessity of
constructive distancing, detachment, can easily fuel enmity
and destructive forms of discriminating prejudice.
2. What are the communal factors that can be shared in terms of
mutual exchange in order to create a sense of cohesiveness,
togetherness and belonging? (Creating a sense of communal
togetherness – sense of belongingness and sharing within a
hospitable space of sincere welcoming). Within this space
always lurk the danger zones of totalitarian political assimilation
and oppressive forms of patronising.
3. What are the norms, values and belief systems that direct a
very specific group of people: the normative factor and ethical
directive in a process of reorientation and attitudinal change
(customs, cultural convictions and religious confessions)?
Here lurks the danger zone of utopian ideology – the elsewhere
will be a better place.
4. What are the specific needs and expectations as related to
basic commitments, lifestyles and dispositions (ethos and
realm of attitudes)? How appropriate are they? This area must
face different levels of human aspirations and is constantly
exposed to severe scepticism and, thus, possible levels of fear
and disillusionment.
14
Chapter 1
Several times the notion of disposition featured in the description

of the predicament of displaced human beings. In the design of a
visual depiction and graphic portrayal (diagnostic tool), the
space as demarcated by four quadrants (see Figure 1.1) becomes
informative and decisive for the understanding of the dynamics
of ethos and repositioning (habitational changes). They help to
identify within the possible bipolar tensions the realm of
Utopian Ideology
(c) Normative direction

Life View and Belief System
Differentiation A B Sense of
identity Apathy Solidarity belongingness
Differentiation escapism accommodation Space of
space of hospitable
detachment welcoming
I
(E)
Indifference
The danger zone

The danger
of enmity
C D zone of totalitarian
Discriminatory
Compassion Resistance (victim) assimilation
prejudice
sensitivity Self-protection patronising
Xenophobia
(d) Quality of ethos disposition
Disillusionment
FIGURE 1.1: Five dynamic dispositions: Dynamics of attitudes (habitus) – different options.
15
existential positions (habitus). Furthermore, the different

positions indicate the how of attitude (quality) within interactional
dynamics, especially when people from diverse cultures share
the same place and space. The different positions explain how
the networking dynamics of co-existence can be either promoted
or being hampered.
On the one hand, it helps to discover how diversity can enrich
the space of multi-pluralism and intercultural sharing. This is what
Polak (2018:45) calls a learning curve, namely, learning to translate
those positive experiences into organisational, institutional and
juridical structures that foster living together and learning from
each other. As a Muslim scholar (Kassim 2018:85)15 aptly remarks,
one needs to understand that pluralism is a feature of life in the
global village. On the other hand, it makes an appeal for
repositioning in order to foster peaceful co-existence and an
ethos of hospitable responsibility.
Figure 1.1 depicts the following four positions (the four
quadrants present four different positions in the displacement
crisis):
1. A position of apathy and the tendency to escape, deny and
withdraw from the demands of appropriate engagement with
the crisis.
2. A position of solidarity that displays one or other forms of
accommodation of the foreign other.
3. A position of compassionate being-with the other because of
sensitivity and the willingness to become engaged – significant
participation.
4. A position of becoming a victim (fearful resistance, fear for
loss) that is fuelled by xenophobic fear and the tendency
to safeguard one’s own position (self-protection; German:
Abschottung).
15.Militant Islam can reveal also the other side of the coin: Resistance
to dislocation within own local communities and a reaction to forced
processes of acculturation (Kassam 2018:85).
16
Chapter 1
Despite these four positions, there is also a kind of middle position

(E) which one can call a position of indifference. It represents a
neutral stance that points to sheer ignorance. This position
contributes to what already has been mentioned – the inflation of
compassion. At stake here is the question why one does not want
to become involved at all or is just not interested?
In order to put the diagram into practice and to make thorough
analysis of the displacement crisis, one must reckon with the fact
that all positions and bipolarities are always at the same time
existent. They do not represent an ‘either-or’ approach.
Furthermore, the different bipolarities and habitational quadrants
should not be viewed from a moral perspective, that is, that left
is wrong (bad) and right is the better (good). Left represents
merely the shadow side of life and right the brighter side of life.
Positions in the crisis of displacement can therefore differ
from time to time. Unfortunately, they can become fixed because
of different emotions, contexts and local settings that are directly
or indirectly related to the danger zones of enmity and totalitarian
assimilation, disillusionment and utopic ideologies.
The dynamic component of change implies the constant
shifting of positions (habitational change). Healing within the
networking of co-existence implies the shifting of position A
towards the opposite quadrant C, from apathy to compassionate
solidarity; from position D to the opposite quadrant B, from
xenophobic resistance to accommodative solidarity. Positions B
and C are complimentary to each other and function in a
supplementary mode.
It has already been mentioned that the core problem in the
displacement crisis is the danger of radical polarisation.
According to Bauman (2016), the option of integration has to
do with the danger of assimilation and in the long run the
cause of destructive reaction; the pathology of social
separation and alienation. Rather than running the danger of
totalitarian assimilation, the hospitable option of compassionate
co-existence is proposed. This option implies the challenge of
17
creating a platform of common interest (sense of communality).

It should pose the question of identifying a common ground
wherein mutual interests and values can be shared. One such
common ground should be the principle of cooperative sharing
and co-compassionate accompanying. At the same time, co-
existence can provide space for differentiation and the
maintenance of own, unique identities (the dynamics of
constructive and enriching diversity: identity formation).
The option of co-existence should therefore be explored and
promoted. Specifically, in the setting of the refugee crisis wherein
it is not clear whether refugees will go back to their country of
origin, or whether they are going to stay on long-term basis. To
provide a framework for sustainable monitoring of the process,
more than merely the dynamics of relational co-existence is
needed. Co-existence should be directed by a comprehensive
paradigm, patterns of thinking, spiritual framework of
supplementing co-categories that direct peace as expression of
hospitable sharing, trustworthiness (integrity) and charitable
reaching out.
Towards a praxis of cooperative

peaceful co-existence
Cooperative accommodation captures the true spirit of co-
existence. In this regard, Ramphele’s (2012:184–195) identification
of supplementing categories that contribute to the dynamics of
an enriched space of co-existence (the Letsema Circle Open
Hand Approach) is most helpful to understand why the option
for habitable and hospitable co-existence (peaceful interaction)
is a more appropriate approach than unifying integration or
assimilation. The following co-categories explain the praxis of
accommodative and cooperative co-existence:
•• Co-discover – identifying assets residing in communities that

unleash energy for sustainable development and dignifying
co-operation.
18
Chapter 1
•• Co-invest – processes that can help communities to make

decisive choices about co-existence, that is, to decide where
to invest time, energy and resources towards becoming self-
reliant.
•• Co-create – new ways of relational building and communal
networking to develop community skills, shifting mindsets
from prejudice to embracement and finding appropriate
cultural resources to develop community initiatives.
•• Co-initiate – facilitating comprehensive frameworks of
understanding; paradigmatic issues that enhance constructive
life views contributing to a sense of belonging and cooperative
participation; directive factors that can mobilise local
communities to start sharing from their tradition and these
perspectives that can contribute to a common ground of
dignifying virtues and values.
•• Co-inspire – solidarity with real contexts of pain and suffering
so that the so-called victims can start moving from learned
helplessness to participatory involvement and mutual
accountability.
•• Co-municate – narrating together different stories regarding
displacement and the fear for rejection; and collecting stories
of ‘success’ and radiating them to fuel constructive social
development.
I want to add another co-factor that determines the character of

meaningful living, namely, the dynamics of co-existence:
•• The spirituality of co-suffering (compassionate being-with): of

mutual exchange and the ethos of sacrificial benevolence; and
seeking the benefit of the other through charity and diaconal
service.
The expected outcome of an accommodative approach of
cooperative co-existence is what one can call peaceful co-
existence. Peace is then not a stable condition wherein tension
and violence and enmity are absent; it is not about the nice and
utopic space of harmony. It is about a new mode of being, namely,
the sacrificial stance (habitus) of exchange and diaconal outreach
19
wherein one starts to invite the strange and foreign other into the
hospitable space of mutual sharing. The dynamics of this
peaceful space of cooperative sharing, diaconal outreach and
hospitable serving are compiled by the above-mentioned
co-categories of co-discovering, co-investing, co-creating,
co-initiating, co-inspiring, co-municating and co-suffering.
Peaceful co-existence is not a democratic ideal of wishful
thinking (utopic stance) coming from privileged people,
opportunistic politics and ideological populism. Peaceful co-
existence is, in the words of Mbaku (1999:5), not about
opportunistic nationalism but an exponent of the African spirit
of communality and sense of belongingness (Ubuntu
interconnectedness) (Mandela 2005):
The spirit of Ubuntu – that profound African sense that we are human
only through the humanity of other human beings – is not a parochial
phenomenon but has added globally to our common search for a
better world. (p. 82)
This is what Udoga (1999:162–163) calls ‘symbolic interactionism’

within the realism of the culturally based ‘ethnicity paradox’ in
South African politics.
The concept of peaceful co-existence16 should be linked to the
hermeneutical realism of cultural and ethnic diversity; it is about
a very forceful interactional dynamics that deals creatively with
the reality of ethnic diversity and racial polarisation in South
Africa. But (and this is now the intriguing question in peaceful
co-existence) what is the spiritual source for such a sustainable
mode of co-existence that is not merely dependent on the politics
of democratisation and the goodwill of people?
16. Kunzig (2016:115) refers to the danger of discriminating separation, the notion of a ‘parallel
society’ that eventually can become a divided society. ‘In a word: Parallelgesellschaften,
or “parallel societies.” “The part of cities where you wouldn’t know you were in Germany”
(Kunzig 2016:112)’.
20
Chapter 1
Believing in ‘some-T(t)hing’: The

religious and theological dimension
of peaceful co-existence
The further assumption is that peaceful co-existence needs the
directive of an external, ‘transcendent factor’ that serves as a
kind of centrifugal cohesive togetherness: believing in ‘some-T(t)
hing’. Klaus Schwab, the founder of the World Economic Forum,
made a profound statement in their meeting in Davos that human
beings are not merely directed by the externals of profit and
business connections. Besides the human mind (brain), we are
directed by the soulfulness of the heart (Duffy 2016):
But you never will replicate the heart, which is passion, compassion.
And the soul, which enables us to believe. The robot will never have
the ability to believe in something. So perhaps we will have at the
end of this revolution – possibly, possibly – a basis for a new human
renaissance. (p. 12)
Thus, there is the plea for a theological interpretation of co-

existence that resides in the core of Christian spirituality – the
passio Dei (Louw 2017:273–381). What is most needed is a shift
from rational and cognitive instant solutions to the ethos of
sacrificial sharing: the ‘wisdom of the heart’ as directed by a
theopascitic theology of co-suffering (Louw 2017:303–312).
In Christian spirituality, compassion is a many layered concept.
It varies from the psychology of empathetic listening to the
sociology of interpathetic communication. Davis (2001:234)
describes the different nuances from the Latin word commiseratio
to the Greek word sumpatheiea and the German Mitleid
(in Afrikaans medelye, meaning ‘to suffer with’). In caregiving,
compassion is closely connected to a kind of sympathetic mode
of being. Compassion is then transferred from the merely
affective-based realm of emotions (the affective mode) to the
more ontic mode of habitus (being mode): clementia, misericordia,
humanitas and sometimes pietas; from the Greek eleos and
oiktos, the English ‘mercy’ and ‘pity’, and the French pitié (Davies
21
2001:234) to the theological realm of divine rḥm and ḥēsēd. The

latter refers to the unfailing faithfulness and benevolence of God
as eventually expressed in theologia crucis [theology of the
cross] (Moltmann 1972).
Compassion resides in the trustworthiness of God as expressed
and demonstrated in the passio Dei. The latter should be seen as
an exemplification of an ethos of sacrificial and vicarious
replacement within human displacement (Luther: marvelous
exhange, in McGrath 1993). It represents the notion of Deus
migrator – God the migrant (Phan 2016:845–868) – God migration
into the suffering of human displacement.
Spiritual directives within a

theological interpretation of
‘hospitable accompaniment’:
The migrating God
The previous outline for a theological interpretation of
compassionate and peaceful co-existence could be translated
into four actions formulated as dynamic verbs: sharing, visioning,
caring and solidarising. Further argument in the design of a
diagnostic approach to the healing of human displacement is
that the following four spiritual directives (directives for a
meaningful, significant change, that is, indicators that create a
hospitable space in human networking and eventual spiritual
healing) should guide processes of habitual change in order to
foster a social culture of compassionate co-existence (Louw
2017):
•• Sharing and exchange: Co-sharing (A) – the intention is to

enrich and to empower.
•• Imagination and vision: Co-envisioning (B) – the intention is to
anticipate something new.
•• Caring and charity: Compassionate being-with (C) – the
intention is to display sensitivity, to affirm, to comfort and to
heal.
22
Chapter 1
•• Solidarity and participation: Cooperative action (D) – the

intention is to do or act and to transform.
The four spiritual directives are encircled by two telic dimensions

in a teleology of Christian wisdom thinking, namely, trust (the
dimension of faith – stability and continuity) and hope (the
dimension of future anticipation – creativity and imagination)
(Figure 1.2). Trust refers to faithfulness and sustainability – the
need for continuity. Hope refers to anticipation and transcending
acts of expectation – the need for something new and
accomplishment (life fulfilment); it also shapes the courage to be
and establishes patience and perseverance.
In a practical theology of habitus, my proposition is that a
diagnostic chart (Figure 1.2) (Louw 2017) can help different
groups of people wrestling with the predicament of displacement
and paranoiac responses of resisting xenophobia to detect
different options. The chart must be assessed as a kind of
experimental depiction of all the different components of co-
existence. It depicts possible positions people can display that
eventually could determine meaningful options or alternates. The
different components create a networking framework of
interactional, spiritual directives; they identify pointers for
creating a sense of belongingness and wholeness (well-being).
The chart therefore depicts the spiritual dynamics of networking
co-existence within a practical theological structure and bipolar,
spiritual (meaning giving) dynamics.
The four directives are also encircled by two theological
paradigms (Figure 1.2), namely, (1) the covenantal faithfulness of
God-Soul Friend and Host, and (2) the mercy and pity of God –
co-sufferer. The metaphors ‘God as Soul Friend’ and
‘Compassionate Host’ (hospitality as diakonia) are explaining the
trustworthiness and pity of God: ta splanchna (Louw 2017:314–
317). Divine pity then refers to esplanchnizomai as the movement
of the entrails. It describes a kind of practical theology of bowel
categories and of the intestines: the migrating God (Figure 1.2)
23
Covenantal Structure
Theology: Faithfulness of god (i will be your God)
God-image: God as compassionate host/soul friend
(A) (B)
Exchange charitable Co-envisioning
co-sharing creative imagining Hope
Trust Perseverance
Believing Courage
(D) (C) to be
Solidarity cooperative Care compassionate
participation being-with
Comfort of compassionate being-with

Theology: Pity of god (theopaschitic model)
God-image: God as co-sufferer (ta splanchna) (owel categories)
FIGURE 1.2: Dynamics of spiritual networking: Paradigmatic framework for peaceful

co-existence and a ‘hospitality of accompaniment’.
moves to people and meets them where they are – the co-sufferer
of a theopaschitic approach.
The theological categories explain why Christian hospitality
becomes a ‘radical option’ (Robins 2018:139–144). Holten (2016)
even refers to ‘postures of hospitality’ as life-saving measures,
and, thus, an ethical imperative. Within a more spiritual and
religious context, Sweeden (2015) advocates for ‘hospitality of
accompaniment’ amongst those who are migrating.
We now come to the burning question: what are the impacts
of the previous two diagrams on existing ecclesiologies? Can we
maintain an ecclesiology that keeps merely denominations and
confessions going but not human beings? Can we create also a
diagram for a grassroots church that operates according to the
spiritual directive of compassionate co-existence? Can we design
an operative ecclesiology of compassionate being-with that
reforms Cathedrals into shelters for homeless people? Can we
24
Chapter 1
portray an ecclesiology of home that can give space and place to

displaced human beings?
On becoming a streetwise church

within the complexity of social
polarisation: Between xenophilia
(inclusivity of hospitality) and
xenophobia (exclusivity of fear or
paranoia)
Within theology, the dilemma of displacement puts a question
mark behind an exclusive ecclesiology, denominational
demarcations and a selective morality; thus, the focus is on an
operative ecclesiology17 (Yves Congar in Berggren 2015). The
ecclesial and ministerial challenge is to see the migrant crisis as a
sign of our time and the place and space for contextualising our
practical theological reflection (Keller 2014).
Instead of xenophobia, the practical implication of the passio
Dei and the biblical metaphors of host and hospitality in pastoral
caregiving, fear for the strange other should be replaced by
philoxenia, the mutuality of neighbourly love as expressed by the
koinonia of spiritual fellowship. The church as the body of Christ
should operate in the displacement crisis as a shelter against
inhumane exploitation. Ecclesial presence within experiences of
displacement implies that the church should become a kind of
hospice and safe haven (xenodochia) – a ‘monastery of hope’, a
compassionate space and place of refuge where threatened
people can become whole again. ‘To be moral is to be hospitable
17. Operative ecclesiology is meant performative actions of being the church within concrete
contexts. It reflects on ecclesial matters not merely from the viewpoint of denominational
traditions and dogmatic confessions, but within communal life systems. Ecclesiology may
be studied inductively and can thus draw support from various other disciplines, such as
political science, history and sociology (see Berggren 2015).
25
to the stranger’ (Ogletree 1985:1). Hospitality is in fact about a

public virtue: hospitium publicum.18
With reference to hospitality as an explication of the passio
Dei and the salvific work of Christ, the following ecclesial pillars
can be identified for the design of a grassroots ecclesiology of
compassionate being-with and ministerial outreach to displaced
migrants. ‘Church’ is not anymore defined by the dogmatic stance
of orthodoxy and the practice of clerical hierarchy, but by a very
profound understanding of leitourgia: operating along the public
sphere of pavements and streets. ‘Street’ and ‘pavement’ become
metaphors for a kind of streetwise witness (marturia) – being
there where they are – thus, the option of a ‘streetwise
ecclesiology’ of being the church on grassroots level.
A streetwise ecclesiology of home represents the following
ecclesial parameters. They are:
•• Diakonia: Reaching out. Be there where they are (the displaced

other).
•• Eucharistia: Sharing, partaking corporately in Christ’s vicarious
suffering; to remember through the co-suffering of God and
not through the lens of resistance and revenge. In sharing,
mutual enrichment is materialised.
•• Xenodochia: Creating a sense of belongingness despite
loneliness and social discriminatory rejection.
•• Leitourgia: Celebrating in mutual fellowship – learning from
the other cultures and religious perspectives.
•• Paraklesis: Comforting the displaced other – fostering meaning
within the helplessness of being dislocated.
•• Oikodomein: The upbuilding of the church; the edification of
members towards spiritual maturity and cooperative sharing.
‘Believers are rooted and grounded in Christ (Col 2:7). The
18. In a sermon on Deuteronomy, Calvin addresses the issue of being a stranger (Busch
2007:74). According to Calvin (in Busch 2007:74), ‘[w]e must live together in a family of
brothers and sisters which Christ has founded in his blood; and with very hostility he gives
the opportunity to resist hostility’ (see also Calvin 1854:116; De Gruchy 2009:206).
26
Chapter 1
Christian community is built up together in the co-operation

of all participants (1 Cor 3:10–4), and in unity with apostles and
prophets (Eph 2:20), to become the one holy community of
the Lord’ (Goetzmann 1976:253). Oikodomein fosters an
inclusive approach where people are excluded.
•• Hamartia: On becoming realistic regarding the limitations of
hospitable co-existence because of the reality of human failure
and sinfulness. The body of Christ deals with human weakness
(astheneia), even with the astheneia of God (weakness of God
as expressed in the cross of Christ). Hamartia makes us aware
of the fact that an ecclesiology of home is not perfect and a
recipe for instant success in the crisis. One ministers within the
realm of human weakness on both the side of displaced human
beings and caregivers or church representatives.19
In the middle of this ecclesial model are the concepts of koinonia

and marturia. The fellowship of believers is constituted by a sense
of belongingness as established by the cross of Christ. Through
his vicarious suffering, Christians become blood-brothers and
blood-sisters for one another. However, the coherence factor of
koinonia is not focused on an inward and exclusive maintenance
of fellowship but on discipleship and missional witnessing
[marturia]. Fellowship is focused on the needs of all people
irrespective of gender, culture or social status. Therefore, the
profound statement of Paul in Galatians 3:28 that in Christ Jesus
we are not anymore accessed by the cultural criteria of being
Roman, Jew or Greek; nor by social discriminatory categories of
boss and slave; nor by discriminatory gender categories of man
or woman. We are classified by the unconditional sacrificial love
of Christ’s co-suffering pity (passio Dei).
The argument and presupposition are that the theological
and ecclesial principles – eucharistia, xenodochia, leitourgia,
19. The construct xenodochia [on the horizontal axis] is never the ideal of a utopia. It is always
accompanied by its shadow, bipolar dimension of human weakness (astheneia), failure and
sinfulness. Therefore, the bipolarity: hamartia – xenodochia.
27
paraklesis, hamartia, koinonia and marturia – establish ecclesial

sustainability and create a hospitable sense of being at home,20
despite the painful experience of displacement and xenophobia.
Together they can establish an ecclesial framework for
transforming the church into an operative, streetwise ecclesiology
of home, operating alongside the street pavements of civil
societal life. They foster the ecclesial awareness of a ‘church
without borders’ (Myers & Colwell 2012) (see Figure 1.3).
Diakonia
Outreach
(N)
Eucharisteia
Marturia
Celebration
Witness
Remembrance
Hamartia
Estrangement Koinonia Xenodochia
Human weakness Sense of belongingness Hospitality
Resistance Compassion: passio Dei (O)
(Q) Marturia
Oikodomein
Leitourgia
Edification
Celebration
Spiritual maturity
Paraklesis
sensitivity
comfort care
(P)
FIGURE 1.3: Theological components in an operative, streetwise ecclesiology of home.
20. Yaghmaian, a Muslim refugee, remarked as follows: ‘[h]ome is valuable. Home is precious.
The smell of home matters a lot’. Leaving it is hard, even for those who know where their
journey will end (Vick 2015:34).
28
Chapter 1
Conclusion
I concur with Bauman’s (2016) proposal that the only way out
(dealing with the displacement crisis in a constructive way) is the
application of the spiritual principle of solidarity, compassionate
being-with. Instead of the polarised dilemma, separation or
integration, peaceful co-existence should be explored as a
theoretical point of departure in the difficult attempt to overcome
the paranoia of xenophobia. To provide a solid paradigmatic
basis for sustainable compassionate being-with, the passio Dei
should function as a theological directive in a ministerial outreach
to the crisis of displacement. In this sense, the display of
compassion becomes a kind of habitual common ground within
the diversity of co-existing networking. Therefore, the argument:
the hermeneutics of pastoral caregiving can be viewed as a
unifying factor in the crisis of displacement. Care displays
meaning and foster displays a sense of dignity. Thus, the very
bold statement of Sathler-Rosa (2018:94) that within the massive
flow of migrants, care should be viewed as ‘unifying ontological
category’.
The hermeneutical approach provides a diagnostic tool for
significant pastoral engagement. The further advantage of such a
spiritual and pastoral approach is that a graphic design and visual
depiction describes a spiritual dynamic for a comprehensive
understanding of displacement as an existential predicament.
The description of basic bipolarities and the four basic dispositions
indicate different shifting of positions. Healing within the dynamics
of co-existence implies choices that can help people to shift to
opposite quadrants (Figure 1.1): from apathy to compassionate
sensitivity and from resistance (paranoia of xenophobia) to
accommodative solidarity. Both the dispositions of compassionate
sensitivity and accommodative solidarity operate simultaneously
in a supplementary way – that is, they complete each other. Within
a ministerial approach, the dynamics of habitus should be framed
by the dynamics of Christian spiritual networking (Figure 1.2) and
29
structured by an operative ecclesiology of home (Figure 1.3) that

displays the local church as a bridge between the public and
private spheres of society (Keifert 1992) – a kind of intercultural
church functioning as a bridge of solidarity in the migrant crisis
(Brazal & De Guzman 2015).
30
Chapter 2
Negotiating nostalgia:
A pastoral reflection
on the notion of ‘home’
within the context of
displacement on the
African continent
Alfred R. Brunsdon
Abstract
This chapter presents a pastoral view on the phenomenon of
displacement on the African continent through the lens of nostalgia.
Also resonating on the African continent, the current displacement
crisis is challenging pastoral caregivers to figuratively and literally
provide a home for those who become washed up on foreign
shores. Presenting an overwhelming array of possible challenges,
How to cite: Brunsdon, A.R., 2020, ‘Negotiating nostalgia: A pastoral reflection on the notion
of ‘‘home’’ within the context of displacement on the African continent’, in A.R. Brunsdon
(ed.), The human dilemma of displacement: Towards a practical theology and ecclesiology of
home, pp. 31–50, AOSIS, Cape Town. https://doi.org/10.4102/aosis.2020.BK198.02
31
Negotiating nostalgia: A pastoral reflection on the notion of ‘home’
it is argued that the notion of nostalgia provides a fitting frame of

reference that can provide valuable clues for pastoral care to the
displaced. Relating the notion of nostalgia to the notion of home,
this chapter attempts to understand how the idea of ‘home’ can
both ‘cause’ and ‘cure’ nostalgia as one of the main challenges of
displacement. These notions are reflected upon within a pastoral
framework and aim to provide suggestions that will be of value for
pastoral care in the context of displacement on the African
continent.
Keywords: Human displacement; Migration; African continent;
Pastoral care; Nostalgia; Home.
Introduction
The German documentary film, Human Flow, which was released
during November 2017, has brought the issue of human
displacement to the attention of the general public in graphic
manner. Chinese producer Ai Weiwei documented the flow
of refugees over a 1-year period, across 23 countries.
On 07 December 2017, Guardian film critic, Peter Bradshaw,
highly acclaimed Weiwei’s film, describing its impact as making ‘a
leap of empathy, to understand what being a migrant is like in
human terms’ (Bradshaw 2017 n.p.). Weiwei’s cine-essay on the
global refugee crisis is however not the first such attempt;
Bradshaw also reminds of Gianfranco Rosi’s Fire at Sea and Daniel
Mulloy’s short film entitled Home – testifying to the urgency of
making known to the world the tragedy of what has become
known as human displacement.
This chapter deals with this unsettling reality with the greatest
empathy towards the millions of its victims. It reflects on the
matter from a practical theological paradigm, thus critically
reflecting on the communicative actions of the faith community
through its pastoral involvement with the victims of displacement.
This reflection is done with a specific context in mind, namely, the
African continent.
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Chapter 2
Placing displacement
It is difficult to engage the phenomenon of displacement without
providing a basic explanation of the concept within the framework
of this chapter. The challenge with a short explanation of the
concept lies in resisting the temptation to delve deep into the
finer detail of this overwhelming phenomenon – as human
displacement seems to be just this: an overwhelming phenomenon
that changes the lives of a growing number of people annually on
a global scale. To what then does displacement refer to in this
chapter?
Displacement and human

displacement
In the general sense of the word, ‘displacement’ appears as no
more than a descriptive term to indicate that something has been
moved from its original or usual position. Qualifying displacement
as human changes its meaning radically. Human displacement
immediately evokes sorrowful imagery. Through the millennia
this phenomenon has endured in many guises, although retaining
the same meaning, namely, that humans had to leave, voluntarily
or involuntarily, what they have known as home. Hence, human
displacement will function here as an umbrella term for different
ways of humans having to leave ‘home’.
Expressions of human displacement:

From (in-)voluntary migration to
fleeing in order to survive
At the one end of the displacement scale lies migration.
Sometimes thought of as a ‘softer’ kind of human displacement,
migration is often indirectly driven by choice, ambition and
yearning for a better life elsewhere. Mostly, it takes place as a sort
of avoidance strategy: avoiding imminent consequences of
political and economic instability or natural disasters like famine,
resulting from climatic change (Burns 2017:1). It is therefore
33
suggested that migration is only indirectly driven by choice – as

migrants more often than not do not have much choice about
their own dislocation. Because of economic and political
manipulation, people have been forced for centuries into the
‘migrant stream’ where they are exploited and manipulated in
various ways, reminiscent of the slave era (cf. Bacon 2008:51).
Migration is therefore common in poor African countries, such as
Senegal, Malawi and Nigeria, and elsewhere in the world.
According to Loprete (2017:1), migration has become such a part
of the mindset of the poor that it is seen as a normal part of
life – even replacing traditional rites of passage into adulthood.
Migration, driven by the longing for a better future, can even be
said to have become a form of being – Migro ergo sum – I migrate,
therefore I am (Loprete 2017:1). It is thus not uncommon to find
youths as young as 16 years willing to leave home on behalf of
their families in the hope of creating a better life for themselves
and their families by sending some form of remittance to the
ones who remained behind.
Migration is a legal human right as long as migrants migrate
within the regulatory framework of receiving countries. It
becomes illegal when migrants enter countries without the
necessary legal documentation – mostly ending up in reserves,
before being deported to their country of origin. Irrespective of
the legal status of migrants, they remain a highly vulnerable
segment of the globally displaced as they are prone to be
exploited by industry and politics, often having no better
future than their challenging past (cf. Bacon 2008:51–81).
At the other end of the displacement scale lies fleeing, which
adds people to the ranks of refugees. Fleeing in order to survive
denotes the ‘worst’ kind of human displacement. Driven by
persecution and fear of death, fleeing offers the only chance for
survival. Accentuating this type of human displacement in recent
history is the ongoing Syrian crisis, which started with violent
political clashes between the government of Bashar al-Assad and
other forces (Ostrand 2015:255). Sadly, refugeeism is not an
isolated phenomenon but has in recent years become a global
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Chapter 2
trend, which has seen one out of every 122 people across the
globe to be displaced (Vick 2015:40).
Fleeing one’s country as a result of life-threatening
circumstances usually grants victims refugee status, which
precedes the tedious process of asylum-seeking. Asylum seekers
are referred to as refugees who formally apply for protection in
another country and who have rights under certain immigration
laws. Hence, European countries are obliged to accommodate
refugees by providing food and shelter, whilst their application
for refugee status is being considered. If applications succeed,
refugees receive the right to work and live in the host country.
If applications are unsuccessful, they may appeal the decision
once, and if that fails, they may be deported to their country of
origin (Vick 2015:44).
With reference to the United States, Malwitz (2018) points out
that vague definitions pertaining to refugees and the grounds on
which they may apply for asylum often render refugees vulnerable.
In some African countries, governments have become notorious for
‘discounting the legitimacy of their (migrants) humanitarian claims
in order to deny them the rights afforded to refugees and avoid the
concomitant obligations placed upon the state’ (Amit 2017:1), hence
extraditing them yet again into further danger and uncertainty.
Between the extremities of migration and refugeeism, there
are other categories that also fall under the broad umbrella term
of ‘human displacement’. These include the internally displaced
persons (IDPs) and stateless people. According to the Emergency
Handbook of the UN Refugee Agency (2018c n.p.) of the United
Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), the former
refers to people who are displaced within the borders of their own
country because of life-threatening violence and the latter to ‘a
person who is not considered as a national by any State under
the operation of its law’.
At the time this research was conducted, IDPs accounted for the
majority of the total number of displaced people (40 million),
whilst the stateless accounted for 10 million people (UNHCR 2018b).
35
As it is suggested that the category of IDP represents by far the

majority of the total number of displaced people, it is important to
come to a better understanding of the dynamics behind internal
displacement. Internal displacement takes place where
circumstances force people to leave their primary dwellings and
surroundings not only because of violent or life-threatening
circumstances but also because of personal and/or spatial
challenges; in this case, they cannot leave the country. Some of
these challenges include natural and geographical issues like rivers
and mountains that are difficult to cross, strict laws restricting
entry into a neighbouring state or simply that victims are too old,
young or weak to flee over long distances. Therefore, not all
displaced people necessarily flee their country’s borders (Onaedo,
Samuel & John 2017:10), although they are forced to flee their
homes and attempt to resettle elsewhere.
A further distinction within the IDP category is thus possible in
the sense that internal displacement can be intra-regional
(displacement within the borders of one’s own country) or
inter-regional (displacement on the same continent, but fleeing
the borders and hence earning refugee status). Some researchers,
like Ruyssen and Rayp (2014) and Amit (2017), seem to denote
migration on the same continent between countries as intra-
regional, but somehow it challenges clear distinctions between
internal displacement within one’s own country and displacement
to another country on the same continent. Hence, inter-regional
displacement will serve to denote displacement to another
country on the same continent, and intra-regional displacement
will denote displacement within the borders of one’s own country.
Quantifying displacement
To develop some insights into the magnitude of the phenomenon
of displacement, it is helpful to consider some of the available
statistics. According to the UN Refugee Agency of the UNHCR
(2018b), 68.5 million people are currently forcibly displaced
around the world. Of this number, 25.4 million people account for
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Chapter 2
refugees of whom 57% originate from only three countries,

namely Syria (6.3 million), Afghanistan (2.6 million) and South
Sudan (2.4 million). Of the total number of displaced people,
more than half is under the age of 18 years. It is further estimated
that 44 400 people are forced to flee their homes daily as a result
of conflict or persecution (UNHCR 2018b).
In terms of destinations of these refugees, the UN Refugee
Agency’s ‘Global Trends’ report (2018a) noted Turkey, Pakistan,
Uganda, Lebanon, the Islamic Republic of Iran, Germany,
Bangladesh, Sudan, Ethiopia and Jordan as the major host countries
of refugees.
In 2017, there were about 2.7 million newly registered refugees,
which is double the number of the previous year’s figure (UNHCR
2017). The sharp rise in numbers is mainly attributed to new
outbreaks of violence in South Sudan and Myanmar, whilst the
ongoing conflict in Syria still remains the second biggest cause
for the continuing rise in the numbers of refugees (UNHCR 2018a).
Displacement on the African

continent
According to Amit (2017):
The world’s attention has long focused disproportionately on
migration to Europe. Recent images of migrants arriving on Europe’s
shores have only reinforced this tendency. But the reality is that the
majority of migration is intra-regional. (p. 3)
The above remark is of importance for this chapter as it reminds

us of the fact that the African continent is one of the largest
contributors to human displacement. Both in terms of inter- and
intra-regional displacement, Africa is a region where displacement,
in many forms, is rife.
Studying displacement in the African context is not a novel
enterprise as migration is considered to be part of Africa’s essence.
Africa is associated with ancient tribes that were prone to mass
migrations for a number of reasons. Earlier studies, such as
37
Newman (1995) and Kalipeni and Oppong (1998), have pointed

out that these migrations were initially driven by the depletion of
natural resources, later by foreign invaders who showed political
and economic interest in Africa – and still later, driven from within –
as Africans often caused each other to be dislocated as a result of
ethnic, religious or political conflict. In this regard, Onaedo et al.
(2017:21) suggest that there are currently more Africans displaced
as a result of intra-state wars than inter-state conflict. Historically
speaking, and cognisant of the current African situation, it seems
that a long-term secure home in Africa is a rare commodity as both
natural and human-caused disasters drive millions of Africans into
the human flow of migration on a growing basis.
Currently, the UNHCRs 2018 regional summary on Africa indicates
Burundi, the Central African Republic, Democratic Republic of the
Congo, Nigeria, Somalia and South Sudan as the areas from where
most migration originates. As suggested, intra-regional migration
also flows over to inter-regional displacement, as neighbouring
countries are seen as better options to escape harm. One startling
example in this regard is Uganda that received 1800 South Sudanese
refugees per day during 2017 alone (UNHCR 2018a).
Irrespective of the specific reasons for chronic migration on
and across the African continent, the phenomenon has shown a
progressive upward tendency. Statistics provided by the UNHCR
(cf. Kalipeni & Oppong 1998:1641) during the early 1980s showed
less than 4 million displaced people, but towards the end of 2016,
an estimated 20 million people were being displaced in
sub-Saharan Africa (UNHCR 2018b), making displacement one of
the greatest challenges of millennial Africa.
Challenges resulting from

displacement
Whilst some of the challenges relating to displacement can
probably be imagined by most humans, the harsh realities that
actually come with it are much harder to express in words,
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Chapter 2
especially if you have never experienced this tragedy yourself.

This must however not deter academic reflection on the
challenges relating to displacement, as clear articulation precedes
the actions needed to help alleviate the consequences of this
human dilemma.
Based on empirical research conducted in Northern Nigeria,
Onaedo et al. (2017) attempted to describe the challenges
resulting from displacement under the collective denomination
of a loss of human security. Human security is then described as
the ‘value of life of the people of a particular society’ (Onaedo
et al. 2017:20). This ‘value of life’ (Onaedo et al. 2017:20) is
further explicated in a rich description indicating that human
security seats in freedom from life-threatening phenomena,
such as violence and war, as well as access to the basic means
that all people need in order to have a secure existence. These
include things such as a stable home, access to healthcare,
economic opportunities and education. When conditions
change to the degree that people are forcefully displaced,
compounded loss ensues, as all these sources of human security
are lost at once.
In a research conducted by Alobo and Obaji (2016), which also
focused on Nigeria, an elaborate attempt is made to describe the
consequences of internal displacement in specific terms. This
includes the following (Alobo & Obaji 2016):
•• vulnerability as a result of being in transition

•• exposure to unhealthy or uncongenial environments
•• the destruction of social networks, like families, as a result of
members being separated
•• profound psychological distress, especially of vulnerable
groups like the elderly, pregnant women and children
•• isolation from basic necessities, such as education or income-
generating work
•• alienation because of lack of appropriate documentation, such
as identity documents. (p. 28)
39
Abbot (2016:159), who focuses on the psychological impact of

displacement in Europe, suggests that the majority of migrants
and refugees suffer from mental disorders like post-traumatic
stress disorder, anxiety and depression. This is mainly ascribed
to the experience of traumatic incidents which accompany
displacement. These include the witnessing of violence and
exposure to dead bodies. It also relates to personal experience
of violence, torture, sexual abuse and rape, natural disasters and
imprisonment. According to Abbot (2016:159), the psychological
consequences of displacement alone represent a ‘public-health
tragedy’ which calls for a concerted effort in terms of
intervention.
Apart from the physical and psychological challenges
mentioned here, there are also challenges that are somehow
underplayed, possibly because the management of the
aforementioned consequences already absorbs all the energy
and resources of the international community. One of these is the
so-called ‘displacement economies’ that emanate from all forms
of migration. In this regard, Hammar (ed. 2014:4) alludes to the
possibility that during times of severe displacement, the values
of ‘things, bodies, spaces, natural resources and even money
change’. Whilst the human flow of migrants may benefit the local
communities of host nations, it unfortunately also creates
opportunities for a darker form of economy related to such
atrocities as human trafficking, sex trade and economic
exploitation of the vulnerable.
Another dark consequence and challenge is often found at the
end of the migrant journey. Migrants, lucky enough to reach safer
places in another country, are increasingly greeted with hostility
and even xenophobia that are often expressed through
antagonism and physical violence, forcing them to flee once
again. According to Amit (2017), antagonism especially greets
migrants and refugees at the borders of African countries where
local economies are already under pressure to provide for their
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Chapter 2
own populace. In this atmosphere, reasons are often sought to

deny asylum seekers the rights they have under current laws.
Even if they are allowed to enter the host country, hostility awaits
them that often results in xenophobic attitudes and attacks
(cf. Banda 2014; Louw 2016).
Displacement in a pastoral and

ecclesial framework
In the light of the aforementioned discussion, the focus now
shifts to relating human displacement to a pastoral and
ecclesial framework, probing the challenges created by this
phenomenon for the faith community in the African context.
Whilst it is true that some faith communities are still untouched
by and oblivious to the reality and challenges of displacement,
there are those who are actively involved with or confronted
by this phenomenon.
A well-known narrative in this regard is that of the Central
Methodist Church in Johannesburg, South Africa, which has
opened its doors to mainly African refugees since 2000 under
the custodianship of Bishop Paul Verryn (News 24 2014). There
are also documented narratives of refugees themselves, which
contain rich descriptions of how the church supported them in
their quest to find a home (cf. Bloch & Heese 2017:11).
Although these narratives are complicated and pay
testimony to an array of challenges, they are mindful of the
calling of the faith community to respond to the plight of the
displaced. This is a phenomenon which seems to be growing
and that will remain part of the African landscape for many
years to come. There is a calling to remain faithful to the biblical
imperative to have compassion for the stranger (cf. Ex 23:9; Dt
10:19; Lv 19:34; Ps 146:9; Mt 25:43), thereby calling for ongoing
development of theories that support a faithful praxis of caring
for the desolate.
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Finding a suitable paradigm for

pastoral care within the context of
displacement in the African context:
The loss of home
In the pastoral expression of the faith community’s compassion
towards the displaced, a suitable frame of reference is needed.
Any such paradigm should stand firmly on the imperative to have
compassion for the stranger as well as the most prominent
existential crises of the displaced. As indicated, the challenges
that accompany displacement are many and highly complex as
they exist on all levels of the human experience. Therefore, it
cannot be argued that only one challenge or paradigm for
pastoral care to the displaced exists. However, it can be argued
that the loss of ‘home’ will be one of the main challenges for
pastoral work with the displaced. This choice is motivated by the
notion that was conveyed at the beginning of this chapter, namely,
that displacement through the ages carried the same meaning,
namely that humans had to leave what they have known as home,
subsequently, having to come to terms with the ‘loss of home’.
Seeking the meaning of home

Home can be understood in many ways and will probably be
understood differently by different cultures. It can also be
understood in a literal and figurative way. From a pastoral
perspective, a holistic view is needed in order to cultivate an
understanding for the depth of loss when one loses one’s home.
According to Taylor (2015):
[H]ome is not just a singular physical building, but is the network
of streets, buildings and communal spaces that make up a
neighbourhood. It is the complex web of social relations which include
family, friends, acquaintances, business associates and enemies. It
is the water from the spring, the blossoms on the trees, the crops
on the field and the food on the table. It is the conjunction of all these
things at a particular moment in time. (p. 155)
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Chapter 2
It is only by understanding the notion of home in all its diversity

that we can begin to appreciate what losing and remaking home
entails. For the sake of a pastoral response to the displaced within
the African context, the notion of home also needs to be
considered within the contexts of the Christian and African
tradition.
‘Home’ (oikos) within the Christian

tradition
In the Christian tradition, oikos is the best-known equivalent of
what resembles home. At least two basic (literal) meanings are
distinguished, namely, ‘a house’, which may also mean ‘an
inhabited house’, or ‘dwelling place’, which refers to the ‘the
inmates of a house, all the persons forming one family, a
household’ (cf. Fowlkes & Verster 2006:327). In Paul’s first letter
to Timothy, the literal meaning of home is transcended to denote
the faith community (ekklesia), as the faith community is now
equated to the ‘house of God’ (1 Tm 1:15).
Conradie (2007:1) places oikos within an ecclesiastical
framework and describes it as a ‘theological root metaphor’,
which has the potential to integrate several of the church’s
functions within the world. This includes the church’s calling in
terms of ‘hospitality’ and ‘nourishment’ (Conradie 2007:2–3).
Zamfir (2014:514) hence points out that the notion of the
church as the ‘house of God’ should not merely be understood as
a metaphor for how members of the congregation should treat
one another, but that it should also orientate members towards
their public function, as both ekklesia and oikos refer to the public
space. ‘Consequently oἶkoς θεοῦ paradigm has broader
implications than generally acknowledged’ (Zamfir 2014:514).
Louw (2017:5) also supports a broader understanding of oikos
[thinking] that calls for an ‘ecclesiology of oikodomein’, which
heeds the faith community to create spaces where others can
live, dwell and inhabit.
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Home in the Christian tradition thus carries both a descriptive

and an imperative character: home is the place where family
belongs together and it also points to the calling of the faith
community to create an oikos where the desolate can dwell.
‘Home’ (ekhaya) within the African

tradition
Several researchers such as Lambo (2012), Holton (2016) and
Marschall (2017) have approached the role and value of home
amongst African people with sedentary or attachment theory in
mind. Sedentary theory argues that a ‘profound and natural bond
between people and place exists’ (Lambo 2012:9). Although
there are some theorists who suggest that globalisation has
altered the bond of people with their home or land (cf. Connolly
1991), research amongst the displaced seems to contradict this
and maintains the value of home for a person (Holton 2016).
For many Africans, this is especially true as their very Zitz im
Leben nurtures a strong bond between themselves, the land on
which they live, the home they have erected and the networks of
people that share those spaces with them (Ubuntu). Often known
as pastoralists, living off the land with small herds of animals like
goats, camels or cattle, home is of great significance within the
African context. This close relationship is expressed in the Zulu
name for home, namely khaya. Whilst khaya denotes the physical
structure of a house, ekhaya refers to what a home means – or
rather what is experienced at home. Louw (2017:4) thus relates
ekhaya to empathy, sharing, belonging and a familial homecoming.
In a study conducted amongst Somali refugees in Kenya,
Lambo (2012) has shown that displaced Somalis figuratively
‘remained’ in Somali because of this very strong bond with
‘home’. Through media and regular fadikudire [group gatherings
with the homeland as topic], ‘home’ is kept alive (Lambo 2012:14).
This maintaining of home, even for those who have been raised in
a refugee camp, relates to identity and the sense of belonging
that are associated with the home of origin (Lambo 2012:7, 9, 14).
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Chapter 2
Because of this deep meaning of home for Africans, a new form

of tourism has emerged amongst inter-state African migrants to
periodically return to their homes of origin in a controlled and safe
environment. Also known as ‘diasporic tourism’, ‘roots tourism’,
‘ethnic tourism’, ‘legacy tourism’, ‘personal heritage tourism’,
‘emigrant homecoming’ and ‘homesick tourism’ (Marschall
2017:214), these are all expressions of the value home retains for
African migrants.
Seeking an outcome for pastoral care

within the context of displacement
(loss of home) in the African context:
Negotiating nostalgia
On a spiritual and emotional level, the loss of home (ekhaya) that
results from human displacement ultimately leads to nostalgia.
Nostalgia is the collective name for the existential longing for
home. Apart from all the physical challenges, migrants and
refugees will in all probability be challenged to overcome a strong
presence of this spiritual and emotional state.
According to Sekides et al. (2008:304), nostalgia finds its
roots in Greek mythology describing Odysseus’ longing for home
whilst away during the Trojan War. A combination of the Greek
nostos [return home] and algos [longing, pain, ache], it denotes
the acute emotional pain of someone longing for one’s home or
past. In Western history, the term ‘nostalgia’ was first used by
Johannes Hofer in 1688 to describe the symptoms displayed by
displaced Swiss soldiers who had to work or fight abroad (Boym
2007:8). Seen as a medical problem, it was believed that nostalgia
could be cured by medicine and rest such as during a vacation in
the mountains. Currently, the condition is used to describe the
painful longing amongst migrants when coming to terms with
the loss of their homes of origin (cf. Lambo 2012; Taylor 2015).
It is argued here that the condition of nostalgia creates ample
opportunity for pastoral work with the displaced and that
negotiating nostalgia is the goal (outcome) of the
45
pastoral endeavour. In this regard, the work of Svetlana Boym

(2007) deserves the attention of pastoral caregivers. In her essay
on nostalgia, Boym widened the notion of nostalgia to include
the longing of people not only for the home of the past but also
the times gone by, and hence the experiences that constituted a
better and preferred time. Boym also makes an important
distinction between two different expressions of nostalgia,
namely, restorative and reflective nostalgia. Restorative nostalgia
denotes a focus on the lost home and past itself, indulging in the
yearning to restore the preferred past. Reflective nostalgia
denotes a focus on the past home against the background of
current realities. The first expression of nostalgia concerns the
nostos [return home], whilst the latter expression concerns algia
[longing, pain, ache]. In this sense, nostalgia is not only
retrospective but also prospective, ‘[t]he fantasies of the past,
determined by the needs of the present, have a direct impact on
the realities of the future’ (Boym 2007:8).
In pastoral work with the displaced, the notions of home and
nostalgia converge in a dynamic intersection where the pastoral
caregiver can negotiate nostalgia from the perspective of the
Christian oikos. The strong and enduring longing for home found
amongst African migrants (Holton 2016; Lambo 2012; Marschall
2017) is rooted in the warmth and security of the familial
homecoming, as expressed in the notion of ekhaya. Presenting as
a form of restorative nostalgia, it initially places the African migrant
in the painful process of longing for (the) ekhaya, which was most
probably lost through a distressing and forced dislocation.
Intervening during the process of restorative nostalgia, the pastoral
caregiver is driven by the notion of the Christian oikos that
resembles the calling to make room for the ‘other’. In a pastoral
sense, this will refer to accommodating with much empathy the
narrative of the migrant’s nostalgia, even to celebrate with them
the memory of the lost ekhaya which was once home.
The work of the pastoral caregiver however also extends to
the facilitation of reflective nostalgia. This is done in the
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Chapter 2
knowledge that a physical return ‘home’ will most probably not

be possible. Facilitating reflective nostalgia is focused on a critical
reflection of the future in the light of current realities regarding
the home and country of origin. Its main tenets concern the
recognition and acceptance of those current realities and a re-
visioning of the future in the light of the possibilities that reside
in the Christian oikos. As such, reflective nostalgia resonates well
with what Marschall (2017:214) denotes as the ‘shifting sense of
the self’. The notion of the ‘shifting sense of the self’ Marschall
(2017:214) closely relates to the changes that occur within
migrants who cannot return to their original home, thus cultivating
a new identity in the foreign home (land). Shifting of the sense of
oneself is preceded by ‘slippage’ Marschall (2017:214), which
refers to the gradual realisation and acceptance of the fact that
to return home is not possible. Often found in the inability to feel
at home at the home of origin or to connect with old acquaintances
or even to eat local food, all of these inabilities refer to ‘slippage’
Marschall (2017:214), which indicates that a shifting of the old
sense of the self is taking place, leading to the formation of a new
identity (Marschall 2017:220) in which the new home is accepted
and embraced, hence curing nostalgia.
During the pastoral facilitation of reflective nostalgia, one of
the main aims is thus to encourage realistic cognitive reflection
about the feasibility of a sustainable return home. Whilst
migrants still find themselves in inhospitable surroundings or
are confronted by challenges such as xenophobic attitudes, the
home of the past will remain a favourable object of restorative
nostalgic mind journeys. It is true, as Marschall (2017:220)
indicates, that new identity formation is more likely to take
place once the new home has proven conducive to a better life.
It is however here that an embodiment of the Christian oikos
can play a pivotal role in offering the migrant, longing for ekhaya,
a new alternative. Although the Christian oikos will never be
able to replace the home of restorative nostalgia, it may ‘make
sense’ within the framework of reflective nostalgia, creating
hope for the future.
47
Returning to Conradie’s (2007) use of oikos as a theological

root metaphor within an ecclesiastical framework, pastoral work
with migrants requires a wider approach than the specialist
paradigm usually found in western notions of pastoral caregiving.
It calls for an African or Ubuntu approach where the faith
community, through local congregations, takes ‘nourishment’
and ‘hospitality’ (cf. Conradie 2007:2–3) to migrants, hence
embodying the Christian oikos. Through the involvement of local
congregations to support and extend the work of pastoral
caregivers amongst the displaced, the faith community will be
able to remain faithful to the biblical imperative to have
compassion for the stranger (cf. Ex 23:9; Dt 10:19; Lv 19:34; Ps
146:9; Mt 25:43), hence giving expression to the Christian oikos.
Conclusion
This chapter presented a pastoral view on the phenomenon of
displacement on the African continent through the lens of nostalgia.
From the descriptive overview of the phenomenon of human
displacement, distinctions between different expressions of the
phenomenon were drawn, whilst also making quantitative reference
to the extent of the problem. Human displacement was shown to
find expression in both voluntary and forced migration. In its wake,
it leaves a growing number of desolate people in different categories:
migrants, refugees, IDPs and even stateless people. They all,
however, share one common loss: the loss of home.
Having indicated the alarming international growth in all forms
of human displacement, the focus shifted to the African continent
where inter- and intra-regional migration was denoted as rife.
Often being underplayed in the media, inter- and intra-regional
migration accounts for the largest contributor to global migration,
putting Africa high on the human displacement agenda.
Building the bridge for the pastoral challenges that are
presented by human displacement, some of the foremost
challenges resulting from migration were articulated. These ranged
48
Chapter 2
from the loss of human security to some of the consequences of

displacement in specific terms, like transitional vulnerability,
profound psychological distress and isolation from basic necessities
such as education or income-generating work. Attention was also
paid to the psychological impact of displacement, which represents
no less than a public health tragedy. Some of the lesser known
challenges like ‘displacement economies’ were also discussed,
which included atrocities such as human trafficking, sex trade and
economic exploitation of the vulnerable. Challenges awaiting
asylum seekers in host countries such as antagonism, hostility and
xenophobia were also highlighted.
Seeking a paradigm for pastoral work with the displaced, it
was suggested that the common denominator, ‘loss of home’,
could serve as an umbrella term for pastoral engagement with
the displaced. At the heart of the collective displacement dilemma
lies the fact that people have lost what they experienced as home.
As the notion of home transcends the mere structure where an
individual or family resides, the ‘loss of home’ represents the
convergence point of the loss of the familial homecoming.
Examining the notion of home within the Christian tradition, it
transpired that the notion of home (oikos) indeed extends further
than the physical familial residence, but functions as a theological
root metaphor for the church (ekklesia). As such, it provides
clues for the church’s function in the world, namely, to become a
household which exudes hospitality and provides nourishment.
It is this public function of the church as hospitable and nourishing
oikos that needs to be explored in the light of the crisis of human
displacement and which calls for an ‘ecclesiology of oikodomein’
that heeds the faith community to create spaces where the
stranger can live, dwell and inhabit.
In the African tradition, the notion of home stands central to
the understanding of being human. Expressed through the Zulu
notion of ekhaya, it also refers to more than the structure that
resembles a home, but rather relates to what is experienced at
home: empathy, sharing, belonging and a familial homecoming.
49
Therefore, African migrants remain longing for home irrespective

of where they found refuge.
This longing for home culminates in nostalgia, which denotes
the existential longing for home found amongst the displaced.
Hence, the notions of home and nostalgia converge in a dynamic
intersection where the pastoral caregiver can negotiate nostalgia
from the perspective of the Christian oikos. Drawing on the
distinction between restorative and reflective nostalgia, the
pastoral negotiation of nostalgia resembles at least two
challenges: firstly, to make room for the ‘other’, accommodating
with much empathy the narrative of the migrant’s nostalgia, and
secondly, to facilitate reflective nostalgia. Facilitating reflective
nostalgia is focused on a critical reflection of the future in the
light of current realities. Foremost of the current situation is that
a sustainable return home is out of question for most migrants.
Negotiating nostalgia in pastoral work with the displaced thus
concerns recognition and acceptance of current realities and a
re-visioning of the future in the light of the possibilities that reside
in the Christian oikos. It is to help the displaced to develop a
shifting sense of the self which ultimately leads to a new identity
in a new environment.
Cognisant of the church’s calling to become an oikos for the
stranger, pastoral work with migrants calls for an approach which
transcends the individualistic and specialist paradigms
characteristic of western approaches to pastoral caregiving.
Instead, it calls for an African or Ubuntu approach where the faith
community takes ‘nourishment’ and ‘hospitality’ to migrants,
hence embodying the Christian oikos. In this way, the faith
community is able to remain faithful to the biblical imperative to
have compassion for the stranger and, at the same time,
embodying the Christian oikos, thereby negotiating nostalgia
and making the stranger feel at home.
50
Chapter 3
Complexities of
migration challenges
in South Africa
and a theological
perspective: The Good
Samaritan framework
Christopher Magezi
Abstract
This chapter attempts to develop a theological theory on complex
migrant challenges that foster constructive theological thinking
that results in the embracing of migrants and appropriate
responses to their existential needs. The need for the church to
develop such a theory arises from the perception that migrants
encounter multiple complex challenges. To accomplish its
How to cite: Magezi, C., 2020, ‘Complexities of migration challenges in South Africa and
a theological perspective: The Good Samaritan framework’, in A.R. Brunsdon (ed.), The
human dilemma of displacement: Towards a practical theology and ecclesiology of home,
51
Complexities of migration challenges in South Africa and a theological perspective
objective, this chapter begins by giving a detailed description of

some of the complex challenges that are faced by migrants. Then
it proceeds to identify and explore the narrative of the Good
Samaritan in Luke 10:25–37 as a critical text that fosters
constructive thinking that culminates in practical action in caring
for migrants. In doing this, the chapter identifies the concept of
neighbourliness in Luke 10:25–37 as a constructive theological
thinking that results in one considering a foreigner, who is the
other, as someone whom he or she can identify with as his or her
neighbour. This reasoning is premised on the notion that people
are intricately linked together by their common humanity as the
bearers of the image of God.
Keywords: Migrants; Complex challenges; Neighbourliness;
Ubuntu; Good Samaritan; Luke 10:25–37; Jesus; Theological
theory; Foreigner.
Introduction
A considerable number of scholars (cf. Fauvelle-Aymar 2015; Gopal
2013; Kalitanyi & Visser 2010; Manik 2013; Manik & Singh 2013;
Muthuki 2013; Rukema & Khan 2013; Tevera 2013) agree that
migrants experience various complex social, emotional, physical
and spiritual existential challenges wherever they are. Accordingly,
interventions to address migrants’ needs are provided from
multi-sectoral approaches, where different players such as govern
ments, non-governmental organisations (NGOs), businesses and
churches play a role (Jackson & Passarelli 2016:5; Magezi
2018:278–304; World Economic Forum 2017:145). Effort from
various stakeholders is necessary because the World Economic
Forum (2017:145) notes that ‘there is no single entity, organization
or government [that] can deal with the complex issue of migration’.
This chapter focuses on the church’s theological thinking that
should contribute towards meaningful responses to migrant
challenges. The task of theological thinking is to develop a
theological theory within complex migrant challenges. The term
52
Chapter 3
‘complexity’ implies nonlinear thinking whereby one explores

some frameworks that could be applied to contribute towards a
constructive perspective (Magezi 2016:70–71, 76). Exploring
frameworks in our context of theological discussion entails efforts
to identify and interpret scriptures in a manner that could foster
constructive thinking and result in practical action. This entails,
amongst other things, avoiding what Reader (2008:1) calls
zombie theological categories that are not useful in current
contextual challenges and realities, despite being useful at some
point in church history. In view of the context of complexity of
migrant challenges that shall be discussed in detail in later
sections, the question that could be posed is as follows: what
biblical perspective could be developed to ensure that one has
an appropriate understanding that results in embracing migrants.
At stake is the issue of how one could consider a foreigner, who
is the other, as someone who can be identified as a neighbour.
This question underscores the need to develop a constructive
understanding of the other as someone who is different and yet
should be viewed as a neighbour.
To address the above questions, the narrative of the Good
Samaritan in Luke 10:25–37 provides a biblical perspective that
could shed light as well as challenge individuals to be practically
involved in catering for migrants’ needs. Thus, the story of the
Good Samaritan serves as a locus and hermeneutical prism that
can be employed to inculcate constructive socio-theological and
communal responses that result in the embracing of migrants.
This chapter argues that an individual is intricately linked to his or
her neighbour through neighbourliness, whereupon the complex
challenges of a migrant are viewed empathetically from the
perspective of someone who was created in the image of God,
which is also the basis of common humanity.
In order to achieve the objective of this chapter, the section
‘The complexity of the challenges of migrants in South Africa’ will
consider the complex challenges of migrants in South Africa.
Then we will link the notion of neighbourliness as an important
concept that ensures that people share a common framework,
53
whereupon a problem that affects one affects the other. In

justifying the notion of neighbourliness as a theological theory
that affects how one thinks and acts positively in response to
migrant challenges, the chapter will comparatively discuss the
notions of neighbourliness and Ubuntu in the African context,
where human beings are intercommoned and bound together.
After that, the chapter will delve into a discussion of Luke
10:25–37, where the notion of neighbourliness is clearly identified
as a critical central hinge of the parable of the Good Samaritan.
Finally, the chapter will conclude by giving two implications
(at theory formation and practical levels) that could be drawn
from the proposed text.
The complexity of the challenges of

migrants in South Africa1
Foreign nationals face discrimination in
the labour market and accusations of
stealing jobs from the native people
It is important to acknowledge that many foreign nationals in
South Africa face discrimination in the labour market (Fauvelle-
Aymar 2015). The South African labour market recognises the
qualifications of foreign nationals; nevertheless, the challenge
arises from the country’s labour laws that favour native people and
discriminate against foreign nationals (Fauvelle-Aymar 2015).
Fauvelle-Aymar (2015) and De Jager and Musuva (2016:24)
revealed that many international migrants who look for job
1. The challenges that are expressed in this section are also expressed in Magezi’s (2018)
PhD thesis entitled ‘Theological understandings of migration and church ministry model:
A quest for holistic ministry to migrants in South Africa’, which was conducted at North-West
University (Vaal Triangle Campus) under the supervision of Prof. Christopher Rabali. In this
current work, these challenges have been rewritten to speak directly about the complexities
experienced by migrants in South Africa so as to align with the argument being advanced in
this research.
54
Chapter 3
opportunities in South Africa are usually more educated than the

native people, yet many foreign nationals work in the South
African informal sectors (Fauvelle-Aymar 2015:27). In his own
words, Fauvelle-Aymar (2015) states that:
[A] higher share of immigrants with a given skill level is associated
with a lower level of employment for nationals with the same skill
level. A higher share of immigrants is also associated with higher
levels of nationals in informal activities. (p. 27)
Fauvelle-Aymar’s (2015) argument is that the majority of skilled

and professional foreign nationals find it difficult to get an
employment in the formal sectors of South Africa, which results in
many of them partaking jobs in the informal sectors so that they
can meet their basic needs such as food, clothing and
accommodation. This poses a challenge to the narrative that many
foreign nationals find it difficult to join the formal sectors in South
Africa because of lack of proper documentation (cf. Ngomane
2010:ii). That is to say, there are many reasons that make it difficult
for migrants to partake in the South African formal sectors, which
include lack of proper legal documentation and the preference of
South African natives in the South African labour market at the
expense of foreign nationals (Ngomane 2010).
Notwithstanding, some of the international migrants who get
opportunities to be employed in the formal sectors still face
discrimination because they are not accorded the respect that is
commensurate with their occupations. Manik (2013:67–87)
investigated the plight of Zimbabwean professionals such as
teachers and lecturers employed in KwaZulu-Natal province and
discovered that these professionals encountered discrimination
in many and different ways. That is, even though the South African
government needs professionals to teach critical subjects in
secondary and tertiary schools, it is also true that immigrant
educators are often subjected to unfair treatment. In addition,
some non-native educators experience mental trauma because
they are excluded from the social and professional platforms that
their local counterparts are being part of (Manik 2013).
55
Also, although foreign nationals partake in the informal sectors

because of different reasons, Manik and Singh (2013:1) stated
that they still face discrimination by the native people. The reason
behind such acts of discrimination is that the natives think that
migrants are competing with them for the few jobs that are on
offer. This accusation is evidently encapsulated by Manik and
Singh (2013):
There are some constructions of xenophobia as an attitude which has
culminated in foreigners being associated with undesirable behaviour
such as stealing the jobs of locals and criminal activities such as drug
dealing and hijacking. (p. 1)
In expanding the aforementioned point, Magezi (2017:231), Nie

(2015) and Garson and Loizillon (2003) add that native South
Africans perceive foreign nationals as competing with them for
scarce jobs although the majority of immigrants take up unskilled
jobs that many native people are not willing to do. This is
worrisome, especially when one considers that foreigners are
accused of taking jobs from South African citizens, even in cases
when immigrants start their own small business, which, in turn,
create jobs (Kalitanyi & Visser 2010). Kalitanyi and Visser (2010)
affirm that many South Africa-based immigrants demonstrate
business skills by setting up successful small enterprises that end
up creating employment for both South African and foreign
nationals. Kalitanyi and Visser’s (2010) study further reveals that
the employees benefit immensely from tacit entrepreneurial skills
transfer as a result of working for immigrant entrepreneurs. Given
this, it can be stated that the aforementioned discrimination in
the formal labour market, ostensibly because of the foreigners’
lack of legal documentation, compels the international migrants
to establish their own small businesses, which, in turn, contribute
to the advancement of the economy of South Africa through the
creation of jobs and sharing of entrepreneurial skills with the
local people. On the basis of the foregoing argument, Kalitanyi
and Visser (2010:376) disagree with the conception that
international migrants steal the jobs meant for South Africans;
instead, the former generates employment for fellow immigrants
and locals.
56
Chapter 3
However, despite the foregoing submissions, it is apparent

that foreign nationals continue to be accused of stealing jobs
from native people (Kalitanyi & Visser 2010:376). This suggests
that the native people continuously accuse foreign nationals of
taking their jobs, despite the fact that some foreigners also create
jobs through entrepreneurship by opening either small or big
enterprises. R.J. Singh (2013:91) and the International Organisation
for Migration (IOM) (2009:21–22) noted that even when foreigners
start their own businesses, they still encounter accusations of
stealing business opportunities for the native people. Gopal
(2013:125) conducted a study to examine the legitimacy of the
preceding accusation and found that some locals attribute their
unfavourable predicaments to the influx of foreign nationals,
instead of taking responsibility for their own actions, thus
stimulating xenophobia. Irrespective of many clarifications that
can be offered to buttress the accusation that foreigners steal
jobs from locals, this chapter affirms the IOM (2009)
pronouncement that one of the most dangerous opinions
propagated by disgruntled South Africans is that the presence of
immigrants deprives native citizens of job opportunities. Indeed,
such views cause the foreigners living in South Africa to
experience constant psychological trauma, as they would be
uncertain of the consequences of such accusations.
Foreign nationals suffer exploitation in the

labour market
Abel (2017:1–42) affirms that in South Africa, many immigrants
from African countries are scorned by the native people, as some
companies commonly prefer hiring foreign nationals to the natives.
Crush and Williams (2001:8) state that some South African
employers prefer hiring non-citizens to citizens because the former
are generally regarded as ‘hard-working and more diligent’,
‘excellent’, ‘more disciplined’, ‘less devious’, ‘more-skilled and
well-behaved’ and ‘don’t have a chip on their shoulder’. Furthermore,
employers prefer foreign nationals to South Africans because of
57
the former’s perceived good work ethics, higher basic skill levels
and absence of ‘workplace militancy’ (Crush & Williams 2001). This
means that there is an overriding notion that foreign nationals in
South Africa have a more advantageous position in terms of getting
jobs in both informal and formal sectors than the local people.
When it comes to employment in the formal and informal sectors
of South Africa, the above-stated notion presents possibilities of
serious tensions between local people and foreigners.
In Crush and Williams’ (2001:8) view, the presupposed tensions
or discriminations that people of foreign origin encounter in
South Africa because of the perception that they have an edge
over native people in the employment sectors are deepened by
the idea that foreign nationals usually sell their labour in both
informal and formal sectors for low wages, which the native
people generally reject. At this juncture, it is important to note
that the employers can exploit foreigners, owing to the fact that
the latter are typically not keen to seek recourse through labour
laws (Crush & Williams 2001:8; Magezi 2018:222). This is attributed
to the understanding that many foreigners are not acquainted
with the operations of the labour laws in South Africa (Crush
& Williams 2001; Magezi 2018). Furthermore, some of the
immigrants are undocumented; therefore, they are willing to take
up any kind of jobs for low wages simply to make their ends meet
(Crush & Williams 2001; Magezi 2018). This often causes South
Africans to contemptuously regard foreigners because, owing to
their susceptible conditions, the latter accept very low wages,
which riles the native people.
As alleged by some locals, there is a possibility that some
South Africa-based immigrants toil for long hours for wages that
are way below statutory stipulations (Magezi 2018:222–223).
In order to survive in their new homeland, migrants supplement
their low wages by working for long hours in multiple jobs
(Magezi 2018). Consequently, their social lives are adversely
affected, as they can hardly spare time for family and friends
(Magezi 2018). Migrant workers in both the formal and informal
sectors are also disposed to burnouts caused by long working
58
Chapter 3
hours (Magezi 2018). Fauvelle-Aymar (2015) notes the reality

that many educated foreign nationals take low paying jobs as a
way of coping in their new environment that does not provide
them with job opportunities that are commensurate with their
educational and professional qualifications.
This chapter takes cognisance of the IOM (2009:20) conception
that although foreign nationals find deskilling a fitting survival
strategy in a new homeland (that does not give them job
opportunities according to their profession and education), it
follows that their coping mechanisms feed the hatred of foreigners
by native people on the basis that foreigners take jobs meant for
locals by accepting ‘sub-minimum wages’ that are way below
South African standards. In its qualitative study that examines the
reasons of South African locals for resorting to violence against
foreigners, the IOM (2009) reveals that the South African
employers give jobs to desperate foreign nationals who are often
incapacitated to negotiate for reasonable wages and, in most
instances, can settle for as little as R30 per day, thus allowing them
to ‘steal’ jobs from South Africans. An innate South African, whose
opinion on the proposed subject is representative of the wide-
ranging sentiments amongst the locals, is quoted here (IOM 2009):
When a white man takes five people for employment, about three are
foreigners and two South Africans. On arrival at the firm, a white man
asks ‘how much do you want?’ Foreigners always quote a small amount.
… When South Africans state their money, which is normal, employers
say ‘no’, they will employ foreigners because they accept small money.
The result is high unemployment of South Africans because whites
have resolved that the best is to hire foreigners. (p. 20)
Thus, although South Africa-based foreigners attempt to cope

by accepting jobs not commensurate with their professional and
educational qualifications and, consequently, settle for sub-
minimum wages, one can argue that resorting to such coping
mechanisms engenders the hatred of foreigners by the natives
and gives credence to the mantra that foreigners accept wages
that are below the statutory minimum. Indeed, such allegations
subject foreign nationals to a perilous position, as their survival
59
mechanisms are bound to provoke the anger of the locals. The

underlying question, which has no easy solutions, is as follows:
what should foreigners in the South African context do under
such complex circumstances?
Foreign nationals working in the formal

sectors and foreign students at tertiary
institutions suffer discrimination from
work colleagues and fellow students
Manik and Singh (2013:3) assert that African immigrants residing in
South Africa are derisively branded ‘Makwerekwere’. According to
Azindow (2007:175), the label has pejorative undertones as it is
used to mock immigrants from other African countries on the basis
of their inability to speak South African native languages fluently.
The term has also become associated with the assumption that
black African immigrants come from countries that are economically
and culturally inferior to South Africa (Azindow 2007). For example,
S.K. Singh (2013:51–66) states that Zimbabwean educators working
in primary, secondary and tertiary institutions in Limpopo province
are discriminated by their counterparts in various ways, including
linguistic exclusion. For example, native teachers, lecturers,
community members and students defer to their native languages
as a way of excluding Zimbabwean educators who do not understand
the language (S.K. Singh 2013).
The hostility against foreigners in institutions of learning is not
only faced by teachers and lecturers. R.J. Singh (2013:88–118)
studied this phenomenon in the University of Limpopo, which
has a huge enrolment of foreign nationals and found various
instances of discrimination faced by foreign students studying at
the institution. Instances of such discrimination include being
labelled in vernacular and exclusion from academic and social
discussions, as locals deliberately switch to vernacular and form
cliques (R.J. Singh 2013). Furthermore, R.J. Singh (2013b) posits
that foreign students are more likely to face exclusion from halls
60
Chapter 3
of residence and risk of being accused of instigating campus

violence than South African students. Given this, Singh (2013)
urges university authorities to look for means to safeguard the
rights of international students. For instance, institutions can
initiate diversity awareness programmes to help students to be
tolerant and respectful of people from social and racial
backgrounds that are different from theirs.
Likewise, Muthuki (2013:109–124), who assays the subject of
xenophobia in tertiary institutions in urban centres, concurs with
R.J. Singh’s (2013) assertion that foreign students in South African
universities are being discriminated by local students. This means
that nationality continues to be an ongoing indicator of students’
identities and group associations in the spheres of higher
institutions. These acts of alienation and discrimination result in
anxiety and depression, thus adversely affecting the concerned
students’ academic performance (Gopal 2013:129). In other
words, some international students studying in South African
higher education institutions leave academic environments in
which they experience psychological, emotional and physical
challenges (Gopal 2013:129), as they are always scared of acts of
discrimination by local students. Such acts manifest in different
forms, notably attitudes and physical action (Gopal 2013:129).
Ongoing exposure to fear, more so in a foreign nation, naturally
hampers the affected students’ academic performance (Gopal
2013:129).
Remarkably, the discrimination of foreign students by their
local counterparts is also pervasive in the pre-tertiary education
context. Bruce (2017) highlights that the authorities of Eastleigh
Primary School in Edenvale, Gauteng province, wrote to all
immigrant learners’ parents threatening to exclude those children
whose immigration statuses were not in order. Bruce (2017)
correctly observes that the school gravely erred in arrogating
itself performing an immigration enforcement role, as this action
would have unjustly deprived the immigrants’ children of their
rights to education, which they are entitled to, regardless of their
61
lack of proper legal documentation. The South African Schools

Act prohibits all forms of discrimination with regard to the
enrolment of children in school (Bruce 2017). With this in mind, it
can be assumed that some foreign students in South African
universities, primary and secondary schools usually, suffer forms
of discrimination that are similar to the ones established in this
discussion.
Migrants are accused of illegally owning

properties
Most immigrants who have some form of real estate in South
Africa are accused of illegal ownership of such property. The IOM
(2009) notes that the general sentiment amongst South Africans
is that foreigners utilise unjustified means to own Reconstruction
and Development Programme (RDP) houses at the expense of
deserving natives. The RDP housing scheme is a South African
government initiative that is meant to alleviate housing shortages
by providing free houses to poor citizens (IOM 2009). Accusations
of illegal property ownership are serious, yet are usually uttered
without the benefit of any investigation to ascertain whether the
concerned foreign nationals indeed own the said properties
legally or illegally (IOM 2009). Irrespective of the normally
spurious nature of such accusations, some native South Africans
have developed serious dislike for aliens on the assumption that
the latter obtain RDP houses that are meant for homeless South
Africans (IOM 2009).
In 2017, the Deputy Minister of Police, Bongani Mkongi, echoed
the assumption that some foreign nationals illegally own
buildings, whilst many South African nationals do not have places
to stay (Lindeque 2017). The Deputy Minister of Police also went
on to blame the international migrants in Hillbrow for sabotaging
the economy of South Africa (Lindeque 2017). He stated that
Hillbrow was inhabited by 80% of migrants and this has resulted
in high criminal rate in the area (Lindeque 2017). Moreover, he
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Chapter 3
affirmed that the majority of old buildings in the Central Business

Centre of Johannesburg were inhabited by foreigners, yet native
people did not have anywhere to stay. Mkongi concluded by
urging South Africans to arise and reclaim their land that had
been taken by the foreigners.
The foregoing discussion unequivocally illustrates how some
high-profile South Africans purvey unfounded accusations and
stereotypes about foreign nationals. Because of such perceptions,
some foreigners have been denied the right to settle in the
informal settlements where many vulnerable South Africans stay
(IOM 2009:19). As a result, there is an ongoing dread amongst
many foreigners living in South Africa that they are unwelcome in
various places, where they had been living side by side with the
local people. The fear that foreign nationals are experiencing as
they co-exist with the native people is worsened by high-ranking
people who publicly share their xenophobic and discriminatory
opinions with ordinary South Africans (IOM 2009). This point is
further substantiated in the section ‘Foreign nationals are
targeted by high-profile people’s reckless utterances on social
media’ (IOM 2009:n.p.).
Foreign nationals are targeted by

high-profile people’s reckless utterances
on social media
Wose (2016:X, 11–49; cf. Manik & Singh 2013:2; Taylor 2012; Vahed
& Desai 2013) notes that foreign nationals have also been
prejudiced by xenophobic and discriminatory sentiments
expressed by South African government officials and traditional
leaders in public spaces or on social media. Jacob Zuma, the
former president of South Africa, and Goodwill Zwelithini, the
King of the Zulu Nation, are some of the officials who are on record
for uttering statements that are charged with xenophobic
overtones. Zuma’s discriminatory and xenophobic sentiments
came out in a speech he delivered on the official launch of toll
63
highways in Gauteng on 23 October 2013 (Manik & Singh 2013:2).

In that keynote address, Zuma advised South African natives not
to think like people from other African countries, possibly because
they have better developed infrastructure and economy in
comparison to other African countries (Manik & Singh 2013:2). In
putting Zuma’s entire address into perspective, Manik and Singh
(2013:2) understand Zuma’s address to have given the South
African native people a negative view of people from other nations,
as it portrayed South African nationals as better than foreigners.
Likewise, King Goodwill Zwelithini uttered some discriminatory
and xenophobic words that had potential to instigate violence
against foreign nationals living in South Africa (South African
History Online 2015). On 21 March 2015, the king demanded that
foreigners should return to their countries of origin as they were
destroying the culture of native South Africans and enjoying the
luxuries that were because of the local people (South African
History Online 2015). The king’s statement was not received well
by foreigners because it was made at a time when the immigrant
community was mourning the deaths of beloved ones and the
loss of material possessions following violent attacks by native
South Africans (South African History Online 2015). Also, after
the king’s statement, the rate of violence against foreigners in
South Africa increased. For example, on 10 April 2015, many
foreign nationals, including two Ethiopian brothers, were
physically attacked and severely wounded by groups of native
South Africans. In the case of the two Ethiopian brothers, their
shop was set on fire whilst they were inside (South African History
Online 2015). As a result, one can argue that King Zwelithini’s
reckless statements resulted in acts of violence against foreigners.
It is apparent, therefore, that the xenophobic and discriminatory
sentiments harboured by ordinary South Africans are easily
ignited when shared by government officials and traditional
leaders, thereby subjecting many foreign nationals to a constant
state of terror. In concurrence with Vahed and Desai (2013), it can
be argued that the several violent attacks on foreigners by native
people in 2008 and 2013 are linked to xenophobia. As a result,
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Chapter 3
foreigners tend to see xenophobic violence as part of their

unpleasant and terrifying experiences of living in South Africa
(Vahed & Desai 2013). In view of the above discussion, it can be
maintained that the reckless statements that are usually made by
South African government officials and traditional leaders have
the potential to instigate violence against immigrants. In some
instances, foreigners lose their lives and properties (Vahed
& Desai 2013:151; cf. Amnesty International 2015; Bruce 2017; IOM
2009:7; South African History Online 2015; SAHRC 2017; Rukema
& Khan 2013; Vahed 2013). Manik and Singh (2013) also contend
that the discrimination of people from other nations can be
noticed in the South African social media that generally depicts
non-nationals as perpetrators, as explained in the following:
Media coverage, also, has frequently been blamed for portraying
foreigners as the perpetrators of unsavoury incidents, although
recently the media spot highlighted the physical abuse by SA police
of a Mozambican taxi driver in SA (in 2012) which led to a public
outcry. After his subsequent arrest, he died in police custody fuelling
speculation about police brutality towards foreigners. (p. 2)
Identifying the concepts of

neighbourliness and Ubuntu in the
African context
In view of the complexity of these challenges considered in the
section ‘The complexity of the challenges of migrants in South
Africa’, a biblical perspective of neighbourliness that is relevant
and, at the same time, challenges people to engage in care for
one another within the context of migration should be developed
from the parable of the Good Samaritan in Luke 10:25–37. Before
developing a biblical perspective of neighbourliness in Luke
10:25–37, it is imperative to initially justify the concept of
neighbourliness by identifying it with the concept of Ubuntu in
the African context. That is, the concept of neighbourliness that
emerges in the story of Good Samaritan in Luke 10:25–37 could
be arguably identified with the notion of Ubuntu in the African
65
context, whereby human beings are bound together, connected,

united, caring and hospitable to one another (Jolley 2011:6–7). To
accomplish this task, the origin and meaning of the concept of
Ubuntu in African context, as discussed in the literature, will be
briefly defined. At this juncture, the meaning of Ubuntu will be
delineated in light of the qualities, values and principles it is
associated with. Once this is done, the concept of neighbourliness
as a critical hinge of the parable of the Good Samaritan (as related
by Lk 10:25–37), which challenges people to care for one another
within the context of migration, is discussed.
The origin and meaning of the concept

of Ubuntu in the African context
In an attempt to identify the foundation of the concept of Ubuntu
in the African context, Eklund (2008:14) and Ramose (1999:49ff.)
argue that Ubuntu is the root of African moral philosophy that
emerges from the thoughts of Bantu-speaking people. Ubuntu
has been in Africa for as long as human existence in Africa (Eklund
2008:14). Within the African continent, the concept of Ubuntu
has been conveyed and preserved in diverse forms and thoughts,
from one generation to another, through oral genres in African
traditions and cultures such as fables, myths, proverbs, riddles,
stories, songs, customs and institutions (Eklund 2008:14). This
clearly indicates that there is an existing linkage between the
concept of Ubuntu and African traditions and cultures. Notably, a
considerable number of scholars (Bhengu 1996:50; Eklund
2008:14; Mnyaka & Mothabi 2005:215–237) understand Ubuntu
as a concept that expresses a way of living amongst African
people, that is, it describes the notion of African humanness.
Cilliers (2008) agrees with the aforementioned scholars when he
underscores that Ubuntu is described:
As a way of life, a universal truth, an expression of human dignity, an
underpinning of the concept of an open society, African humanism,
trust, helpfulness, respect, sharing, caring, community, unselfishness,
etc. In short it means: humanity, or humanness. (p. 1)
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It is important to note that all African languages of Bantu origin

have local variants of the same saying that expresses the concept
of Ubuntu (Broodryk 2006:3). For example, Ramose (1999:49)
and Shutte (2001:23) note that in the Zulu aphorisms, in South
Africa, the concept of Ubuntu is expressed as umuntu ngumuntu
ngabantu, which is translated in English to mean that ‘a person is
a person through other persons’ or ‘I am because we are’ (Bhengu
1996:5). Tutu (1999:34–35; cf. Mugumbate & Nyaguru 2013:82–
84) expands the aforesaid meaning when he argues that the
concept of Ubuntu means that ‘a person is a person through
other people’. In Tutu’s (1999:34–35) view, it is not ‘I think
therefore I am’ as some Western philosophers ascribe to. Instead,
it says ‘I am human because I belong. I participate, I share’ (Tutu
1999:n.p.). The word umuntu in Bantu-speaking languages is
translated to ‘person’ or ‘human being’, whilst Ubuntu is translated
to ‘humanness’ (Tutu 1999). Notably, Bhengu (1996:5) indicates
that the translation of Ubuntu to mean humanness in English is
not an adequate expression of the meaning of the proposed
concept. However, regardless of Bhengu’s (1996) above
observation, Cilliers (2008:1) observes that the above-mentioned
Zulu aphorism, umuntu ngumuntu ngabantu, portrays the
concept of Ubuntu as referring to the notion of ‘a basic respect
and compassion for others’. In Cilliers’ (2008) view, this aphorism
is both:
[A] factual description and a rule of conduct or social ethic, both
descriptive and prescriptive. It does not only describe humanity as
‘being-with-others’, but also prescribes what the relational ethics of this
‘being-with-others’ entail. It takes as point of departure the systemic
inter-connectedness of a society, and often is defined in terms of its
moral structure, ritual embodiment and ideological usage. (p. 2)
However, because the translation of Ubuntu to mean humanness in

English is not an adequate expression of the meaning of the
concept, as it lacks a comprehensive notion of the proposed
concept (Bhengu 1996:5), one is persuaded to concur with Eklund
(2008:14), who argues that in order to understand the meaning of
Ubuntu, one should explain it in relation to the salient qualities it is
67
associated with. Broodryk (2006:26) and Eklund (2008:15) concur

that the following qualities – caring, respect, affection, dearness,
sharing, sympathy, humanity and humanness – are crucial to
understand the concept of Ubuntu as they are intricately associated
with it. Mkhize (2008:43) agrees with Eklund (2008) and Broodryk
(2006:26) in advancing that the concept of Ubuntu ‘incorporates
ideas of social justice, righteousness, care, empathy for others and
respect’. Likewise, Mnyaka and Motlhabi (2009:74) agree with the
aforesaid scholars in avowing that Ubuntu ‘is inclusive … it is best
realised in deeds of kindness, compassion, caring, sharing,
solidarity and sacrifice’. In the same vein, Lefa (2015:4) endorses
the qualities of Ubuntu that are listed by the aforementioned
scholars as the salient characteristics of the concept of Ubuntu.
Lefa (2015) further views the concept of Ubuntu in the African
context as a foundational springboard to the African ways of living.
From the above discussion, one can possibly argue that, in the
African context, Ubuntu is perceived as the act of ‘being human,
caring, sympathy, empathy, forgiveness or any values of humanness
towards others’ (Lefa 2015:4). In amplifying this understanding of
the concept of Ubuntu, both Eklund (2008:15) and Shutte
(2001:25) view it as speaking to the oneness, togetherness and
unity of people within communities and societies. The Ubuntu
notion of oneness or togetherness is embedded in the
understanding that all human beings have something common,
namely, that we are all human beings (Eklund 2008:15).
The understanding that we are all human beings that are
interrelated to one another results in people having empathy and
sharing what they have with those who are needy or deprived so
that the goal of Ubuntu in society – namely, ‘to find the greatest
true form of happiness’ – is fulfilled (Eklund 2008:15). This is why
Nussbaum (2003) states that:
Ubuntu is the capacity in African culture to express compassion,
reciprocity, dignity, harmony, and humanity in the interests of building
and maintaining community. Ubuntu calls on us to believe and feel
that: Your pain is My pain, My wealth is Your wealth, Your salvation is
My salvation. (p. 21)
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Chapter 3
The happiness or fullness of life for individuals in a community,

owing to their interaction, co-existence, sharing and participating
with others, is critical because it encourages people to see
themselves as intricately linked with others, rather than isolated
(Nussbaum 2003:21–26). Definitely, this promotes the spirit of
togetherness that results in one seeing the problems of others as
one’s problems, and the success of others as one’s success
(Nussbaum 2003:21). Indeed, in time of sufferings and challenges,
the value of togetherness embedded in the concept of Ubuntu
inculcates the spirit of compassion that results in one caring for
the others as they strive to realise the goal of collective good life
in the community (Nussbaum 2003). Given this, one would be
correct to contend that the concept of Ubuntu excludes
selfishness. Shutte (2001) observes the aforementioned in the
following affirmation:
Our deepest moral obligation is to become more fully human and this
means entering more and more deeply into community with others.
So although the goal is personal fulfilment, selfishness is excluded.
(p. 30)
Challenges associated with the concept

of Ubuntu
Having established the concept of Ubuntu as referring to the
value of oneness, togetherness and unity of people within
communities and societies, it is needed to be conscious that this
concept has been challenged by a considerable number of
scholars (Eklund 2008:16; Eliastam 2015:1; Metz 2011:532–535;
Shutte 2001:23). That is, although observation of the concept of
Ubuntu yields some positive contributions in creating responsible
societies or communities that care for one another, Eklund
(2008:16) and Shutte (2001:23) state that the definition of the
concept, as rendered above, tends to imply that a person is
defined by the community, that is, a person is a person because
of his or her relationship with others. This means that personhood
is not something that one is born with; instead, it is a gift that one
69
earns or is awarded by sharing and participating in the community

with others (Eklund 2008:16; Shutte 2001:23). Here, the writer
agrees with Eklund (2008:16) and Shutte (2001:23) that the
aforementioned understanding is problematic because, if
personhood can be awarded to someone by virtue of participating
and sharing in the community with others, it follows that
personhood can also be taken away if Ubuntu is treated with
obliviousness and contempt (Eklund 2008:16; Shutte 2001). In
saying this, the writer is aware that scientists, doctors, theologians
and legal scholars, to mention but a few, differ with regard to
when personhood begins, that is, some doctors and legal or
human rights scholars argue that personhood begins at
conception, whilst others do not define a foetus as a person
(Donovan 1983:40; Henriques 2015:1). Notwithstanding, from a
biblical perspective, Ling (2017:1–45) argues that although new
biologists refute the Christian perspective regarding the onset of
personhood, he maintains that it begins at conception, as stated
in Jeremiah 1:5. Although the aforementioned issues are
recognised as of interest and worth discussing, they are beyond
the scope of this chapter. Instead, the above discussion simply
underscores the disagreements within different fields of research
regarding the commencement of personhood.
Secondly, Metz (2011:532–535) states that by emphasising the
community or togetherness at the expense of individuality, the
concept of Ubuntu fails to recognise the worth of the freedom of
individuals. Recently, in his article entitled ‘Ubuntu in flames –
Injustice and disillusionment in post-colonial Africa: A practical
theology for new liminal Ubuntu and personhood’, Magezi
(2017:111) alludes to a similar point as Metz (2011) when he notes
that the concept of Ubuntu emphasises togetherness and
oneness. Surprisingly, Magezi (2017) further notes that the
Ubuntu concept of togetherness is being ignored in Africa
because of the rampant oppression and corruption that have hit
the whole continent. In speaking about corruption that violates
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the concept of Ubuntu, Magezi (2017:116) and Turaki (Lecture at

North-West University n.d. 2015) note that in many African
societies, when someone works in government or public office,
he or she is considered as a hunter. When he or she loots money,
he or she goes back to his or her village to share it with family
members and the community in his or her geographical proximity.
The beneficiaries do not accuse their benefactor of corruption;
instead, he or she is credited as having performed authentic
Ubuntu as he or she would have shared with his or her people
back home. In this scenario, Ubuntu is considered as a concept
that is confined to someone’s friends, relatives and close
geographical communities, as Magezi (2017:117–118) and Turaki
(Lecture at North-West University n.d. 2015) indicate. Magezi
(2017:117) further argues that, in the African context, the notion
that the practice of Ubuntu is generally confined to relatives,
friends and people from the same communities is intensified by
pervasive nepotism in Africa, especially with regard to the
employment sector. Magezi (2017) explains that:
In the traditional Ubuntu framework an individual feels bound and
obligated to respond to the needs of people related to them. They are
also inclined to assist people who come from the same geographical
area. This is evident in political and employment circles. When a new
president is elected there is generally a tendency to appoint someone
from the same geographical area. (p. 117)
Also, the propagation of tribal tensions in Africa violates the unity

and peace amongst people that is enshrined in the concept of
Ubuntu (Baloyi 2018:1). In speaking about Africa, particularly
South Africa, Baloyi (2018:1) states that the tribalism that violates
the concept of Ubuntu is usually precipitated by some leaders.
Here, Baloyi (2018:1) mentions an aphorism attributed to the
former president of South Africa, Jacob Zuma, that portrays the
Zulus as superior to other tribes in South Africa, as having
potential to cause tribal tensions instead of unity and peace, as
accorded in the concept of Ubuntu. In discussing Jacob Zuma’s
aphorism, Baloyi (2018) affirms that:
71
A newspaper article entitled ‘I am not an African, no, I am 100% Zulu’

did not only help to sell the paper but also sketched a picture of
tribalism in South Africa (Khumalo 2016). The slogan of ‘100% Zulu’
was made famous by President Jacob Zuma when he had to face
various rape charges. (p. 1)
Perhaps, this is why Moloi (2016) notes that tribalism is not history
in the South African context. Moloi (2016) states that:
The danger of tribalism is at our doorstep. It is so scary that in the
current situation it is associated with our previous kings. (n.p.)
In this way, one can rightly argue that the concept of Ubuntu
should be informed by Christian thinking and values (Magezi
2017:111–112) because, as discussed above, if people narrowly
apply the concept of Ubuntu to families, friends and close
communities, who applaud them for practising the concept of
Ubuntu because they care for their people, it means that the
proposed concept tends to lack universal or global relevance, as
some people manipulate and abuse it in the above-mentioned
way. This is the case regardless of the important values that are
inherent in the concept of Ubuntu such as love, care and
compassion for others. In this way, people who confine the
practice of Ubuntu to relatives, friends and neighbouring
communities violate the core values of Ubuntu, as this practice
prejudices people who are not close to them. This narrow
application of the concept of Ubuntu in the African context can
also be said to emanate from some South African leaders’
aphorisms that have the potential to create tribal tensions, which
are antithetical to the values of unity and togetherness enshrined
in the concept of Ubuntu.
If the above-mentioned challenges associated with the
concept of Ubuntu in the African context are granted, the
underlying issue is how the concept itself can be reformed by
Christian theology and values so that one can be empathetic
and compassionate to foreigners, despite ethnic, religious,
linguistic, cultural and national backgrounds. That is to say,
whilst Ubuntu is recognised as a useful concept that identifies
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Chapter 3
with the envisioned concept of neighbourliness that emerges

from the story of the Good Samaritan in Luke 10:25–37, which
will be discussed below, it should also be acknowledged that
the concept of Ubuntu has failed to transform Africans towards
demonstrating care and love for all people, regardless of
ethnicity, nationality, language, religion, culture, etc. This clearly
indicates a need for theology to develop a constructive
understanding of the other as someone who is different
(ethnically, religiously, linguistically, culturally and nationally)
and yet should be viewed as a neighbour.
In this way, the concept of neighbourliness that emerges from
the narrative of the Good Samaritan in Luke 10:25–37 shall be
identified and explored as a theological theory that affects how
one thinks and acts positively in response to the complex
challenges of migrants, irrespective of their nationality, ethnicity,
etc. With this in mind, the discussion turns to Luke 10:25–37,
where the concept of neighbourliness emerges as a theological
theory that results in the embracing of migrants as a response to
their complex challenges.
Luke 10:25–37: Towards Jesus’

extension of the definition of a
neighbour as every fellow human
being in need
The purpose of Luke and the immediate
context of Luke 10:25–37
It is important to note that the genealogy of Jesus Christ in Luke
3:23–38, which designates Christ as ‘the son of Adam, the son of
God’, is meant to make both Jews and Gentiles embrace Jesus
Christ as their own true saviour (Marshall 1978), that is:
The carrying back of the genealogy to Adam is meant to stress the
universal significance of Jesus for the whole of the human race and
not merely for the seed of Abraham. (p. 161)
73
This means that Stein’s (1973:26–27) argument that even though

Luke might have had some Jews in mind, his primary audience
were the gentiles does not matter much because Luke 3:23–28
indicates that Jesus’ mission was for both Jews and Gentiles.
However, for the purpose of this chapter, it does not matter
whether Luke’s Gospel was written to assure those who had heard
and believed the Gospel of Jesus Christ or to evangelise those
who had never heard the gospel. Instead, the chapter focuses on
the notion of neighbourliness in Luke 10:25–37 as a theological
theory that affects how one thinks and acts in response to migrant
challenges. With this in mind, the discussion turns to the parable of
the Good Samaritan in Luke 10:25–37, which spells out the concept
of neighbourliness and challenges people to care for one another
within the context of migration, in spite of disparate religious,
ethic, linguistic and national backgrounds.
It is imperative to note from the onset that the parable of the
Good Samaritan in Luke 10:25–37 is located within the context in
which Jesus taught his disciples about profound discipleship
(Lk 9:51–11:13). Luke 9:51 states that when his time to die
approached, Jesus commenced a long journey that he completed
in Luke 19 with the triumphant entry in Jerusalem. This journey is
characterised with rejection in a Samaritan village (Lk 9:52) and
Bethsaida (Lk 10:13); however, it has a glorious end, as in the last
chapter of Luke’s gospel, Jesus accomplished his redemptive
mission for humankind by dying at the cross for their sins
(Lk 23:44–49) and subsequently resurrected from the dead after
3 days to claim victory over death, as related in Luke 24, therefore
accomplishing salvation for both Jews and Gentiles.
However, it is important to note that along the way to
Jerusalem, Jesus taught about the cost of discipleship to a man
who chose to follow him (Lk 57:57–72). Soon after teaching the
man, Jesus appointed the 72 disciples and sent them in pairs to
evangelise the whole non-Jewish world that has never heard of
the gospel nor of the imminence of the kingdom of God
(Lk 10:1–24). Luke 10:9 attests to this point when Jesus entrusted
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Chapter 3
the 72 disciples to ‘heal the sick who are there and tell them, “the
kingdom of God is near you”’. The section ‘Discussion of Luke
10:25–37 in view of Jesus’ extension of the definition of a
neighbour as every fellow human being in need’ ventures into an
in-depth discussion of Luke 10:25–27 that narrates the parable of
the Good Samaritan. This scripture brings forth the concept of
neighbourliness as a theological theory that affects how one
ought to positively think and act in response to migrant challenges.
Discussion of Luke 10:25–37 in view of

Jesus’ extension of the definition of a
neighbour as every fellow human being
in need
The author is aware that Luke 10:25–37 is quite related to the
incident in Matthew 22:34–40 as the lawyer in this context asks a
question that is also aimed at tricking Jesus (Lk 10:25a). The
question that the law expert asks to Jesus relates to what one
ought to do to inherit eternal life (Lk 10:25b; Ryken 2009:537).
Here, Jesus answers the lawyer with another question so that the
latter can respond to his own question as an expert of the law of
Israel. Jesus asks the lawyer to stipulate what is exactly written in
the law with regard to that matter (Lk 10:26). One can argue that
Jesus’ response to the lawyer’s question is appropriate as the
lawyer is an expert in God’s law, namely, he is a Bible scholar and
a theologian of the Old Testament Scripture, which he is expected
to rightfully apply in his daily living (Hughes 1998:388; Ryken
2009:537).
The fact that the lawyer is an expert in the law is brought to
the fore when he aptly identifies that people have to love God with
all their being and to love their neighbours as they love themselves
as the prerequisites to inherit eternal life (Lk 10:27; Barca 2011:7).
The correctness of the lawyer’s response is affirmed in Luke 10:28
when Jesus says that the lawyer had answered his own question
correctly. It is also important to note that the lawyer’s response
75
draws from the Torah. The first part, ‘[l]ove the Lord your God
with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your strength and
with all your mind’, is a literal quotation from Deuteronomy 6:4
(Zimmermann 2008:277). The second portion ‘and your
neighbour as yourself’ is a shortened version emerging from
Leviticus 19:18 (Zimmermann 2008). In other words, just like in
Matthew 24:34–40, the former command in Luke 10:25–37 comes
from Deuteronomy 6:4, whilst the latter comes from Leviticus
19:18 (Ryken 2009:538).
Commenting on Luke 10:25–37, Zimmermann (2008:277)
notes that the injunction to love God and neighbours sums up the
whole Torah, which God’s people should live by in order to attain
eternal life. Likewise, many of the scholars that discuss Matthew
22:35–40, which also sums God’s law or command in the same
manner as the lawyer states it in Luke 10:25–37, concur with
Zimmermann (2008). These scholars reveal that man was created
to love and serve God, as well as to love fellow humankind
(cf. Mitch & Sri 2010:289). For instance, Morris (1992:563) observes
that by summarising all the precepts and instructions of the Old
Testament in these proposed two commandments in Matthew
22:37–39, Jesus configures the linkage that exists between the
vertical (people’s love for God) and horizontal (humankind’s love
for one another) facets of love.
However, it is interesting to note that by inference the lawyer
assumes that he has been keeping the second commandment
that demands him to love his neighbour as he could have been
possibly compassionate and loving to his fellow Israelites. This
arises from Luke 20:29 that states, ‘[b]ut he wanted to justify
himself, so he asked Jesus, “and who is my neighbour?”’ At this
juncture, Blajer (2012:20), who revisits the time of Jesus’ earthly
ministry to understand what the concept of neighbour meant for
some groups of people, also understands that the lawyer is trying
to justify himself as someone who has been loving his neighbour
as he loves himself. In his research, Bajer (2012:20) discovered
that during the material time, various groups of people such as
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Chapter 3
the Pharisees, Sadducees and Essenes viewed the term

‘neighbour’ as referring to all their Jewish compatriots and
proselytes, whilst excluding ‘non-Pharisees, the sons of darkness,
heretics, or even personal enemies’.
However, in answering the lawyer’s question about what
constitutes a true neighbour, Jesus tells the parable of the Good
Samaritan. Jesus’ response expands one’s understanding of the
definition of a neighbour as everyone who is in need, regardless
of his or her ethnic, linguistic, religious, national and cultural
background (Lk 10:30–37). Although the writer agrees with
Manson’s (2012:161) claim that the primary message of Luke
10:25–37 is to show people the impossibility of attaining salvation
by works because people cannot keep the law, one can also
underscore that in this Lukan passage, Jesus is possibly expanding
the Israelites’ limited definition of neighbour from their fellow
Israelites to all humankind who are in need. At the end of the
parable of the Good Samaritan, the lawyer perceives that to ‘obey
God’s command of neighbourly love meant caring for anyone he
came across who was in need’ (Manson 2012:161).
In responding to the lawyer’s question about who his neighbour
is, Jesus is very innovative2 as he does not offer the lawyer a
hypothetical definition of the term; instead, in Luke 10:30–37,
Jesus answers indirectly by telling the story of the Good Samaritan
(Ryken 2009:541). The writer agrees with Ryken (2009:541–542)
that, by placing the Samaritan at the centre of this parable (v. 33),
Jesus makes the lawyer think beyond his usual categories of a
neighbour. Now, the question is who were the Samaritans?
According to Brindle (1984:47–75), the Samaritan people were
considered as half Jewish and half Gentile because they ‘claim[ed]
to be the remnant of the kingdom of Israel, specifically of the
tribes of Ephraim and Manasseh, with priests of the line of Aaron/
Levi’; however, they were anti-Jewish and did not fear God
2. Here, the writer is aware that, in the wider context of the passage, Jesus is actually saying
that God’s grace is not confined to Jews as he also saves and gifts Gentiles in order to use
them to accomplish good purposes and plans for the world.
77
(Brindle 1984:47). They adhered to the Samaritan Pentateuch, a

religion that was closely related to Judaism. The Samaritans
believed that their worship that was centralised in Samaritan
Pentateuch was the true religion of the ancient Israelites (Brindle
1984:47–75). Because of the aforementioned claims and many
more different beliefs, it is apparent that the Jews and the
Samaritans had a very strained relationship to the extent that, as
related in John 8:48, when the Jews wanted to curse Jesus, they
called him a demon-possessed Samaritan (Brindle 1984).3
Having briefly described the background of Samaritans, it is
now proper to indicate that the parable of the Good Samaritan
confronts the lawyer with a dying man who had fallen amongst
robbers as he was going from Jerusalem to Jericho (Lk 10:30). It
is important to note that Jesus does not disclose the identity of
this dying man; instead, he simply reveals that he was robbed
whilst he was on his way from Jerusalem to Jericho (Blajer
2012:161). Given this, one would concur with Blajer (2012), who
argues that:
Since there is no direct identification, the anonymity of the man is
crucial for the rest of the narrative, and this anonymity should be
preserved. Any attempt to identify the wounded man as a Jew is
tendentious. (p. 161)
However, commenting on Luke 10:30, Ryken (2009:542), Nolland

(1993:593) and Jeffrey (2012:149) view the perilous events in
Jesus’ story as common occurrences during that material time.
As Ryken (2009:542) notes, the road from Jerusalem to Jericho
was narrow and it passes ‘through treacherous countries’. Thus,
with the ‘narrow passages and dangerous precipices’ of the road
from Jerusalem to Jericho, ‘it was an ideal place for thieves and
bandits to ambush lonely travelers’ (Blajer 2012:162; Ryken
2009:542; cf. Jeffrey 2012:149; Nolland 1993:593).
As Jesus related in Luke 10:31–32, many people use the
Jerusalem to Jericho road and saw the dying man in desperate
3. For more information about who the Samaritans were, see Brindle (1984).
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need, but refrained from offering him any help. The first two
people who passed by and noticed the dying man were religious
leaders, namely, the priest and the Levite (Lk 10:31–32). The writer
agrees with Ryken (2009:542) and Nolland (1993:593) that what
the priest and the Levite did in this case is unexpected because,
as religious figures, they are supposed to stop and save the man’s
life. Instead of stopping and saving the dying man, the priest and
the Levite pretended not to have noticed him (Lk 10:31b, 32b).
The sin of the priest and the Levite, in this case, is intensified
by the presumption that they could have been coming from
Jerusalem to worship God or to perform their religious duties in
the temple, such as offering sacrifices and reciting the law (Ryken
2009:542). However, after leaving the temple in Jerusalem, these
religious leaders are confronted by a man in a desperate situation
but they failed to ‘keep the law of God’s love or to offer themselves
as living sacrifices for a neighbor in need’ (Ryken 2009:542;
cf. Nolland 1993:593).
Nevertheless, Luke 10:33 contrasts the Samaritan with the
religious figures of Israel (i.e. priest and the Levite) and presents
him as a different person, because he acts with compassion in
four ways:
1. the Samaritan sees the victim, goes to him and binds up his
wounds
2. he provides shelter for the dying man by taking him on his
own animal to an inn, wherein he continues to take care of him
3. the Samaritan gives two denarii to the innkeeper so that he
could continue to take care of the victim
4. finally, the Samaritan advises the innkeeper to address all the
needs that may arise in the process of looking after the victim
and he would reimburse the money when he comes back.
The juxtaposition of these three categories of people becomes
sharply vivid when, in Luke 10:36, Jesus asks the lawyer to name
who amongst the priest, the Levite and the Samaritan is the
neighbour of the victim. The lawyer correctly responds to Jesus’
question by asserting that the neighbour of the victim is the
79
Samaritan who shows him mercy (Lk 10:37a). As the lawyer’s

response is correct, Jesus concludes the parable by asking the
lawyer to go and act as the Samaritan had done to the robbery
victim (Lk 10:37b).
Nolland (1993:597) submits that now the ‘Samaritan has
become a neighbour through his compassionate action, but
integral to this concrete action has been his own seeing of the
situation from the victim’s point of view’. Unlike the priest and
the Levite who looked at the victim from afar and pretended as if
they have not seen him, the Samaritan sympathised and identified
himself with the situation of the dying man and consequently
took action to save his life (Nolland 1993:597). The only thing that
qualifies the Samaritan as a neighbour is the mercy that he shows
the victim. That is, the lawyer’s response in Luke 10:37 to Jesus’
question in Luke 10:36 indicates that (Nolland 1993):
[I]n showing mercy to the needy man, the Samaritan has become a
neighbor to the injured man. Despite the huge distance that separated
the Samaritan from the covenant community of God’s people, from
a desperate victim’s perspective he could be neighbor. The lawyer is
challenged to take up precisely this victim perspective as he is called
to love his neighbor as himself. (p. 508)
The concept of neighbourliness in

Luke 10:25–37 as a theological theory
that affects how one may think and
act positively in response to migrant
challenges
In the narrative of the Good Samaritan discussed above, the
lawyer’s limited definition of neighbour is both challenged and
corrected. The lawyer’s initial assumption is that his neighbours
are his Jewish compatriots, but the parable of the Good Samaritan
challenges him to think otherwise (Barca 2011:100; Blajer 2012:8).
Instead of acting like the religious leaders, namely, the priest and
the Levite, the Samaritan demonstrates mercy towards the
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unknown victim of robbery (Barca 2011; Blajer 2012). The

Samaritan’s (Lk 10:25–37) clearly indicates the imperative to
practise love and compassion without limits towards fellow
humankind (Baca 2011:101). Here, the Samaritan’s love results in
him seeing the desperate situation of the robbery victim, whose
identity is unknown, and treating him as a neighbour who
deserves compassion and care. That is, unlike the priest and the
Levite, Christians should emulate the love of the Samaritan that
goes beyond ethnicity as he sees, empathises and assists the
unknown victim (Barca 2011:100).
In expanding the aforementioned conception, Ryken
(2009:541) and Gooding (1987:203) contend that this Lukan
passage challenges the ethnocentric attitude that existed during
the time of Luke when the Israelites could only speak of their
neighbours as their fellow covenant community members,
namely, fellow Israelites, as opposed to people from neighbouring
nations (Gooding 1987; Ryken 2009). This denotes that, in the
lawyer’s view, specific groups of people were supposed to be
included in, or excluded from, his circle of love. Although
the aforementioned understanding (Gooding 1987; Ryken 2009)
is reasonable, it is apparent that the authors do not discuss Jesus’
rationale for not providing the ethnic or national identity of the
victim in this story (Gooding 1987; Ryken 2009). In other words,
although one can try to speculate about the national or ethnic
identity of the victim in this Lukan passage, it would be a fruitless
endeavour because Jesus does not disclose it in the text
(Lk 10:25–37) for a reason (Blajer 2012:161). By excluding the
identity of the victim, Jesus is moving towards the establishment
of the point that a neighbour is not defined by the ethnic, religious,
linguistic and national boundaries. Instead, one’s neighbour is
anyone who is in need, thus buttressing the notion of shared
common humanity. Therefore, people should be compassionate
and loving towards anyone who is in a desperate situation, as the
Samaritan in Jesus’ story exemplifies. At this juncture, Jesus
dismisses the common misconception that a neighbour is a
person from next door, a family member or someone from the
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same ethnic, national and language categories (Gooding

1987:203; Ryken 2009:440–441).
Given the above-mentioned understanding of the narrative of
the Good Samaritan, one can possibly argue that as Jesus gives
this parable, he has in mind the doctrine of the imago Dei [image
of God] as derived from Genesis 1:27, which calls on one to view
all human beings as the bearers of the image of God4 who should
be treated equally (Barca 2011:18–63). That is, in this context
Jesus Christ is God, the creator in the action of redefining the
true meaning of neighbour to sinful mankind who are most likely
to assist only those with whom they share the same ethnic and
national identities (Barca 2011). In Jesus’ view, one is obligated to
care for every human being who is in need because everyone is a
neighbour. Commenting on Luke 10:25–37, Barca (2011)
understands that this passage confronts the reader with relational
anthropology that:
[D]emands not only recognition of the Other as neighbour, but as
image of God. The double commandment of love demands an ‘I-Thou’
relationship with God and the Other who may be poor or non-poor,
believer or not believer, but s/he is a person, child and image of God.
(p. 62)
Given this, it does not matter whether the Levite and the priest in
this story were in a hurry or busy; what is important is that when
people come across the needy, Jesus challenges them to look
beyond their national, ethnic, tribal and language boundaries and
address the desperate situation, as the Good Samaritan did when
he came to the aid of the dying man.
It can be argued that the above-mentioned misconception of
the notion of a neighbour is evident in many and different aspects
of contemporary societies and communities (Gooding 1987:203;
Ryken 2009:541). For example, citizens and governments of
4. For an understanding of the meaning of human beings as the bearers of the image of
God, see Simango (2016) and Magezi and Magezi (2018). In different ways, these scholars
advocate for a combined understanding of the image of God in man, that is, the functional,
relational and substantive perspectives.
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Chapter 3
migrant hosting nations sometimes exclude foreign nationals on

the basis of ethnicity, nationality and language differences
(Gooding 1987; Ryken 2009). Given this, the writer concurs with
Ryken’s (2009) application of this Lukan passage to contemporary
contexts in the following way:
The attitude is equally common today. Sometimes we draw the
boundary along ethnic lines, excluding people from a different
background. Sometimes we draw it along religious lines. We do a
decent job of caring for other Christians, but we much less concern
for people outside the church. Sometimes we draw the boundary
along social lines, making a distinction between the deserving and
the undeserving poor. Sometimes we simply exclude people whose
problem seems too large for us to handle. But wherever we draw the
line, we find the lawyer’s logic compelling. We have to make choices
in life. Our love has to have no limits. (p. 541)
Magezi (2019:11) agrees with Ryken’s (2009) observation that Luke

10:25–37 qualifies that, with regard to caring for the needy, shared
national, ethnic, cultural, linguistic and religious backgrounds should
not be considered as prerequisite conditions. This is because the
good news of the gospel that emanates from the proposed Lukan
passage implies that being a neighbour is an act, not a status. It can,
thus, be contended that the discussion considered so far with regard
to the story of the Good Samaritan in Luke 10:25–37 provides a
biblical perspective that sheds light as well as challenges individuals
to cater for the needs of migrants without considering their national,
cultural, ethnic and linguistic backgrounds.
Arguing from a theory formation level, the concept of
neighbourliness that emerges from Luke 10:25–37 views all human
beings as intricately linked on the basis of shared common
humanity, which holds that all people are bearers of the image of
God. This theory should thus operate as the locus and
hermeneutical prism that shapes Christian thinking and provides
the theological basis for Christian ethics in the complex situation
of migrants. At a practical level, the aforementioned theory
formation of the concept of neighbourliness should inculcate a
constructive socio-theological and community response that
83
results in host citizens and nations embracing migrants and

responding to their needs. In bringing together the theory
formation level and practical dimensions of the concept of
neighbourliness, it can be concluded that the proposed concept
of neighbourliness challenges one to have the following worldview
in the context of complex migrant challenges: my neighbour
and I are intricately linked together through neighbourliness
whereupon the complex challenges of a migrant are viewed
empathetically from the perspective of someone based on
common humanity as created in the image of God.
Conclusion
This chapter has provided a considerable number of complex
challenges of migrants that demand the church to develop a
theological theory of these challenges. Complexity implies
nonlinear thinking, whereby one has to explore frameworks that
could be applied to contribute towards a constructive perspective.
The chapter also identified and explored the narrative of the Good
Samaritan, in Luke 10:25–37, as a critical text that fosters
constructive thinking, which results in practical action in caring for
migrants. The concept of neighbourliness was identified with the
African concept of Ubuntu, which seems to have failed to be of
much significance in fostering care and compassion for one
another in the African context. After that the concept of
neighbourliness, which emerges from Luke 10:25–31, was advanced
as the basis for developing a certain theological thinking that
results in one considering a foreigner, who is the other, as someone
whom he or she can identify as his or her neighbour. In other
words, the chapter contended that the concept of neighbourliness
in the narrative of the Good Samaritan, in Luke 10:25–37, offers a
biblical perspective that could shed light, as well as challenge
individuals to be involved with migrants’ needs, despite the
differences in national, cultural, ethnic and linguistic backgrounds.
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Chapter 4
Towards understanding
migrants’ coping
mechanisms and
development of an
operative ecclesiology
as church care
response: Home away
from home migrants’
church care
Vhumani Magezi
How to cite: Magezi, V., 2020, ‘Towards understanding migrants’ coping mechanisms and
development of an operative ecclesiology as church care response: Home away from
home migrants’ church care’, in A.R. Brunsdon (ed.), The human dilemma of displacement:
Towards a practical theology and ecclesiology of home, pp. 85–101, AOSIS, Cape Town.
85
Towards understanding migrants’ coping mechanisms
Abstract
Displaced people termed migrants experience various challenges.
The countries receiving migrants either accept, welcome and
accommodate them or reject them overtly or covertly. To cope
with their situation, amongst other things, the migrants have
established their own separate churches in host countries. The
members of these churches tend to be migrants from
the same countries or regions of origin. These migrant practices
seek to provide a sense of home and belonging as well as ensure
survival. Within this context, theological reflection and ministry
on migration have largely focused on one side, namely, churches
in migrant receiving nations (host). The discussion has tended to
focus on exclusion as well as inhospitable aspects of host nation
churches but overlooking the contribution of migrants themselves
to exclusion through formation of exclusive migrant ethnic and
racial churches. This chapter develops a church responsive
ministry to migrants that employs the notion of eschatological
home. At a theoretical level, the chapter employs a kingdom
reversal principle and eschatological perspective, which guides
the development of three operative ecclesiological principles:
congregational conscious raising and empowerment,
congregational seeing and congregational practical interventions.
Keywords: Migrants ministry; Kingdom reversal and eschatology;
Eschatological home; Home away from home; Migrants’ coping
mechanisms; Operative ecclesiology; Inclusive churches; Migrant
contextual ministry.
Introduction
Migration, which, according to Skeldon (2013:2), refers to moving
from a place of ‘origin to a destination, or from a place of birth to
another destination across international borders’, has risen in
recent years. Migration and refugees are mutually and intricately
connected concepts. Gilmore (2016), the Deputy High
Commissioner for Human Rights, in her keynote address on
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‘Migrants in transit’ rightly used the term migration to include

refugees. She (Gilmore 2016:n.p.) maintained that the word
migrant does not ‘exclude refugees or other more precisely
defined legal categories of persons such as victims of trafficking’.
On the contrary, the term migration is a ‘neutral umbrella term for
a group of people who have in common a lack of citizenship
attachment to their host country’ (Gilmore 2016:n.p.). Refugees
refer to people who move across the borders because of
life-threatening crisis. Hence, refugees refer to a kind of forced
migration, whilst other migrants can migrate voluntarily to their
countries of interest. However, whether the moving is voluntary
or forced, in essence, both categories of people are migrants.
Migration can be both local and international (IOM 2015:35;
Skeldon 2013:2). Notably, migrants and refugees are displaced
people. In this chapter, the term migrant will be used as an
inclusive term to refer to displaced people (i.e. migrants and
refugees). The displacement causes destabilisation of people’s
whole being at different levels, namely, physical, social, emotional
and spiritual. To cope with the destabilisation, support for
migrants by host communities is imperative, whilst attitudes of
migrants are equally critical for coping as well as effective migrant
and host integration.
Coping entails an individual’s effort to survive, solve problems
and reduce stress. Coping is controlled by habitual traits as well
as one’s social environment. With migrant people’s environment
disrupted, their home and support structures have vanished.
Hence, the notion of home needs to be rethought amongst
migrants. At the same time, host communities need to consider
how to make the environment homely for migrants. However,
within the dynamic relationship of migrant and host, a new sense
of what ‘home’ means needs to be considered. At a theological
level, the notion of home needs to be rethought by both migrants
and host communities to foster a new understanding and
perspective of home. A new perspective of home should foster
practical care and concern for migrants as well as unreserved
embrace by hosts. The question that emerges is: how should
home be understood to foster a perspective that challenges
87
churches to care for migrants? How should this understanding of

home shift from only placing a burden on host communities to
also challenge migrants to rethink their notion of home to
stimulate them to actively explore integration with host
communities? At stake is the question: within a theological
understanding of home, what practical ministerial structures can
possibly be developed within churches to assist migrants to
cope? What church community structures can be erected to aid
the coping of migrants? How can the challenge of embracing
migrants be a catalyst for transformative ecclesiological and
ministerial approaches where both migrant and host interact in
manner that brings about reciprocal humaneness and mutual
compassion? This chapter argues that the church as a subsystem
of society can adopt an operative ecclesiological approach to
encourage church care response that is driven by a notion of
home. Such an understanding is informed by an eschatological
perspective of home. To employ the notion of home meaningfully,
the ‘kingdom reversals and eschatological recognition’
(Broughton & Prentis 2019:8) approach will be employed within a
context of public theology.
Towards a kingdom reversal

and eschatological recognition
framework
Theology done at the public square where there are pluralistic
voices is complex. The public space, which in our context refers
to migrants, requires public theology’s interruptive and
imaginative task (Fretheim 2016). Pearson (2019) clarified the
task of public theology as being able to be:
[B]ilingual and evoke much needed passion for truthfulness, integrity
and civil discourse, especially in a time when fake news is too easily and
too often trumped up. The purpose of public theology is also to express
its concern for the public good in a way to be acted upon. (p. xvi)
Enacting public good in situations such as migration is stressful.

The migrants’ demand for care amongst host communities is
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causing burn out and compassion fatigue across the globe (Louw
2015; Schjonberg 2017). In this situation, one theological approach
that could give public theology ‘arms and feet’ beyond just
reflection in our context is the theology of great reversals in the
gospel of Luke. Broughton and Prentis (2019:8) explained that in
the gospels, sin is often portrayed as blindness, which reminds us
that we do not recognise God or each other because we are finite,
fallen and foolish. The gift of sight to the blind (seeing again),
which entails seeing God, ourselves and others regarding our
shared history, is one key dimension of the reversals. Thus, the
promise of full recognition as indicated in 1 Corinthians 13:1 is
eschatological in nature because we currently see dimly and
partly, but we shall see fully later as we have been fully known by
Christ. Full seeing and full recognition are a promise in Christ. The
gift of seeing has ethical responsibilities for people in the kingdom
of God. Therefore, Broughton and Prentis (2019) concluded that:
The gift of seeing each other afresh animates reversals where guests
become hosts, and hosts become guests. The mutual giving and
receiving required by such reversals mean that both parties must
recognise something about themselves in order to recognise the
other. The discussion of guests and host in the kingdom begins,
naturally, with God as host surrounded by a large and diverse
gathering of hosts. (p. 8)
To illustrate the reversal, in Luke 13, God welcomes many guests

at his table in an eschatological banquet where guests are fully
known (Lk 13:29). However, there is a reversal as the people will
come from east, west, south and north, whilst those who thought
deserved to be there are thrown out. There are many such
teachings, but in Luke 19 where Jesus encounters Zacchaeus
provides another clearer reversal picture. Zacchaeus is a sinful
individual who amassed wealth through tax collection. Despite
his wealth, Zacchaeus was not satisfied and longed to see Jesus.
Reversals happen to Zacchaeus. Jesus invites himself to
Zacchaeus’s house. This rich host Zacchaeus should open his
home and heart. In this encounter with Zacchaeus, Jesus is the
true generous host who discovers Zacchaeus’s emptiness and
need for forgiveness resulting in him (Jesus) inviting himself to
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Zacchaeus’s house. Zacchaeus, the host, receives Jesus as the

guest. However, Jesus is the true generous host who recognises
the need in Zacchaeus’s life. In this story, instead of being a guest,
Jesus becomes the host who receives Zacchaeus into the
kingdom and embraces him generously. The host (Zacchaeus)
got reversed to guest, whilst Jesus, the guest, becomes the host.
In our context of migrant responses, the kingdom reversal
framework presents a challenge and reality that host communities
in control should be freed from their privileged position of being
in their comfortable homes to be transformed to care for migrants.
And yet, the migrants also should realise their weaknesses and
emptiness as well. Importantly, the great reversal occurs through
pneumatological transformation where kingdom people perform
evident public good deeds.
Conception of home amongst

migrants and some coping strategies
To gain clarity on the situation of migrants, the notion of home
and what it entails should be employed to understand their
(migrants) losses and challenges. Home to many people,
particularly to migrants of African descent, means a lot of things
(Magezi 2019a:4–6). At a surface level, it means a dwelling place.
However, at a deeper level, it means the essence of being a human
being (Magezi 2019a:4–6). Home is associated with many things
that make an individual whole and to be truly human. Amongst
African people, home is closely linked to physical, social, religious,
spiritual, culture, emotions and psychological well-being. Home
cannot be conceived outside these integrated dimensions.
Home is conceived as a physical and geographical place. For
instance, people travel from cities where they work to rural homes
during holidays such as Easter and Christmas. People work hard
to build good houses and make investments like buying cattle in
their rural homes despite having a dwelling place in the city. The
rural home is considered the real home where one retires and
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gets buried when they die. Home is a place where one has familiar
people whom they share a history, culture and tradition with.
Home is where one’s family, particularly extended family, is
located. A geographical place where relatives and family members
are not located is considered a temporary shelter, and not a real
home. Wealth that is accumulated in cities or any other place of
work and not brought back to one’s geographical home where
relatives live is considered lost and wasted. Any place away from
your geographical location is a temporary place for sourcing
goods, a kind of a hunting place where one should collect goods
to bring home (Magezi 2017a:111–114).
One’s social networks are found at home, a place of your birth,
which is also a place of your ancestors. Your religion and tradition
is preserved and nurtured at home. At home, your community
shares a common religion as you. Despite adopting other religions
such as Christianity or Islam, one’s home and family religion hold
great sway on an individual. Your home defines your identity, life
and ‘compass’ in life. Your ancestors are found in the land of your
fathers, which is your home. For this reason, Bhugra (2004)
observed that:
When individuals migrate, they do not leave their beliefs or idioms of
distress behind, no matter what the circumstances of their migration.
Their beliefs influence their idioms of distress, which influence how
they express symptoms and their help-seeking behaviour. (p. 134)
Home brings peace and stability in one’s life and psyche. Success
and progress are shared with one’s family and home. Ekhaya
[home] is a place of emotional gratification, fulfilment and
affirmation by the whole community. Thus, ekhaya [home] brings
belonging, appreciation, purpose and a sense of being fully
human (Louw 2017:1).
Therefore, when one’s home is disrupted through migration, a
huge gap exists. A void that needs to be filled will be felt and
experienced in all dimensions of one’s life. It is understandable
why migrants from similar geographical backgrounds tend to
look out for each other. A community of people who share a
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similar background are considered empathetic and sympathetic

to one’s experiences and struggles. For instance, Kenyans,
Congolese, Somalians and so on would look out for each other in
a foreign land (Adogame 2013:494). In cases of ‘in country’
migration, people from the same geographic areas look out for
each other also. Thus, Datta et al. (2006:17) observed that at
community level, migrants use community-based coping
strategies that entail the use of networks to share information
about accessing work and many other needs. Information-sharing
amongst ethnic networks is especially important amongst
migrant communities. Amongst other things, these social
networks assist to find cheap accommodation and employment.
Sometimes migrants share accommodation with others to reduce
costs. Migrants also direct each other to where employment
opportunities exist.
Adogame (2013:494) observed that religion, particularly
churches or mosques are also a critical coping resource for
migrants. Adogame (2013:494) explained that ethnic groupings
are part of the main reason for the existence of ethnic churches
in the diaspora. He (Adogame) stated that Christianity as a
religion and religious belonging provides a central motive for
mutual migrants support for each other. Thus, religious identity
can be a crucial resource for decision-making processes in the
host countries, for vitalising culture of origin and for action within
the integration processes in a host context. Also, religious
institutions provide migrants with opportunities of vital import
for mixing with people from different cultural backgrounds under
the umbrella of a common religion. Consequently, the search for
physical access to resources, emotional support and nurturing of
the feeling of ethnic home, and the search for survival of social
networks interplay to sustain diaspora ethnic religious
communities such as churches.
These diaspora efforts aim to provide a kind of a buffer to the
lost home whilst at the same time create a sense of a new home.
The physical, social, emotional and spiritual void created by the
‘lost’ home finds some form of replacement in ethnic churches.
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Within this situation, the question that arises is: what meaningful
roles can churches play to address the needs of migrants? How
could the void of a ‘lost home’ be somehow replaced through an
operative ecclesiology and practical migrant ministry? Magezi
(2017b) explained that:
An operative ecclesiology refers to performative actions of being
the church within concrete contexts. It reflects on ecclesial matters
not merely from the viewpoint of denominational traditions and
dogmatic confessions, but within communal life systems. At the heart
of an operative ecclesiology is the question: what does it mean to be
church in my context? And within the context of migrants and host
nation churches in our global world, where people are in a constant
move, it poses the question: how should church be done and practiced
in order to reflect the multi-coloured face that it is portrayed – every
people, language, and tongue (Rv 7:9)? (pp. 238–239)
An operative ecclesiology could be aided by the eschatological

perspective within the situation of migration.
Eschatological perspective within the

notion of home amongst migrants
Eschatology is a doctrine that focuses on the final or last things,
which derived from the Greek word eschaton, meaning ‘last’.
However, eschatology does not only refer to the end of time but
also to ‘the now’. The now dimension of eschatology is called
realised eschatology, a term that was coined and popularised by
C.H. Dodd (Sanders 2009:2). Sanders (2009:2) explained that
Dodd argued that realised eschatology replaces ‘the end is near’
with ‘the end is here’. Dodd maintained that we should understand
Jesus’ message that ‘the kingdom of God is at hand’ (Sanders
2009:2) with an emphasis on the kingdom of God’s presence as
right here. Further to the realised eschatology by Dodd, Ladd
coined the phrase ‘already/not yet’ referring to the notion that
Christ brought the final things in his own person and work and yet
there are still unredeemed things awaiting his return (Sanders
2009:3). Thus, the kingdom now and not yet signifies a tension
within a Christian’s life. Accordingly, the church is sandwiched in
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the realised eschatology (kingdom now) and kingdom not yet

(unrealised eschatology). Louw (1998) in Pastoral Hermeneutics of
Care and Encounter explained that this tension is resolved through
adopting a pneumatological perspective. A pneumat ological
perspective entails that an individual becomes part of the kingdom
now through spiritual transformation and exists in this ontic
being and continues right through to end (i.e. realisation of the
kingdom not yet) through the pneumatological enablement.
Locating the discussion within a context of pastoral care, Louw
(2014) clarified that eschatology provides a constructive
perspective by the fact that:
Due to the not-yet factor, life is never complete and our being
human always incomplete and unfinished, thus the notion of homo
absconditus [the essence of being is a mystery, hidden in the not-yet
of human existence]. (p. 2)
Within the context of migration where people have been displaced

from their homes, Magezi (2017b:239–240) linked the notion of a
physical home to an eschatological home. Magezi (2017b)
explained that an individual’s eschatological position, particularly
in the situation of displacement:
[R]epresents a progressive and constructive mind-set that emerges
from a pneumatological state of being, a state of spirituality
where home is both a state of being (realised eschatology) and
an anticipated ‘still to come’ home/place (unrealised eschatology).
The actual home and citizenship (Philippians 3:20) are a place
of dwelling with Christ (John 14:1–4) in heaven (Revelation 21:3).
However, home is here now by virtue of union with Christ (realised
eschatology) and not necessarily geographical and also futuristic
only. In this sense, both host country people and migrants are
strangers on a migrating journey to a real home (unrealised
eschatology). They are homo viator, pilgims, and people on their
way towards a final home. This mind-set challenges individuals
to be in a continuous state of transformation and re-imagination
of what it means to live in a global village where migrants are a
key part of that life. It helps people to redefine and explore new
approaches to being human in a global village. It makes one contend
with complexity and options, which Korsch (2011) calls exploring
new categories (‘Spuren des Selbstausdrucks und Wetaneignung’).
(pp. 239–240)
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In the context of our discussion, an eschatological perspective

challenges churches to cultivate Christian public ethics. Public
ethics refers to Christian duty because of one’s pneumatological
ontic being (realised eschatology). Christian public ethics is
about doing ethics in the public space, that is, a non-church
environment where church and non-church migrants exist.
Christians exist in this public space as an institution (church) and
as private human beings (individuals in the community and in
their homes). It is in this space, Müller (2004) argues:
[W]here specific contexts and experiences are interpreted; in-
context experiences are listened to and described; interpretations
of experiences are made, described and developed; a description of
experiences as it is continually informed by traditions of interpretation;
a reflection on God’s presence, as it is understood and experienced in
a specific situation; a description of experience, understood through
interdisciplinary investigation and the development of alternative
interpretations that point beyond the local community. (p. 300)
Müller’s argument is that our human actions as Christians should

have an intentional goal of co-existence with other human beings
such as migrants. We are bound in contextual realities with other
people. Thus, Christian public ethics represent the health of the
church, an apt metaphor for the church as an ‘organism’ – the
‘sent’ church – that has a public role to play. This suggests that
public ethics should be a thermometer to measure what church
and Christianity should look like under the Lordship of Christ. The
purpose of the church is to serve the Lord in serving the world
filled with people who are struggling such as migrants. Noting this
challenge, the task of public practical theology, public pastoral
care and Christian public ethics is to guide church reflection
actions in the frontline of people’s lives. According to Osmer’s
(2008:4) practical theology framework, which is a useful
underpinning framework for practical Christian ministry, practical
theology assists one to interpret situations or contexts presented
from a hermeneutical perspective relying on biblical concepts to
construct ethical norms to guide and provide responses to the
existential questions, which should lead to devising strategies for
action that will influence situations and practically impact people.
95
Thus, from the above discussion, physical home should be

transformed to an eschatological home. An eschatological home
indicates a new state of ‘thinking about home’ and ‘living at
home’. Both a migrant and a host country person view their
current existential situations they call home redefined and
transformed to a state of temporariness (realised eschatology)
but with a long-term view of permanent home (unrealised
eschatology). Home becomes a place for service where people
display public ethics of mutual care and embracing communities.
In view of the previous discussions, how then do we proceed
from the understanding of eschatological home and the notion
of kingdom reversals to develop congregational ministries that
effectively provide care for migrants as well as cultivate a health
perspective to both host people and migrants?
Reversals and eschatological

home as operative ecclesiological
framework
The demands and expectation to care for migrants are increasingly
putting immense pressure on host people. Care for migrants is
indeed causing compassion fatigue. Louw (2015) commented that:
Researchers are of the opinion that compassion fatigue is related to
compassion stress, burnout, secondary victimisation, co-victimisation,
contact victimisation, vicarious victimisation, secondary survivor and
emotional contagion. The fact is that the experience of trauma affects
all of the people involved, including the support systems. (p. 1)
Good intentions by hosts to care for migrants can sometimes be

construed as pushing migrants as one makes effort to lead them in
certain directions to ensure integration. Integration and inclusion
efforts may also cause tensions and discomfort on both hosts and
migrants. In this complex situation, migrants may develop a victim
mentality, whilst host people may be complacent to offer any help
to migrants. In this situation, a kingdom reversal perspective is a
critical mental shifting approach that should be encouraged.
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The host people who are in comfortable situations should

embrace kingdom of God ethics. This entails using other people
as a mirror, a solidarity and identification of host and migrant.
Solidarity is having a relationship with every other human being
and an obligation to pursue their well-being, especially in
situations where they are not able to take actions on their own.
This pertains to the fact that an individual is morally required to
be concerned for the good of others. Therefore, solidarity is the
recognition of interdependence and the duty to act for the
common good, that common good ultimately stretching to all
who inhabit this planet. Identity relates to a sense of shared
belonging that is founded on a common vision of the nature of
human life and relations in co-ordinating their behaviour to realise
shared ends based on norms governing these. Christian ethics
are guided by the principle ‘Do to others whatever you would like
them do to you. This is the law and the prophets’ (Mt 7:12). This is
encouraged by the words of Jesus, ‘the kingdom of God is among
you’ (Lk 17:21). Therefore, authentic Christian spirituality is
undoubtedly concerned with the shaping of and practice of
human life, but embodies everyday practicalities and serves as a
framework of ethics (Sheldrake 2019:xi).
Kingdom reversal and eschatological thinking places
responsibility to both host and migrants. It avoids a one-sided
focus where hosts are blamed for lack of hospitality. Magezi
(2017b:241) explained that an eschatological perspective
‘represents a constructive position, a mind-set and responsive
action to be possessed by both migrants and host nation
individuals (and communities)’. Furthermore, an eschatological
perspective is a (Magezi 2017b):
[P]rogressive and constructive mind-set that emerges from a
pneumatological state of being, a state of spirituality where home is
both a state of being (realised eschatology) and an anticipated ‘still
to come’ home/place (unrealised eschatology). The realisation that
humans are homo viator evokes gratitude in a person. To the migrant,
gratitude arises among other things, from appreciating provisions in
a foreign country, while to the host, the peace enjoyed in the host
country should also arouse gratitude. (p. 241)
97
Thus, an eschatological thinking makes both host and migrant

people who have been welcomed by the host Jesus Christ in his
kingdom where equality exists. In this situation, host people’s
seeming situation of peace and comfort is reversed to a situation
of need. Both host and migrant are in a dim situation where they
strive to be welcomed by God who is the real host in future
eschatological home. However, in the interim, there should be a
mutual and gracious embrace of the other.
How then do we proceed to develop a congregational ministry
that effectively provides care for migrants as well as cultivate a
health perspective to both host people and migrants? In response,
an operational ecclesiology that is driven by three mutually interactive
responses, namely (1) congregational conscious raising and
empowerment, (2) congregational seeing and (3) congregational
practical interventions, is proposed (see Figure 4.1).
Within the proposed operational ecclesiological approach,
congregational conscious raising and empowerment dimension
Congregational
conscious raising
and empowerment
Congregational practical
Congregational seeing
interventions
FIGURE 4.1: Interactive migrant responses within an operational ecclesiology.
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entails preparing the congregation for a practical ministerial

response through information-sharing to build awareness and
consciousness on migrant issues. This is a systematic socio-
theological engagement and discussion to unfreeze possible
negative attitudes towards migrants. Information-sharing raises
consciousness on how to practically live out the life of faith. This
process also entails guiding congregation members on responding
to the diverse challenges posed by migration to avoid a numbness
and overwhelming experience because of migrants’ many needs.
To ensure church members as individuals and corporately
critically reflect on their positioning in migration situation,
reflection and reflexion should be done. Reflection within the
situation of migrants entails critical thinking about the
congregation’s practices towards migrants. Reflexivity refers to
reflecting back on oneself. It is a critical approach where the
congregation questions its position and involvement in the
situation of migrants. The congregation might be apathetic and
contributing to the pain and ostracisation of migrants. At the
same time, migrants themselves might be acting in a manner that
causes ostracisation such as forming migrant enclaves and
resisting integration.
Thus, conscious raising and empowerment is providing
information and cultivating a culture of critical reflection. In this
process, theological thinking and resources that could be used
for migrant care are explored and discussed. The use of theological
resources and church activities such as Bible studies is focused
on relevant themes such as counselling, identity in Christ,
humanity and human dignity, mutual support, supportive
counselling and so on. During this process, most appropriate and
relevant approaches are identified and prioritised for practical
implementation.
Congregational seeing is a metaphor that implies developing
systematic approaches of observing community people’s needs
such as migrants and developing clear ways to intervene. The
Systematic Theologian Smit (2003:476) in his essay ‘On learning
to see?’ guided that Christian ethics start with an act of seeing.
99
This entails perceiving the problem, accepting the challenge and

interpreting ways of responding. Seeing entails proper analysis of
the situation, finding possible actions available, testing options
and making decisions. Hendriks (2004) described the process of
seeing as contextual analysis whereby the data are drawn through
contextual analysis methodologies. In our context of migration,
seeing entails efforts to overcome possible congregational apathy
through clear identification of migrants’ needs. This entails
observing changes in the context of the congregation, inflow of
new people, noticing needs of new people coming into the area,
identifying and profiling where they are coming from, understanding
their background, identifying their needs and so on. Seeing is an
approach of cultivating and challenging the congregation to be
immersed in the contextual realities of the people around it as well
as national and global challenges. Therefore, from seeing, practical
interventions are sought to address the identified (seen) needs.
Practical seeing overcomes apathy by challenging congregations
to practically act. Migrants’ needs are not theoretical. Their needs
range from spiritual to physical.
Congregational practical interventions entail developing
relevant practical interventions to address the diverse needs of
migrants. Migrants have physical, economic, spiritual, social,
emotional, legal and security needs. The church needs to develop
a systematic approach of addressing systemic needs of migrants.
Some may require proper documents, whilst others may require
a spiritual home. The congregation there should be alert and be
responsive. However, the challenge is that the congregation will
be pulled in many directions and has limited resources. Magezi
(2019b) noted that:
As the church engages in various church ministries, the pastor gets
pulled in different directions. As a result, the pastor relies on teams
of volunteers who have their own family and home priorities as well.
Straddling between spiritual and development work stretches the
pastor beyond his or her limits. This poses a risk of leaving other
things undone. Therefore, making strategic choices on the issues to
engage is critical, which Greider (2008:54) referred to as choice on
what to triage. (p. 11)
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To overcome the risk of the pastor doing everything, there is a

need to develop an ecosystem of support for referral of cases to
other urgencies. This challenges the pastor to develop a
systematic way of managing migrant challenges to avoid being
overwhelmed.
Conclusion
The chapter considered the need to develop a church responsive
ministry within a context of displaced people who are migrants.
The chapter also argued that the displacement of results on loss
of homes is the central aspect of their being. To cope with the
displacement, migrants should accept a redefinition of home by
embracing an eschatological home. To proceed from a theoretical
understanding of home to challenge congregations to practically
support migrants, the notion of eschatological home should be
translated to practical action by employing a public Christian
ethical position informed by the kingdom reversal principle.
The kingdom reversal principle and eschatological perspective
guided the development of three important operative
ecclesiological principles: congregational conscious raising and
empowerment, congregational seeing and congregational
practical interventions. These principles are practical approaches
that churches could adopt in efforts to develop migrant ministries.
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Evaluating ‘prophecy’
as a South African
Neo-Pentecostal
pastoral response
to the challenges of
xenophobia
Marius Nel1
Unit for Reformational Theology and the
1. Marius Nel is a research professor at the Unit for Reformed Theology of the Faculty of
Theology, North-West University, South Africa; marius.nel@nwu.ac.za. He wrote the concept
of the chapter. Amos Yong, Professor of Theology and Mission and Director of the Centre for
Missiological Research (CMR) at the Fuller Theological Seminary, USA; amosyong@fuller.edu,
advised on several issues in the chapter.
How to cite: Nel, M., 2020, ‘Evaluating ‘‘prophecy’’ as a South African Neo-Pentecostal
pastoral response to the challenges of xenophobia’, in A.R. Brunsdon (ed.), The human
dilemma of displacement: Towards a practical theology and ecclesiology of home,
103
Evaluating ‘prophecy’ as a South African Neo-Pentecostal pastoral response
Abstract
Displacement is a challenge that many countries in Africa face
and in times of crisis citizens of these countries tend to cool their
anger and frustration inter alia through violent acts of xenophobia.
Another feature of the African scene (as a part of the Global
South) is the growth of the Pentecostal movement in its diverse
forms, with classical pentecostals, charismatic pentecostals in
mainline churches and Neo-Pentecostal groups outnumbering
members of the Roman Catholic Church in Africa. It is argued
that prophecy forms an integral element in the contribution of
the Neo-Pentecostal movement to the solution of displacement
and the resultant xenophobia as a problem in Africa. Prophecy
stands in the service of Neo-Pentecostals’ emphasis on salvation
and healing, within the wider context of African cosmology’s
view of a spirit world populated by good and evil spirits and
animating the seen world. Evil spirits are causative for the
occurrence of some cases of death, barrenness, illnesses and
other misfortunes; the prophet can decipher and uncover
the human and spiritual causes of events and prescribe a possible
way to overcome it. Neo-prophecy provides guidance for the
displaced as well as for those who are challenged to accept and
welcome the displaced strangers in their world. The chapter
describes the phenomenon of neo-prophecy and evaluates its
benefits and shortcomings as a pastoral response to xenophobia.
Keywords: Xenophobia; Neo-prophetism; Prophecy; Neo-
Pentecostal churches; Prophets.
Methodology
In this study, a phenomenological approach is utilised by way of
qualitative content analysis of the phenomena of prophecy and
xenophobia, to understand meanings associated with messages
involving the analysis of the contents on newspaper reports,
blogs and editorials, and academic articles containing
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such research. The purpose is to view xenophobia and a Neo-

Pentecostal response to it in the available material. The use of
language, symbols and visual images is investigated to understand
the particular discourse.
Xenophobia in South Africa

Africa has been experiencing the challenges of displacement and
migration for many centuries. Legal entries of foreigners into
South Africa increased dramatically after 1994 and most of the
foreigners who entered the country came from Africa, mainly
from countries in the Southern African Development Community
region (Crush 2008:1; Dodson & Crush 2016:279). In 2013, the
number of international immigrants in South Africa was already
more than 2.3 million and it increased between 2000 and 2013 at
a rate of 6.7% per annum, according to figures released by the
United Nations (Gordon 2016:4, 2017:19–20).2
Estimates of the total number of irregular (or undocumented)
migrants present in South Africa range from 1 million to an
implausible 10 million; it is impossible to quantify it because of
the clandestine nature of irregular cross-border entries or
overstaying (Dodson & Crush 2016:279).
In 2010, out of 180 000 asylum seekers, close to 150 000 were
Zimbabweans.3 By 2015, this had changed so that citizens from
the Democratic Republic of the Congo and Somalia were the
main sources of asylum seekers (Dodson & Crush 2016:280),
whilst unofficial numbers representing illegal refugees are likely
in the millions. Most of them self-settle in urban areas amongst
2. By comparison, in the 2011 census, the official number was 2 199 871, or approximately 4% of
the population. Because census enumeration is unlikely to have captured all undocumented
immigrants, the real figure is higher (Dodson & Crush 2016:278).
3. In 2009, the Department of Home Affairs announced a special dispensation for

Zimbabweans where 4-year residence and work permits were issued to 245 000
Zimbabweans who were already in South Africa without visas or other permits; these were
reissued for a further 4 years in 2014 (Dodson & Crush 2016:280).
105
other poor people for lack of governmental support (Labys,

Dreyer & Burns 2017:697).
In the words of Ideheu and Osaghae (2015:79), xenophobia
is a dislike or hatred towards foreigners. Its social stereotypes
and prejudices are often disguised with the phenomenon of
nationalism. A word in local vocabulary, Makwerekwere, is used
for someone who is not proficient in a local South African
language and who comes from a country that is seen in local
prejudice as economically and culturally backward, betraying a
deep resentment against foreigners (Ideheu & Osaghae
2015:80).
Xenophobia is the result of economic and material factors
such as poor black people vying for jobs with immigrants who
are sometimes better qualified or more willing to work hard for
less remuneration, social factors where the ‘other’ in post-
apartheid South Africa is redefined as ‘foreign Africans’ and
political factors such as a lack of political leadership and elite
discourses on immigration (Dodson & Crush 2016:286–288).4
Gordon (2016:12–14) argues that anti-immigrant sentiment is the
result of a lack of intergroup contact, stereotypes about
4. The Institute for Security Studies (ISS) in their research finds two myths about foreigners
fuel xenophobic attacks. In the first place, it is perceived that foreign nationals take jobs that
should be reserved for South Africans, leading to an escalation of unemployment figures.
In the second place, the idea persists that foreign nationals are involved in much of the
crime in the country (Kangwa 2016:539). According to Harris (2002), even the conciliatory
former President Nelson Mandela hinted that undocumented foreigners are responsible
for crime in South Africa. Mangosuthu Buthelezi as leader of the Inkatha Freedom Party
(IFP) stated as Home Affairs Minister that ‘all Nigerian immigrants are criminals and drug
traffickers’ (Tella & Ogunnubi 2014:154). A survey in 2006 showed that 47% of South Africans
supported the deportation of foreign nationals, and 74% supported a policy of deportation
for any immigrant not contributing economically to the country (Dodson & Crush 2016:285;
Ideheu & Osaghae 2015:80). Crush (2008) finds that 48% of South Africans saw migrants
from neighbouring nations as a criminal threat, 29% believe these migrants are carriers of
diseases and 15% reported losing jobs to foreigners. The Afrobarometer survey of 2011 states
that as many as 45% of South Africans strongly do not want foreigners to live in the country
because their jobs are threatened by foreigners, while 36% admitted that they would prevent
foreigners to establish businesses in their neighbourhoods and 33% would actively attempt
to stop foreigners even from settling in their neighbourhoods (Ejoke & Ani 2017:171).
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immigration and immigrants and a general weakening of race

relations in the country. The effect is that immigrants and refugees
experience everyday forms of discrimination from fellow-citizens
and officials in accessing those state services and rights to which
they are legally entitled.
Anti-immigrant hostility and violence also drives frustrations
with horrid social and economic conditions (Gordon 2016:5).
Although the African Nationalist Congress government
expanded the social welfare net in the 2000s to provide welfare
grants to 17 million people and the number of people living
below the food poverty line decreased by 4.9 million (Gordon
2016:4), poverty still remained widespread. In 2014, 12.2 million
South Africans were living below the food poverty line, resulting
in the South African Gini Coefﬁcient measuring inequality at
0.64 in 2014. This makes South Africa one of the most unequal
countries in the world.
The South African government policy can be regarded as
resistant if not directly hostile to immigration, contributing to a
pervasive climate of xenophobia (Ideheu & Osaghae 2015:83),
targeting primarily immigrants of African origin. The state
represents a ‘protectionist’ position for the benefit of its own
citizens when they introduced restrictive immigration policies,
sharpened border control (Gordon 2016:2) and promoted
nativism (Gordon 2017:31), which underscores the implementation
of various regulatory and policing responses that undermine and
negatively affect migrant entrepreneurship. It is based on high
levels of negative perceptions about migrants with politicians
and officials who blame the lack of sufficient state resources and
criminal activities on illegal immigrants (Dodson & Crush
2016:285).5 In this way, xenophobic sentiments are incubated
5. The International Organization for Migration (IOM) finds that these perceptions and
prejudices are not based on good evidence. To the contrary, they found that foreign nationals
are not responsible for the rise in crime and unemployment; in fact, migrants are twice as
likely to be entrepreneurs than South African nationals, actively contributing to generate
employment. They employ on average five to six people (https://southafrica.iom.int/).
107
that threaten black brotherhood sentiments amongst all Africans

(Ideheu & Osaghae 2015:87).
Post-apartheid South Africa experiences many service delivery
protests that are at times accompanied by violent attacks on
municipal property (Saloojee 2016:263) and immigrants, including
looting their businesses (Saloojee 2016:273).6 The tragic fact is
that xenophobic attacks were mainly perpetrated by poor South
Africans of African heritage on poor African migrants (Chiweshe
2016:133; Gordon 2016:2). Jean Pierre Misago (in Baker 2015), a
researcher at the African Centre for Migration and Society,
estimates that about 350 African migrants were killed from 2008
to 2015 in xenophobic attacks.
Another fact is that some of the perpetrators of xenophobia
are dedicated members of churches and many victims of
xenophobia look to the local church for safety and practical
assistance in the aftermath of attacks (Phakathi 2010).
6. In 2004–2005 (from April to April), there were 7382 peaceful protests and 662 protests
with unrest; in 2010–2011, there were 11 681 peaceful and 973 violent protests; in 2012–2013,
there were 10 517 peaceful and 1882 violent protests; and in 2013–2014, there were 11 688
peaceful and 1907 violent protests. The acceleration in violent protests is significant (Saloojee
2016:269). Between 2009 and 2012, there were 2.95 unrest incidents a day, an increase of
40% more than the average of 2.1 unrest incidents a day recorded for the period from 2004
to 2009. The top grievances by protestors were about housing, water and sanitation, political
representation and electricity and it centres on unaccountable and corrupt local government
and issues of community safety (Saloojee 2016:271). In 2008, in xenophobic attacks that
started in Johannesburg and spread to Pretoria and Cape Town, South African citizens and
migrants lost their lives and property. In 2015, the Zulu King Goodwill Zwelithini allegedly
asked foreigners to pack their bags and go back to their countries because they were enjoying
South African resources at the expense of locals (Tella 2016:142–143), stating, ‘I would like to
ask the South African government to help us. We must deal with our own lice in our heads.
Let’s take out the ants and leave them in the sun. We ask that immigrants must take their
bags and go where they come from’ (https://www.herald.co.zw/zwelithini-likens-immigrants-
to-lice-ants/; The Herald, 17 April 2015). This led to several attacks of homophobic nature.
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‘Prophecy’ in the Neo-Pentecostal

churches in South Africa7
As in African Christianity in general, pentecostalism in its diverse
forms8 is fast becoming the representative face of South African
black Christianity. With the advent of Neo-Pentecostal groups
(also called New Prophetic Churches [Quayesi-Amakye 2014:256]
or churches of the Spirit [Anderson 2016:304]) since the 1990s
and the ongoing pentecostalisation of mainline churches along
with the link of pentecostalism with African Indigenous/Initiated/
Independent Churches (AIC), pentecostals form the fastest
growing Christian movement within our times in South Africa
(Anderson 2007:117).9 And through the millions of members,
7. The author’s presupposition is that contemporary prophecy in the pentecostal movement

in its reception and contents stands in a way in continuity with the phenomenon of prophecy
as found in the Bible (cf. Nel 2017) and that may represent a form of extra-biblical revelation.
This is contra the widespread Reformed and Roman Catholic cessationist perspective that the
prophet is rather an engaged observer who criticises actions and policies that differ from God’s
intentions. It serves as an authentically Christian mode of moral discourse (De Villiers 2016:154).
8. Barrett (1970:50) perceived half a century ago that African Christianity is transforming
‘Christianity permanently into a primarily non-Western religion’. Although a classification of
pentecostalism is risky because of its diverse branches, it is customary to speak of three
waves of classical pentecostalism that looks back for its origin to the beginning of the
20th century with Charles Parham’s Bible Schools and William Seymour’s Azusa Street Revival
in Los Angeles and similar incidents (not all agree that pentecostal origins in other countries
go back to Los Angeles; sometimes it might have been the result of indigenous revivals;
cf. Anderson 2007), of the charismatic renewal of the mainline churches since the 1950s
and of an independent movement since the 1970s with its synthesis between pentecostal
theology and practice and several other theological traditions. This last wave is sometimes
denoted as Neo-Pentecostalism. The discussion is limited to these churches of which many
have become macro churches centred around apostles or prophets (cf. Anderson 2001;
Gifford 2011; Kalu 2008; Quayesi-Amakye 2013 for further discussion).
9. Pentecostalism is defined in terms of groups that stress the baptism with the Holy Spirit,
leading to direct divine inspiration and guidance which is presented in a celebration of the
charismata, with emphasis on glossolalia, divine healing and parallel phenomena (cf. Soko
2016:92–93).
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these churches attract; they are influencing and impacting the

social, economic and political fabric of post-apartheid SouthAfrica
(Frahm-Arp 2016:283; Keener 2016:89).
A feature of Neo-Pentecostal African churches is the category
of prophets (along with apostles) serving as leading religious
functionaries. Prophets and prophecy historically and traditionally
played a significant role within pentecostalism with its emphasis
on the experience of Spirit baptism and the resultant expectation
of the revelation of God’s power and guidance to the contemporary
believer.10 Within the classical Pentecostal movement, the
charisma of prophecy is valued highly, and room exists in any
worship service that believers may participate spontaneously by
bringing a prophetic word or revelation.11 The believer who
prophesies is not called a prophet except in exceptional cases
where the person is used regularly to such an extent that the
(local or regional) church regards them as faithful ‘prophets’.
However, in the Neo-Pentecostal tradition, the phenomenon of
prophets shows an emerging dominance with specific individuals
regarded and honoured as prophets. In the classical Pentecostal
tradition, prophecy is concerned with a word for the assembly
(mostly) or an individual, in the form of an encouragement or
10. See the definition of Kroesbergen-Kamps (2016:29) of prophecy that she compiled from
interviews with Zambian pastors from various denominations, that prophecy is ‘speaking the
word of God to give direction in order to bring change’. The debate about the definition of
‘prophecy’ is still continuing; for purposes of this article, her definition is being used.
11. It seems as if 1 Corinthians 14 stresses that while prophecy is a manifestation of the Spirit
it also involves speaking intelligibly with the mind so that the gathered are able to follow the
message. Although prophecy is a form of instruction, it also reveals things that pierce the
human heart so that the secrets of listeners’ hearts become manifest (1 Cor 14:25). The term
‘revealing’ (ἀποκ<#125>λυφθῇ) in 1 Corinthians 14:30 suggests that prophetic insight might
contain content which could not have been gained through rational thought and study alone,
as Ellington (2016:177) acknowledges. At the same time, because prophecy occurs through
the agency of humans, all inspired prophecies are, in part, subject to human limitations
such as subjectivity, requiring the injunction in 1 Corinthians 14:29 that after two or three
prophets completed their instruction, the others should evaluate it (δι<#125>κρινέτωσ<#125>ν).
The purpose of discerning is according to Fee (1994:252) not to evaluate whether a person
is speaking by a foreign spirit but whether the prophecy itself truly conforms to the Spirit
of God.
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warning, often in biblical terms and seldom related to prediction

of the future. In the Neo-Pentecostal tradition, prophecy is mainly
concerned with a word aimed at an individual as part of a pastoral
discourse, although prophets’ preaching often also contains
prophetic announcements.
The Neo-Pentecostal prophet operates in the same context as
the diviner in African Traditional Religion (ATR), focusing on
diagnosing individual ailments and finding spiritual cures to all
manner of challenges (Ngong 2010:143).12 Neo-prophets are
perceived as having a unique relationship with God, allowing
them continuing access to supernatural knowledge of the seekers’
problems as well as the power to bring about solutions to those
problems.13 The solution in many cases consists of something
that the believer must do or stop doing. In this sense, it also
differs from the Pentecostal definition of a prophet. In their
manner of operating, neo-prophets link rather with the
phenomenon of prophecy within the AICs (as portrayed, e.g., in
the excellent article of Wepener & Barnard 2016) than with
classical pentecostalism so that Neo-Pentecostalism may be
viewed as the ‘AIC’ination’ of African pentecostalism (cf. Cox
1995:250).14 Because of these differences, it seems sensible to
12. The similarity between the diviner and neo-prophet is that both have the task of uncovering
the cause or root of a problem or felt need (Omenyo 2011:34); however, the similarity ends
when the neo-prophet interprets the problem in terms of a revelation of the Spirit.
13. Research found that the most common problems to which people seek the help of
prophets include incurable diseases, marital issues and unemployment, according to
Sakupapa’s (2016:123) research.
14. Similarities between the prophetic ministry in AICs and neo-prophetism include that
individual worshipers are called to another room to be prophesied to, with a third person
who interprets; prophecies are sometimes written down; some prophecies may contain
injunctions to drink holy water or another liquid, blessing of possessions, predictions that
an illness will disappear when the believer follows certain injunctions, injunctions to the
assembled people to help poor people and instructions what to do to ensure that businesses
are blessed (Wepener & Barnard 2016:77–84).
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call this phenomenon ‘neo-prophetism’, to distinguish it from the

Pentecostal custom.15
The history of prophetism within the Neo-Pentecostal tradition
(and to a certain extent in African pentecostalism as well) can be
traced to the role played by prophets in AICs (Omenyo 2011).16
Within these churches, the prophets are defined by Baeta
(1962:6–7) as individuals characterised by a striking personality
and the ability to impose to convince others that they are special
agents of God. Specific powers are credited to them, such as
healing, deliverance, revealing of hidden things, predicting of the
future, and cursing and blessing. In its initial period (1860–1960),
the AICs emerged in Southern Africa for political and religious
reasons, as a successful vernacularisation of the gospel for
Africans (Quayesi-Amakye 2016:288) and peaceful and silent
protest against colonisation and mission Christianity representing
churches established by missionary agencies from Europe and
America that were intolerable of traditional African worship and
practices (Kalu 2008:23). There are direct links with primal
religion in the phenomenon amongst the AICs.
Neo-prophetism provides in what Sakupapa (2016:118) calls
‘the prophetic craze amongst many Christians’ irrespective of
church tradition or doctrine. Again, it seems that Neo-
Pentecostalism succeeds in what Cox (1995:247) describes as an
important ingredient of its recipe for success, to assimilate a wide
variety of African indigenous religious practices whilst it links
with the direct needs of ordinary people in the idiom that they
15. Prophetism has always formed an integral part of African Christianity contra Western
mission-churches as a perennial phenomenon (as described by Baeta 1962:6; Omenyo
2011:31; cf. also Oosthuizen 1992; Sundkler 1961).
16. The phenomenon of AICs is notoriously complex; various attempts have been made
to classify the phenomenon along diverse lines. Anderson’s (2001:15–18) and Oosthuizen’s
(1992:1–2) classification makes the most sense, with AICs classified as Ethiopian, Zionist,
Prophet/healing and charismatic/pentecostal or Spirit-churches. Anderson (2016:306)
mentions that in some parts of Africa, Spirit-churches constitute up to 40% of the total
population.
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understand and by emphasising the power of the Holy Spirit to

provide in any need of contemporary believers, including
childlessness and infertility, bodily and mental illness, drought
and natural catastrophes, accidents and bad luck, poverty, racism,
sexism, classism, colonialism, neo-colonialism, imperialism,
injustice, political dictatorship and repression, imprisonment
without trial and all that dehumanises the African personality
(Quayesi-Amakye 2016:293).17 Some of these prophets enjoy
wide media coverage through online social media and digital
television. That these prophets attract many South African black
people is not only related to Neo-Pentecostals’ this-worldly
perspective on salvation18 but also to the affinity of their practices
to certain ATR beliefs that underlie the African worldview. Muindi
(2012:211) argues that the Neo-Pentecostal charism of prophecy
has a particular appeal because it echoes the traditional African
prophetic spirituality which accentuates inter alia aspects such
as ‘spirit possession’, ‘divine seizure’ and ‘supernatural revelations’
concerning the spiritual causes of actual events amongst people
(Nel 2019:2).19 Kalu (2008:186) agrees and states that it has
produced a culture of continuity with primal worldviews, in the
process regaining a pneumatic and charismatic religiosity that
17. The quest for divine immediacy is vital to pentecostal spirituality, in opposition to many
Protestant theologians’ cessationism that limits supernatural intervention and the (so-called
supernatural) charismata to the apostolic era.
18. Pentecostals traditionally emphasised divine healing, connecting salvation, wholeness

and holiness (in Afrikaans: ‘heil, heelheid en heiligheid’, demonstrating its common root).
In demonstrating this connection, Maddocks (1990:7) defines health as a foretaste of the
wholeness to come, when the kingdom is established and creation healed. A Christian can
never talk about healing without having Jesus in mind. The meaning of his name reflects
the terms ‘save/heal’ and speaks of the unleashing of power that brings human beings
and society to a new spaciousness that releases its members to perform their function
(Maddocks 1990:9). The kingdom’s shalom consists of salvation, good health, contentedness
and peace between nations (Duncan 1988:37). Holiness is viewed as the equipment necessary
to become whole (Maddocks 1990:12–14).
19. Cox (1995:219) suggests religions in Africa that grow will necessarily include and transform
elements of pre-existing religions because these elements retain a strong grip on the cultural
subconscious. In this sense, pentecostal churches help Africans to recover some of the vital
elements in their culture threatened by modernisation (Cox 1995:222).
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characterised traditional society and which contemporary

Africans can identify with.20 In African traditional life, birth, illness,
death, drought and material challenges were explained as acts
perpetuated by good or evil spirits. Human beings are vulnerable
and open to both evil and benevolent forces and the forefathers
should be appeased because of their influence on the world of
spiritual forces. The power of evil is perpetuated by bad witchcraft,
ancestral spirits and bad muti or herbal medicines and potions
made by sangomas, which are believed to cause misfortune in
the lives of people. The powers of evil cause illness, poverty and
broken relationships (Frahm-Arp 2016:271; Quayesi-Amakye
2013:51–85). Because people are curious about their existential
concerns, they explore sources of vital forces to change their
destinies for the better, hence the popularity and constancy of
prophetism in Africa’s religious climate (Quayesi-Amakye
2016:302). Salvation consists of freedom from evil powers that
hinder human beings from achieving well-being (Ndiokwere
1981:239–243). Neo-prophetism appropriates the holistic African
worldview when it perceives the spirit world as impinging on the
visible world that determines the welfare or woe of human beings.
Existential challenges are decided in the spirit world and secular
analysis as viewed by Western society cannot contribute to
understand it (Ngong 2006:524).21 At the same time, ancestor
veneration is not accepted as a way to appease spiritual forces
and Christians are encouraged to break with their extended
families who practise ancestor veneration. Christians’ fight is
20. Traditionally mission churches with their cerebral-analytical ‘class-room religion’ (Taylor
1963:21–22) rejected the African worldview and primal vision and taught new believers that
they need to formulate a new worldview in accordance with the Bible without acknowledging
any connection between a biblical and African worldview. Kangwa (2016:544) argues that
only when African Christianity retrieves and applies vital African values will they serve
Africans. For that to happen, they need a spirituality of holism and a sacramental worldview.
By accepting the African worldview, it also changes in important respects in correlation with
biblical perspectives.
21. Western misunderstanding of African neo-prophetism may be linked to its neglect of the
primal African vision that believes that fundamentally all things share the same nature in their
interaction upon each another in cosmic oneness (Taylor 1963:72).
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against evil forces such as the ancestors, evil spirits, hobgoblins

and Satan (Frahm-Arp 2016:271–272).
Their soteriology consists of two elements: the need to
minister to the needs of believers and the expectation of the
second coming of Christ, with the accompanying final reward for
believers, of eternal life. Prophecy is concerned with physical,
spiritual, emotional, social, legal and psychological challenges as
well as spiritual and bodily well-being and material prosperity.22
Clients visit prophets to seek spiritual direction (isiqondiso
esingokomoya in Sesotho or isiqondiso esingokomoya in Zulu).
They elicit information or acquire knowledge about their lives
when the prophets ‘read’ and ‘speak’ into their lives (Quayesi-
Amakye 2013:246), getting psychological support that helps to
calm confused minds so they can embrace the future with
confidence. These blessings are accessed by living a good
Christian life, giving generously to the church in terms of money
and time, and faithfully attending church services and group
Bible studies (Frahm-Arp 2016:269).
The result is that Neo-Pentecostalism has grown because of its
cultural fit into indigenous worldviews (Kalu 2008:170). African
indigenous worldviews still dominate contemporary African
experience, including the new middle class. In the words of
Asamoah-Gyadu (2013:18), Neo-Pentecostals succeed in
22. While it is not denied that some versions of prosperity theology are theologically
suspicious, many evaluations of the prosperity gospel of Neo-Pentecostal churches are made
from a Western theological perspective. For instance, Grady (2013) criticises neo-prophets
for their emphasis on prosperity and argues that it fuels greed, feeds pride, works against
formation of Christian character, keeps people in poverty as it gets the little they have in
the name of getting rich and abuses the Bible. What is needed is that the phenomenon of
the health and wealth gospel in African churches should be analysed and evaluated from the
perspective of African people and the values deduced from their worldview. The impact of
a prosperity message on the emerging youthful population of Africa with a taste for exotic
lifestyles is enormous (Quayesi-Amakye 2016:301). Wepener’s (2013:91) remark is important
that healing is most probably the main motivation why people go to worship in Africa.
Healing is interpreted in Africa in the holistic sense that it includes the total well-being of the
individual, including financial success. Anderson’s (1996) observations of Neo-Pentecostals
led to his remark that the neo-prophets’ primary function is to be healers.
115
innovatively appropriating its very experiential and versatile

spirituality to serve the contextual needs of Africans in post-colonial
times in an idiom that accommodates the indigenous worldview.
‘Prophecy’ as a pastoral response to

xenophobia
It is argued that one of the most distinguishing characteristics of
Neo-Pentecostal churches is its prophetism that serves as its
primary pastoral response to social challenges such as
xenophobia. Anderson (1996) writes:
Prophecy in Africa also often becomes an extremely effective form
of pastoral therapy and counsel, mostly practised in private, a moral
corrective and an indispensable facet of Christian ministry. It can
become an expression of care and concern for the needy; and in
countless cases, it actually brings relief. (p. 180)
The beneficial effects of prophecy in terms of xenophobia can be

seen in at least four aspects.23
In the first place, prophecy serves as social critique of society’s
norms and values and the government’s policies. Kangwa
(2016:543) argues that as the church took a leading role in
dismantling apartheid in South Africa, it should now help shape
democracy and dismantle the uglier aspects of liberal democracy
in post-apartheid South Africa. Kangwa (2016) concludes:
African Christianity must add its voice to the call for a continent
in which there is less pain and suffering. The church can help to
transform Africa into a fountain of life. (p. 543)
Prophecy challenges ruling governments, in some instances

characterised by corruption and state plundering, pressing them
to deliver meaningful development that is of benefit to citizens.
During the years that Zuma was president of South Africa (2009–
23. Some arguments and conclusions of this article were used in a keynote address at a
webinar of the South African Theological Seminary on 13 and 14 June 2018 that was eventually
published in their journal, Conspectus (Nel 2018).
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Chapter 5
2018), various prophets and other leaders of Neo-Pentecostal

churches criticised aspects of government policy and ethical
governance and nurtured civic responsibility, working for the
alleviation of poverty, promoting education and advocating for
peace and justice (Kgatle 2017:2).
Ejoke and Ani (2017:180) are of the opinion that the South
African government needs strong support from outside
authorities like the church, to assist in curbing the menace of
xenophobia by staging powerful anti-xenophobic campaigns
that accentuate important African values such as Ubuntu. The
social norm of Ubuntu entrenched in the Xhosa saying, ‘Umntu
ngumntu ngabantu’ [every individual becomes because of
others], denotes peace and co-existence and needs to be
reinforced and mainstreamed. Prophecy can and does
contribute to the national discourse about xenophobia by
engaging with the government and NGOs about their policies
concerning migrants.
Neo-prophetism is not only word-based, but it includes acts of
healing, exorcism and deliverance based on the belief in God as
the great power that can overcome any power of destruction,
with a pneumatological soteriology expressed in interventionist
terms (Sakupapa 2016:120).24 A second beneficial effect of
prophecy is that it serves the needs of migrants by accepting
them in the faith community and counselling them about the
future in a new country (Nel 2018:27). On the one hand, it
formulates a dream of the coming kingdom of heaven with
healing, wholeness and holiness in its wake. On the other hand, it
shows a prerogative for displaced and disenfranchised people
24. Cf. Anderson’s (2016:305) remark that an African religion that does not promise
deliverance from evil or promote health and prosperity is a dysfunctional religion without
any future; hence, that prosperity gospel has flooded the economically poorest continent.
It is directly related to the religious world of Africa that is holistic. Everything is invested
with religious meaning and there is no clear-cut division between spiritual and secular. Its
spirituality is pragmatic, practical and this-worldly (Anderson 2016:315). The African holistic
worldview does not allow for separation between secular and religious, requiring of Neo-
Pentecostalism to include also the political on its agenda.
117
when the local church provides a place of spiritual security and

personal community for migrants (Anderson 2016:312) because
Christians define themselves as strangers in an alien land like
Israel in Egypt and they seek the prosperity of a strange country
like Israel in the Babylonian exile (Yong 2010:254).
African prophets assumed a new role in terms of challenges
such as HIV and AIDS, and xenophobia. These challenges become
a hermeneutical key with which Neo-Pentecostals interpret the
Bible (Anderson 2001:223), operating on the assumption that
God wants to meet his people’s needs in a direct manner. In this
sense, Neo-Pentecostal prophets have become an innovative
alternative to traditional healers (Anderson 2001:224). They
support migrants who consult them by providing hope and
practical help by their involvement in schools, clinics and
hospitals, labour unions, self-help groups and development
and relief organisations (Yong 2010:248).
Thirdly, prophets care for the psychological well-being of
migrants. Labys et al. (2017:698) state that refugees who are
threatened by xenophobia are at risk of mental illness. It is
supported by studies that explored migrants’ psychological well-
being; for example, in Johannesburg, 77 refugees were surveyed
and research reported that 66% of them were in need of mental
healthcare; high rates of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD)
(69%), anxiety (91%) and depression (74%) were found in clients
of a centre for torture survivors; and in Durban, a high prevalence
of depression (54%), anxiety (49%) and PTSD (25%) symptoms
were found in 335 refugees. Forced migration, low social support
and socio-economic hardships (including food insecurity) were
the main risk factors for poor mental health outcomes in this
population group. In their own research, Labys et al. (2017:701)
find that migrants have difficulties with xenophobia/racism, work,
physical safety, housing exploitation and healthcare. The impact
of these difficulties was seen in psychological effects such as
feelings of worry, stress, fear, emotional pain, anger and an
inability to cope (Labys et al. 2017:703–707). Most of their
interviewees (78%) reported that religion formed an essential
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Chapter 5
part of migrants’ lives. The church meeting was key for meeting
friends, praying, feeling blessed, feeling happy and regaining
hope. One participant who attended church every evening and
Sunday mornings stated, ‘They [Pentecostal church] give you
lots of hope’. Praying (39%) and faith were further sources of
strength, joy and hope, providing reassurance that was crucial for
survival. Prophets’ involvement with migrants allows them to
minister healing and hope in a situation that might at times be
desperate (Nel 2018:28).
Lastly, prophets influence personal morality of believers. They
encourage believers to resist participation in populist action
when large crowds are driven to irresponsible and irrational
action by the madness created by mass hysteria characterising
some of the township protests. According to Yong (2010:239–242),
prophetic politics recognises and announces that allegiances to
the state are secondary to allegiances to God and encourages
Spirit-filled believers to explicitly witness in the public square,
even and specifically in the South African secularist ‘naked public
square’, characterised by the absence of religion from both the
political and civic arena (Yong 2010:239–242).
An evaluation of the Neo-Pentecostal

pastoral response to xenophobia
One of the primary ways Neo-Pentecostals reacts to xenophobia
is through its practice of prophetism, as stated above. In this
section, the phenomenon’s ability to address the challenges of
xenophobia is evaluated.
In analysing Neo-Pentecostal prophetism, Ngong (2010:147)
argues that it promotes an African spiritualistic worldview that
does not pay sufficient attention to the scientific imagination.
With its emphasis on physical healing, it does not allow for the
successes of medical science whilst at the same time its
ascription in a wholesale manner of socio-economic and
political challenges to the demonic as Neo-Pentecostal
119
prophets customarily do cannot be upheld (Mana 2004:96).25

However, the remark generalises and does not take into
account that many Neo-Pentecostal prophets do allow room
for the contribution of medical science and the reality of socio-
political and economic woes because of hard-core capitalism
and greedy politicians. And when they are faced with the
challenges of xenophobia in their communities, they address
the problems forcibly.
Still there is some truth in the remark. Whilst providing in this-
worldly needs of individuals, the causes of their challenges can
be spiritualised to such an extent that blame is shifted onto evil
spirits and contemporary human beings need not accept
responsibility for their own lives, as taught, for instance, by Derek
Prince and the Nigerian Emeka Nwakpa (Quayesi-Amakye
2016:301).26 It is not enough to cast out the demon of xenophobia;
believers need to hear the important gospel message again and
again that all people are to be treated with dignity because they
have been created in the image of God. Mana (2004:97) proposes
that a bridge should be erected by Neo-Pentecostals between
popular expectations of deliverance and theoretical analyses of
liberation and reconstruction by the church to transform hearts
and minds in the building of peaceful and flourishing societies
that accommodate migrants as well. What is needed is prophetic
politics informed by Pentecostal spirituality and piety that
25. African Traditional Religion pacifies evil deities and ghosts with animal sacrifices,
necromancy, spiritism and ritualism and some have asserted that the AICs inappropriately
mix the Christian faith with ATR by serving the same agenda. The African worldview
explains misfortune in terms of the influence of evil spirits, necessitating their pacification.
If Neo-Pentecostalism indiscriminately intends to pacify evil spirits without an unapologetic
commitment to biblical finality of authority, it would degenerate into a syncretisation with
questionable beliefs and practices (Quayesi-Amakye 2016:294).
26. Frahm-Arp (2016:274) describes the emphasis Bishop Moso Sono of Grace Bible Church
places on hard work, moral living, personal discipline and prayer to combat poverty and
difficulties, rather than blaming evil forces. The unemployed may never give up their dreams
and deflect responsibility by blaming their misfortunes on the power of Satan or witchcraft.
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engages the public sphere boldly27 and provides all kinds of

counter-cultural and counter-conventional communities where
the displaced experience companionship and solidarity in the
form of ‘family’ and as a counter-history, counter-ethics and
counter-ontology to that of the myth of secularism (Yong
2010:228). The result will be that Pentecostal communities
function as alternative ‘cities’ that intentionally ignore the broader
political realities and provide solidarity for those on the margins
of the polis (Yong 2010:13).
Another argument is that neo-prophetism’s emphasis on
prosperity may disqualify it from reaching the disenfranchised
and marginalised, such as most immigrants are, because of its
appearance as a rich church and a rich man’s church. ‘Unfortunately,
Christians, especially those from Pentecostal-Charismatic circles,
are not very keen to confront social and political causes of
poverty on the continent’, writes Kangwa (2016:544).28 As
Quayesi-Amakye (2013:247) explains, what should be kept in
mind is that when Neo-Pentecostals concentrate on this-worldly
needs of believers their prophecies most of the time provide
guidance derived from the Bible, although it must be admitted
that scripture might be misappropriated. As explained, this-
worldly challenges then become the hermeneutical key to the
interpretation of the Bible, in a historicist way where the social-
historical background and horizon of the text are ignored and it
27. According to Yong (2010:248), a prophetic politics challenges that state to do what it is
supposed to do, to uphold the law.
28. However, such a stereotyping is not true because of the diverse and changing participation
of Neo-Pentecostal groups in politics. Cf. Frahm-Arp’s (2016:279–280) discussion of South
African megachurches that initially did not participate in politics but in the end became
involved. For instance, Jacob Zuma as president of the ANC invited Ray McCauley of Rhema
Bible Church to head the National Interfaith Leadership Council (NILC), and before the 2009
elections McCauley invited Zuma to Rhema to ‘preach’ to his congregation (Frahm-Arp
2016:267). Grace Bible Church invited political officials from different affiliations to address
their congregations in the build-up to the 2014 elections. They motivated it by stating that
the congregation should be informed about political choices to elect Christians into key
political positions (Frahm-Arp 2016:271).
121
is interpreted as though it was written exclusively for contemporary

believers. It also characterises a large part of the sermons in Neo-
Pentecostal churches. The manner to address this issue is by
bringing the importance of a sound theological training for all
Neo-Pentecostal pastors, prophets and apostles to the attention
of the movement’s leaders, a difficult task because it is not
organised into alliances or denominations, as is the case with
classical pentecostalism.
In most cases, neo-prophets do not have any or only loose
connections with church mother bodies, implying that they are
not answerable to anyone and they use market techniques to ply
their ministries (Zulu 2016:103). The lack of accountability and
transparency is harming the Neo-Pentecostal movement and the
behaviour of a few prophets is discrediting the movement as a
whole. For instance, a few cases have been reported about
prophets who exploited the trust of their clients by abusing and
assaulting them sexually or emotionally, or requiring exorbitant
payment for their healing prayers (Mwale & Chita 2016:52–53).29
That there are excesses and abuses within the Neo-Pentecostal
movement that are perpetuated by some prophets cannot be
denied (cf. Kgatle 2017:3–5 for some examples). Presumably
turning water into wine, ordering believers to drink petrol and
paraffin to prove their faith according to Mark 16:17–18, turning
water into petrol, turning a snake into chocolate, walking on thin
air, ‘healing’ cancer, HIV and AIDS, ‘raising’ the dead and
predicting soccer and election results are some of the excesses
29. An example can be found in the Universal Church of the Kingdom of God (UCKG). In
2000, the South African Human Rights Commission found that the church exploited the poor
financially and performed rituals that amount to forms of psychological conditioning. After
a legal battle, the Commission had to retract its findings (cf. Van Wyk 2014 for full details).
Prophetic practices should be normalised and regulated; some of the implications discussed
by Yong (2010:250–251) are that the church provides a site where Spirit-filled believers are
emboldened to bear prophetic witness and learn how to live prophetically in the Spirit but also
to engage the world external to the church, providing a prophetic alternative to the world’s
conventions of corruption, patronage and oligarchy and empowered by charitable works
sensitive to larger socio-structural projects and tasks, even when it implies confrontation with
the principalities and powers when necessary.
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that received wide and negative coverage in the daily Southern

African press (Mwale & Chita 2016:51; Zulu 2016:104), doing
damage to the Pentecostal movement as a whole. Its most
prominent leaders should be encouraged to organise the
movement to such an extent that it can protect itself from
swindlers and charlatans that damage its reputation with the
public and governments.30
Another negative feature of Neo-Pentecostal prophetism is
the emphasis on the charisma and person of the individual
prophet, also in advertisements of the ministry, and the
accompanying adoration and veneration of the prophet.31 The
prophets’ status might also lead to their enrichment and personal
gain through gifts presented to them to secure their services or
as gratuity for supposed services (Banda 2016:221). Quayesi-
Amakye (2016:303) refers to it as ‘prophetic monetization’ (cf. the
critical work of Chitando, Gunda & Kügler 2013).
30. A tragic example is the Ngcobo Killings of 21 February 2018 where five policemen and an
off-duty soldier were shot during an attack on a police station in Ngcobo, between Mthatha
and Komani (previously Queenstown) in the Eastern Cape. During the attack, 10 firearms and
a police van were stolen from the police station before an ATM, a short distance from the
police station, was robbed (https://www.enca.com/south-africa/five-police-dead-in-attack-
on-station). Their motive was presumably to access funds because of the dire financial
straits of the church. The South African Council of Churches says it lodged a complaint
with government over the Seven Angels Church but was ignored. The Commission for the
Promotion and Protection of the Rights of Cultural, Religious, and Linguistic Communities
(CRL) chairwoman Thoko Mkhwanazi-Xaluva reacted to the events at eNgcobo and said
the church was probed already in 2016 and authorities were alerted to children living at
the church and not attending school. The committee suggested that the government
should regulate church leadership by way of registration. The co-operative governance and
traditional affairs portfolio committee of Parliament responded to the committee’s report by
stating that the state could not prescribe when it came to beliefs and religious convictions
because of the value of religious liberty ensconched in the Constitution of the Republic, but
it unanimously condemned the abuse of vulnerability by religious leaders (http://www.enca.
com/south-africa/parliament-slams-crl-chairs-comment-on-engcobo).
31. One of the important distinctions between the phenomenon of prophecy in the classical
and Neo-Pentecostal movements is the former’s emphasis on prophecy as a gift to the
church by way of the participation of all believers and the latter’s emphasis on the permanent
office of the prophet.
123
Some of the positive benefits of neo-prophetism should also

be described. Neo-Pentecostal churches purposefully do not
take denominational issues seriously in consideration for the
post-modern sentiment of respect for people with different
opinions. Doctrinal differences play only a peripheral role because
as part of the Pentecostal movement the emphasis is on people
meeting the truth in the person of Christ rather than in the Bible.
Perhaps the Neo-Pentecostal movement may serve as a catalyst
for ecumenical engagement between Christians.32
Whilst it is true that African pentecostals in the past were mostly
apathetic to social concerns, they have awakened to their civic
obligations (Quayesi-Amakye 2016:296). Examples of the neo-
prophets’ concern for the underprivileged and disenfranchised are
evident. Several neo-prophets’ involvement in issues of social
justice, their financial contribution to projects for the benefit of
migrants and their relationship with African political leaders have
received much publicity.33 It can be accepted that these leaders
were influenced in a positive way by emphasising issues related to
social justice.34 However, in general, it is true that neo-prophets
32. Also, in the wider pentecostal movement one’s unique experience in encountering God
is given more value than one’s doctrine, allowing for a difference in opinion within the
movement. Orthodoxy in the Protestant sense of the word is exchanged for meeting with the
Truth, and the resultant transformation of believers’ lives.
33. The most publicised case is the donation of Prophet T.B. Joshua’s ministry of $20
million to causes of education, healthcare and rehabilitation programmes for the vulnerable,
including legal and illegal migrants. On 13 May 2017, the church also provided food and
money for over 250 Nigerian deportees who arrived from Libya. The refugees who were
deported from Libya found refuge at The Synagogue, Church of All Nations (SCOAN) (http://
dailypost.ng/2017/05/13/tb-joshua-donates-food-n7m-cash-150-nigerian-deportees-storm-
church-photos). And on 07 June 2017, the church donated money to the less privileged in
the north of the country, most of which were Muslims (https://bulawayo24.com/index-id-
news-sc-local-byo-111753.html). Banda (2016:221) accuses the church that its ulterior motive
is self-prestige and winning the heart of the populace for personal interest, a remark that is
not substantiated in any way.
34. For instance, Cyril Ramaphosa visited the Shembe Church on 02 May 2017 where he met
with the leadership. In his speech before the congregation he said, ‘This church has always
led the way in teaching the youth the value of hard work, the importance of education and
the significance of ethical conduct …’ He called the church a ‘nation-building institution’,
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should address more publicly structural political, economic and

social issues that cause poverty, ethnic violence, xenophobia and
other forms of violence that characterise Africa.35 It can be
accepted that their prophetic task includes guidance in terms of
xenophobia as it relates to individuals rather than interpreting their
prophetic task to include consideration of social ethics and
structural challenges that should also enjoy their consideration.
It cannot be denied that neo-prophetism also contributes to
transformation effects on the lives of its members including
migrants, as demonstrated by sociological research (cf. Massey &
Higgins 2011; Portes 2008). Social and cultural capital generated in
Neo-Pentecostal churches leads to upward social mobility of
individuals, families and eventually whole communities, especially
by way of entrepreneurship (Portes 2008:15).36 In many cases, the
beneficiaries of neo-prophetism were the disadvantaged and
marginalised who were offered hope. However, there should also
be a concerted effort by neo-prophets to address factors that rob
from people the fullness of life, such as poor governance, poverty,
unemployment, corruption, crime, HIV and AIDS and the erosion of
African value systems (Kangwa 2016:545), factors that contribute
to the maintenance of deep inequalities that fuel xenophobia.
and an ‘African asset and national treasure’ that provides practical solutions to our complex
socio-economic challenges, and that is averse to wickedness, malicious gossip, public spats
by leaders and disrespect of one by another (https://www.enca.com/south-africa/catch-it-
live-ramaphosa-joins-congregants-in-celebrating-the-life-of-prophet-isaiah).
35. Cf. Yong’s (2010:7) warning not to generalise the statement that pentecostals, including
neo-prophets, hardly address political issues; he refers to several examples in diverse contexts
of pentecostal engagement with the political with impacting influence on societies.
36. See, for example, His People Christian Ministries’ vision to transform the world by having
committed Christians in positions of leadership. To realise their goal, they present workshops,
seminars, conferences and courses aimed at helping young people develop so they would
have the skills needed to become leaders in their chosen careers. They teach them how to
budget their money so that they would be able to tithe and meet their financial commitments,
negotiation skills, time management skills, how to develop a personal brand and how to
begin and manage a small business. Research in 2003–2004 showed that most members of
the church described these social-skills-development courses as the most valuable part of
their church life (Frahm-Arp 2016:272–273).
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Conclusion
Synthesis
Increasing numbers of legal and illegal immigrants live in South
Africa, facing the possibility of xenophobic acts which portray
the open hatred of African people not of South African heritage
by mostly poor South Africans. At times, the South African
government’s discourse reveals animosity towards the displaced,
strengthening homophobic sentiments amongst the public. As
victims of xenophobia and violent crime, refugees in South Africa
are at risk of mental illnesses such as anxiety, depression, PTSD,
negative feelings and an inability to cope. In many instances,
religion forms an essential part of migrants’ lives.
One of the primary pastoral responses amongst Neo-
Pentecostals to social challenges such as xenophobia is prophecy,
as an effective form of pastoral therapy and counsel, mostly
practised in private. It is proposed that Neo-Pentecostal prophetism
should be distinguished from the phenomenon amongst
pentecostals because the category of ‘prophets’ (along with
apostles) serves amongst Neo-Pentecostals as leading religious
functionaries whilst pentecostals emphasise prophecy as a
temporary gift to individual believers. In the Neo-Pentecostal
tradition, prophecy is also mainly concerned with a word aimed at
an individual as part of a pastoral discourse whilst amongst
pentecostals it functions mostly within the context of the worship
service. The Neo-Pentecostal prophet operates rather in the
context of the diviner in ATR, focusing on diagnosing and proposing
solutions to individual existential ailments and challenges. In their
manner of operating, neo-prophets link with the phenomenon of
prophecy within the AICs, implying that Neo-Pentecostalism may
be viewed as the ‘AIC’ination’ of African pentecostalism.
In evaluating prophecy as a pastoral response to xenophobia,
it was noted that whilst neo-prophetism provides in this-worldly
needs of individuals, the causes of their challenges are at times
spiritualised to such an extent that their clients are absolved from
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Chapter 5
accepting responsibility for their own lives. It was argued that the
demon of xenophobia should not only be cast out, but believers
need to learn that the gospel demands that all people, including
immigrants, should be treated with dignity because they have
been created in the image of God. The needs of people also serve
as the hermeneutical key in a historicist way to interpret the Bible,
a feature that emphasises the necessity of a sound theological
training for all Neo-Pentecostal leaders.
The lack of accountability and transparency in terms of
excesses and abuses of neo-prophets that is harming the Neo-
Pentecostal movement was noted and it was proposed that
prominent leaders should be encouraged to organise the
movement into alliances to protect it from charlatans. The
emphasis on the charisma and person of the individual prophet
might lead to personal enrichment, necessitating supervision by
church mother bodies that should be established.
On the positive side, for Neo-Pentecostals, doctrinal differences
play only a peripheral role because of their emphasis on the
experiential as a precondition for doing theology, making
ecumenical engagements with other Christians possible. They are
also concerned about the underprivileged and disenfranchised, in
many instances funding projects that serve the needs of migrants.
However, neo-prophets hardly address structural political,
economic and social issues because their ministry is aimed at
individuals. Neo-prophetism also contributes to transformation in
the lives of its members and the beneficiaries are the disadvantaged
and marginalised.
Acknowledgements
This chapter represents substantial reworking (more than 50%)
and amalgamation of two published articles:
Nel, M., 2019, ‘The African background of Pentecostal theology:
A critical perspective’, In die Skriflig 53(4), a2418. https://doi.
org/10.4102/ids.v53i4.2418
127
Nel, M., 2019, ‘Prophetic witness in weakness: A response to

Prof Robert Vosloo from a Pentecostal perspective’, In die Skriflig
These two articles were published under the Creative
Commons Attribution 4.0 International (CC BY 4.0) licence,
according to which permission is granted for reworking.
128
Chapter 6
The plight of
unaccompanied migrant
children in South Africa:
Challenges en route to
a practical theology
and ecclesiology of
home
Hannelie Yates
Sinenhlanhla S. Chisalea,b
a

b
Department of Religious Studies,
Faculty of Arts, Midlands State University,
Zvishavane, Zimbabwe
How to cite: Yates, H. & Chisale, S.S., 2020, ‘The plight of unaccompanied migrant children
in South Africa: Challenges en route to a practical theology and ecclesiology of home’, in
A.R. Brunsdon (ed.), The human dilemma of displacement: Towards a practical theology and
ecclesiology of home, pp. 129–149, AOSIS, Cape Town. https://doi.org/10.4102/aosis.2020.
BK198.06
129
The plight of unaccompanied migrant children in South Africa
Abstract
Displacement is a living reality for many people in all stages of
life. Children in critical phases of development probably wonder
about where and what home is when confronted with the realities
of migration. The aim of this chapter is to problematise the human
crisis of displacement from the perspective of the plight of
migrant children and to contribute towards the construction of a
practical theology of home. The focus of this chapter is primarily
on the category of unaccompanied migrant children in the
context of South Africa. A brief overview of unaccompanied
migrant children in South Africa in relation to legal and policy
frameworks is provided as a contextual orientation. Empirical
data are utilised to present the meanings a group of
unaccompanied migrant children assigned to the human dilemma
of displacement and to the concept of ‘home’. We applied the
hermeneutics of listening to identify challenges in the construction
of a practical theology of home based on the lived experiences of
unaccompanied migrant children.
Keywords: Displacement; Unaccompanied migrant children; South
Africa; Hermeneutics of listening; Practical theology of home.
Introduction
This chapter aims to problematise the human crisis of displacement
from the perspective of the plight of unaccompanied migrant
children1 in South Africa and to explore the challenges that the
living realities of migrant children present to a practical theology
of home. By practical theology, we mean a certain mode of doing
theology, a kind of theology that is not restricted to only the
context of academia, nor to the exclusive focus on clerical or
1. We use the term of ‘unaccompanied migrant children’ as defined in legal and policy
frameworks and ‘unaccompanied refugee minors’ interchangeably. The empirical data
gathered refer to children mainly as unaccompanied refugee minors because the majority of
the children who participated in the study were from Zimbabwe.
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Chapter 6
congregational tasks without taking the wider contemporary

culture into account. We choose deliberately for the inclusion of
the religious and spiritual practices and theological reflection
processes of ordinary people within faith communities and civil
societal spaces in our understanding of the study field and
methodology of practical theology. With this understanding of
practical theology, we place ourselves within the paradigm of
public practical theology,2 which seeks to respond theologically
to issues of public concern. Migration is a living reality for many
people globally and locally, both for the people on the move and
for citizens who find it hard to survive on the limited resources
and services available. It is an issue of public concern that requires
a theological response.
In the spirit of public practical theology, this chapter views the
context of unaccompanied migrant children in South Africa as
central to the discussion. There is great value in a proper
understanding of the complexity of the migration reality as
experienced by children themselves. We attempt to imagine a
transformed society where all people, also unaccompanied
migrant children, can experience a sense of belonging and a
feeling of being at home by theologising from the bottom up, in
other words by facilitating a dialogue between the lived
experiences of unaccompanied migrant children and the
resources of the Christian faith.
The chapter proceeds, firstly, to provide a contextual and
methodological orientation. Secondly, we present the lived
experiences of unaccompanied migrant minors in South Africa.
On the basis of the lived experiences of migrant children,
challenges related to finding home and being at home are
highlighted, all the whilst considering the implications for the
2. Dreyer (2004:919) emphasised the importance of public theology – 14 years ago – when
she defined public theology as the practice of reflecting critically on both the Christian
tradition and social and political issues. She argued that practical theology no longer
singularly focuses on church praxis and the clergy because the field has expanded to include
local, national and global everyday life (Dreyer 2004:919–920).
131
construction of a practical theology of home. Finally, we present

our concluding remarks.
Unaccompanied migrant children

in South Africa
Unaccompanied migrant children3 refer to displaced4 children
(United Nations 2005):
[U]nder the age of 18 who have been separated from both parents or
legal caregivers and are not being cared for by an adult who, by law
or custom, is responsible for him or her. (n.p.)
Since democracy, South Africa has a constitutional obligation to

adhere to international, regional and national legislative and
policy frameworks in governing the provision of human rights for
all people in South Africa. There are a number of international
and regional instruments that South Africa has signed and ratified
and these instruments provide guidance with regard to South
Africa’s response to unaccompanied migrant children. The
international legal framework is primarily based on two
international treaties – the United Nations Convention on the
Rights of the Child (1989) (UNCRC) and the African Charter on
the Rights and Welfare of the Child (Organization of African Unity
1990) (ACRWC), whereas the domestic legal framework is guided
by the Refugees Act 130 of 1998 and the Children’s Act 38 of
2005 (Sloth-Nielsen & Ackerman 2016:7–12).
Different terms are used to identify unaccompanied children
in migration, and these include but are not limited to the following:
unaccompanied migrant children and unaccompanied refugee
children or minors. This depends largely on the immigration
policy of the country. The South African immigration policy does
3. The term ‘unaccompanied child’ or ‘illegal foreign child’ is to be found in different policies,
for example, the Immigration Act 13 of 2002; the Refugee Act 130 of 1998 and the Prevention
and Combating of Trafficking in Persons Act 7 of 2013.
4. ‘A displaced person is someone who has been forcibly uprooted and displaced within their
own country’ (UNHCR 2015 n.p.).
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not refer to unaccompanied children from other countries as

‘unaccompanied refugee minors’, but rather ‘unaccompanied
child migrants’ or ‘unaccompanied foreign migrant children’ (The
Immigration Act 13 of 2002; The Refugee Act 130 of 1998; The
Prevention and Combating of Trafficking in Persons Act 7 of 2013)
so that the state is able to send them back to their countries
without the country being bound to legal implications. The
Department of Home Affairs’ Passport Control Instruction No. 1
of 2004 refers to unaccompanied children from other countries
as ‘unaccompanied minor illegal foreigners’; the Department of
Social Development refers to them as ‘unaccompanied foreign
migrant children’ or ‘unaccompanied children on the move in
South Africa’; the South African Schools Act 84 of 1996 refers to
‘unaccompanied foreign children’ and the South African Children’s
Act 38 of 2005 to ‘unaccompanied foreign migrant children’. All
the legal entities have carefully selected the term used to refer to
minors or children who migrate to South Africa from other
countries. ‘Refugee’ is avoided at all costs. In this chapter, we use
unaccompanied refugee minors (URMs) to emphasise the
urgency of treating their cases.
Whilst South Africa is a destination of choice for migrants from
across the globe, particularly from Africa, this chapter focuses on
URMs from Zimbabwe because they are the most visible amongst
URMs from other countries. The majority of unaccompanied
migrant children are pushed into South Africa by desperate
poverty (Skelton 2010:5). They are in South Africa to ‘earn a living’.
Several scholars confirm that migrant children from countries
without war migrate to neighbouring African countries to ‘earn a
living’ and to support siblings (Bourdillon 2009:295; Mahati
2011:76). Unaccompanied refugee minors from Zimbabwe became
more frequent in South Africa between 2007 and 2009 when
Zimbabwe’s economy collapsed completely. Citizens of Zimbabwe
struggled to earn enough money to feed and educate their
children, and this became the dominant push factor for URMs to
migrate into South Africa (Chisale 2014:168). Research on
migration indicates that URMs from Zimbabwe in South Africa are
133
economic migrants in search of a living (Mahati 2011) rather than

political refugees. Although URMs from Zimbabwe are economic
migrants, their vulnerability as children makes them refugees.
South Africa is also home to migrant children who are seeking
asylum from political persecution. Such children are pushed into
South Africa by political instability in their home countries
(Mbabaali 2012). It seems as if such migrant children are few in
South Africa because they stay in refugee camps, mostly in the
countries neighbouring their country of origin. They cross the
Southern African borders to seek refuge in South Africa mostly
when they are over the age of a minor. Research confirms this
reality by highlighting that most refugee children from war zones
migrate to European countries or America through humanitarian
agents, and some illegally cross the sea (Save the Children 2007).
However, in all these cases, displacement causes a crisis for
children as they face daily survival challenges and an uncertain
future. Limited by a lack of protection, care, discrimination by the
social welfare system of the country and repeated struggles to
find access to basic necessities like food, shelter, education,
healthcare and employment, are some of the numerous challenges
children encounter (Staunton, McIvor & Bjornestad 2008:xi).
Furthermore, in South Africa, some children become
unaccompanied and stateless because they are born from parents
who are illegal in the country. Sections 34(1) and 41 of the
Immigration Act, 13 of 2002, give an immigration officer the power
to take a person into custody if the officer is not reasonably
convinced that the person has the legal right to be in the Republic.
Detention is meant to give immigration officials the opportunity
to verify the person’s identity and immigration status. It may not
exceed 48 h. However, in terms of Section 34(1), an illegal foreigner
can be arrested and detained for as long as 30 days without a
warrant if the goal is to deport the person. This period can be
extended for up to another 90 days (Republic of South African
Immigration Act 13 of 2002, Government Gazette). Some
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unaccompanied migrant children have lost parents because of the

deportations and detentions that separate parents and children.
Methodology
This chapter draws from empirical data that one of the authors
collected from 2011 to 2014 for the purposes of her doctoral
studies. Twenty URMs between the ages 14–18 years under the
guardianship of the then Bishop Paul Verryn participated in the
study. Participants in the broader study included URMs, Paul
Verryn, caregivers and the clergy around Johannesburg
metropolitan.5 This chapter uses data from the URMs that were
not used in the doctoral study. The URMs were from different
religious affiliations: the majority belonged to different Christian
denominations, some were Islam and some did not adhere to any
religion (Chisale 2014:167). Data from URMs were captured using
semi-structured in-depth interviews, narrative (story telling)
essays, participant observations, and art or drawings. Interviews
were conducted in the mother tongues of the participants (both
Zimbabwean Ndebele and Shona) and translated into English by
one of the authors who is fluent in both languages. Pseudonyms
are used for all URM participants to protect their anonymity.
The theological focus of this chapter is the construction of a
practical theology of home. The question that guided our
engagement with the human crisis of displacement from a
theological perspective was: What constitutes home for
unaccompanied children in search of a home away from their
physical home? A further question that arose was: What challenges
5. We appreciate the role the then bishop Paul Verryn played during the research period
and also in the year 2010. He provided shelter to a group of more or less 56 unaccompanied
refugee boys and girls, the majority of whom were Zimbabwean, at a building owned by the
Methodist Church. However, we acknowledge that although much can be learned from the
example of Paul Verryn, the system created under his leadership was not without problems
and challenges.
135
do their conceptualisation of their living reality and their idea of

what home is posed to the construction of a practical theology of
home? How can the good news of the gospel give meaning to the
daily lives of unaccompanied migrant children? Put differently,
what kind of Christian spirituality is needed to respond to
unaccompanied migrant children and their crisis of displacement?
The ‘hermeneutics of listening to children’, as conceptualised
by Swart and Yates (2012), is critical in our public practical
theological approach to the existential reality of unaccompanied
migrant children:
[L]istening to children in the process of practical theological
interpretation offers newly found opportunities for Christian
theology and the church to contribute to the well-being of children
as a local, national, continental and global public concern. Listening
to children’s voices does not only address questions about social
justice, the participation rights of children and children’s position
as active agents in society; the act of listening to children is also
about the survival and development of children, caring for them and
protecting them from living conditions that dehumanise them – a
way of promoting the human dignity of children as the image of God
in each human being … it is also about communicating and being
in relationships with children in order to realise supportive and
companionable interactions in adult-child spaces. (p. 1)
The hermeneutics of listening, we argue, may be a first step a

practical theologian could use to avoid the dangers of theorising
about and colonising unaccompanied migrant children or
refugees who are deemed not able to speak for themselves. In
this case, we attempt to see and understand the process of
constructing a practical theology of home through migrant
children’s eyes and voices. However, we are aware of the ethical
considerations and power dynamics between adult researchers
and children as co-researchers. One of the co-authors neutralised
the power dynamics as she shared the social and immigration
status with the migrant children, and they related to her as one of
them. Furthermore, we consider our different ethnic backgrounds
and our diverse subjective identification with migration as
valuable in responding to the question of displacement from an
insider–outsider perspective.
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Lived experiences of unaccompanied

migrant children6
The majority of migrant children in South Africa, both unaccompanied
and accompanied, live in shelters. However, research indicates that
they run away from shelters for different reasons and sometimes
opt for the streets of big economic hubs such as Johannesburg,
Pretoria and Cape Town (Chisale 2014). They are also visible in the
border towns and have limited to no access to proper accommodation
and nutrition (Skelton 2010). Migrant and refugee children who
stayed in the Central Methodist Church in Johannesburg and the
Soweto Methodist Community Centre under the guidance of the
then Bishop Paul Verryn were asked the reasons for coming to
the Methodist Church. Based on the narratives of URMs, we could
deduce the daily life challenges, felt needs and expectations of
children in relation to the concept of home.
Home as a safe place and a space of care,

love and respect
Kinky, a 16-year-old girl, explained her reasons for coming to the
Methodist Church:
‘When I arrived in Johannesburg, I was sent to a children’s shelter
to stay there with other children, but when I went there I met other
unaccompanied refugee minors (URMs) like myself and South African
children. Us URMs were discriminated against by social workers and
other workers, cleaners and kitchen staff in children’s homes who
never stopped reminding us that we do not have rights equal to South
African children, so we must stop complaining. South African children
were always given first preference in food, bedding and everything.
We were treated like orphans. So most of us when we heard about
the Bishop that he is taking care of migrant children in his church we
ran away and came to the church, because we wanted a home where
there is peace, security and respect’. (In-depth interview, 17 June 2014)
6. Some of the verbatim presented in this chapter was presented in a doctoral thesis, by one
of the authors (Chisale 2012).
137
Flower, a 17-year-old girl, confirms Kinky’s narrative on the

struggles and basic longings of URMs when she shared (Chisale
2014):
‘With all the pains I went through when I stayed with a stranger in a
Johannesburg flat, I just needed a better home where I will experience
peace, love and someone to care for me, and I found that in the church
with the Bishop. In the church there were evil people who had their
hidden agendas, but we were protected when the Bishop moved us
to Soweto where there are caregivers. In this community we are at
home, we experience the love of God as children, our caregivers treat
us like their own children they love and respect our needs, there is no
police or home affairs to arrest us’. (In-depth interview, 24 June 2012;
pp. 177–178)
Many male migrant children started their life in Johannesburg in

the dangerous streets of the city and experienced violence and
pain, motivating them to move into the church building. This
emerges from Rambo, a 17-year-old boy, who said:
‘Life in the streets of South Africa is not nice, you face violence from
all angles. One is forced to always dodge the police and home affairs
personnel, who harass people in the streets of Johannesburg by
asking for IDs or passports. So, I came to church to seek for protection,
care, respect and counselling. Otherwise in the streets I would have
become a criminal trying to defend myself from the evils of street life.
The Bishop saved us by welcoming us to live in his church, we are no
longer harassed by police because the Bishop protects us’. (In-depth
interview, 14 July 2012)
Stix, a 16-year-old boy, explained how he suffered in

Johannesburg’s streets because he did not have shelter (Chisale
2014):
‘When I heard the name church, I knew that it is where I will find
the love and mercy of God. I had experienced suffering at home
in Zimbabwe and on the way and in the streets of Johannesburg.
I just needed someone who will look at me with sympathy and
provide shelter for me until I can stand up for myself and have my
own accommodation. One day I was chatting with a security guard
discussing the evil life of living on the streets, he then told me that
church is offering security and shelter to migrants and refugees, in
my mind I saw God’s grace there protecting me. The first day I went
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to church I saw some refugees going to the alter to pray I did the
same, the church is not a building but it is God’s presence in what we
do. Now the church was going to be my shelter…because of God’s
grace I survived and found a reason to live…now I go to school, I have
a home and I expect to have a degree in Engineering’. (In-depth
interview, 14 July 2012; p. 177)
Valentine, Sporton and Nielsen’s (2009) research findings on

displaced children’s subjective understanding of space and place
present themes such as fear, risk, trust and belonging. These
findings resonate with URMs who narrated experiences of
xenophobia and crime that caused them fear. These experiences
cause a lack of trust and uncertainty in URMs. This then seems to
have invoked the spiritual dimension of space. Practical
theologians like Louw (2017) have addressed the spiritual
dimension of space by referring to space and place in connection
to a philosophy of belonging and a spirituality of habitus.
Home as relational and communal

Some of URMs highlighted that their reason for going to the
church were to reunite with their families who they thought could
be staying at the church. They also wanted to be at a place where
there are people who share their experiences. Themes such as
family, friends, brothers and sisters emerged.
According to Dombo, a 17-year-old boy, a home is a familial
space:
‘As for now I feel like I am at home in this church with brothers and
sisters who have become my friends and family, we do have problems
here and there but I feel like I am at home in this church and the
Bishop is a true father different from my mean father back at home, I
am at home away from home and this is a better home than my home
in Zimbabwe. We share common experiences and understand each
other’s pains’. (In-depth interview, 07 July 2012)
Musoja’s, a 15-year-old boy, said his reason for coming to church

was to be with other Zimbabweans. For him this was an antidote
to xenophobia:
139
‘I cannot speak any South African language, so it was difficult for

me to hide from the police that I am from Zimbabwe. In the streets;
vendors, police and other children always tormented us foreigners,
they kept on saying we must go back home. So I came to church to
be in a Zimbabwean community. It made me feel safe and at home.
The bishop made sure that all children felt at home in this community,
because he treated us like his family. Since I came here I no longer have
a headache of hiding from police’. (In-depth interview, 07 July 2012)
Shasha, a 17-year-old boy, said for him there is no place to call

home in Zimbabwe because of his struggles and abuses:
‘When I left Zimbabwe, I wanted to find a place I can call home, I did
not have a home in Zimbabwe, although it is where my umbilical code
is buried. The people who were supposed to care for me threw me
away. I don’t have a home, I have a home here with the bishop. He
and the other children living here are my family. His love and care is
warm and enough for me, he took the responsibility of our parents’.
(In-depth interview, 17 June 2012)
Girls’ reasons for coming to church were mainly for shelter and
security. Unlike boys, they thought of this shelter as temporary in
hopes that they will one day go back to their home in Zimbabwe
where there is the biological and extended family. Missy, a 16-year-
old girl, shared:
‘I came to Johannesburg to work for my family, but I did not have
papers, finding work or shelter is difficult without papers. So, I heard
that the church; provides shelter to refugees. I then came to get
security and shelter. I have made a family in this church. When I go
back home, I will miss this family, the Bishop is very kind to all of us,
he has made a warm home for us in this place where we experience
love and security’. (In-depth interview, 24 June 2012)
In the response of Gloss, a 16-year-old girl, the yearning to visit

home or to go back permanently one day, is evident:
‘I have suffered along the way and in Johannesburg, I found security
when I came to the church. I miss home, but this is my home for now.
I’m getting education, love and respect here. The day I will find a job
I will visit home in Zimbabwe and provide for my siblings. We are
protected and taught good Christian values in this community by the
bishop and caregivers. When I go back home, I will be a responsible
person and will be able to teach my siblings the good Christian
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Chapter 6
values, so that our home will be full of love, peace and security’.
(In-depth interview, 07 July 2012)
Dimples, a 15-year-old girl, also confirmed her desire to go

back home:
‘A security guard brought me to the church and said I will be safe here
and church is better shelter than the streets. I made friends and family,
everyone was concerned about my security. The bishop loves us like
his own biological children, he wants the best for us. When I grow up
and get a degree I will go back home in Zimbabwe and I will tell them
about the love of the Bishop …’. (In-depth interview, 14 July 2012)
A clear theme that emerges from the responses of the URMs is

that of relationships, family and community. It seems that URMs
were drawn to the church in search of a place to call home – a
home that is relational and communal. They go back and forth in
their understanding of home by comparing this home that they
found in South Africa with their home in their countries of origin
(Zimbabwe). Louw (2017) argues that home is a familial space of
togetherness:
Ekhaya as familial homecoming is embedded in cultural structures
that communicate a safe space and friendly environment. It has to
do with values, education and language because it touches the very
fibre of our being human. (p. 4)
Cultural understandings of home are also evident in the responses

of URMs. Home is where one’s umbilical cord (Inkaba in Ndebele
and other Nguni languages) is buried, according to Shasha.
However, if he finds a better home than his family home where his
umbilical cord is buried, he will prefer that better home and
abandon his familial home where Inkaba is buried. Africans regard
the Inkaba as spiritually important.
The burial of the Inkaba in some African families takes place a
few weeks after the birth of a child, once the Inkaba has dried
and fallen off the newly born baby. During the ritual of burying
the Inkaba, the placenta and some of the hair that the child was
born with are buried in order to introduce the newborn baby to
its ancestral home. The Inkaba symbolises a person’s ancestral
141
home and also the connection between the individual and his or
her clan, the land and the spiritual world. It is believed that the
burial place of the Inkaba is where the home of that person is. It
is the place where all the rituals of the person should be performed
including death rituals. Against this background, home is both
spiritual and spatial.
Challenges of finding home and

‘being at home’
This part of the chapter discusses challenges to the construction
of a practical theology of home based on the lived experiences of
URMs. In South Africa, one of the challenges migrant children
face is the xenophobia incited by security agents such as police
and home affairs officials. South African citizens blame foreigners
for the problems the country face, such as unemployment, crime
and limited resources and services for basic survival. Another
challenge migrant children face is the absence of the nuclear and
extended family to protect, nurture and guide them in finding a
home and being at home in South Africa. The absence of the
extended family causes cultural and spiritual dilemmas for
children who have to face confusion about which cultural and
spiritual dynamics to embrace and where to compromise without
facing severe consequences or dilemmas.
Xenophobia
The children revealed that differences in language exposed them
as foreigners and often triggered xenophobic behaviour towards
them. Unaccompanied refugee minors expressed that it was hard
to find a home outside the protection they found in the church
with Bishop Verryn. Unaccompanied refugee minors lamented
that they often played hide and seek with state security agents
because they were afraid that they will be harassed, arrested
and deported back to Zimbabwe. Even in the state-regulated
child and youth care centres, children felt unwelcome. They
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experienced discrimination by social workers and other workers,

for example, cleaners and kitchen staff. They would constantly be
reminded that they are not South African, and do not have the
rights of the local children and therefore have no basis on which
to complain about anything. Xenophobia is triggered by their
homelessness and in turn creates in them feelings of homelessness.
Wherever an unaccompanied migrant child does not feel
welcome, that child experiences xenophobia and rejection.
rom a culture of xenophobia to a culture of

F
welcoming
Xenophobia is perpetuated by the divide that exists between
foreign and native. It is based on exclusion and inclusion, outsider
and insider, discrimination and appreciation. A public practical
theology embraces a culture of welcoming, motivated by an
image of God that can identify with the human crisis of
displacement. The child Jesus was forced to be a migrant. Jesus
and his family experienced challenges with finding a home
because of the persecutions Herod started in pursuit of the child
Jesus (Mt 2:3–18). As such, Jesus became a refugee child when
he was a minor. Migration was the only way to protect Jesus from
the wrath of Herod, who wanted to kill him because he was
perceived to be a threat to Herod’s throne. This highlights the
abuse of power and authority within a particular space. The
ownership of spatiality (space and things) and spatial
contestations raise ownership challenges such as ‘my space, my
country, my land’. A new person in a space is considered a threat
and the occupants then make it hard for him or her to find a
home. This is mirrored in the actions of those URMs who ran away
from children’s homes and shelters because they were told that
services rendered there were not for them, but for South African
children. They were treated as second-class citizens.
Working towards a culture of welcoming and belonging in the
midst of experiences of xenophobia means that churches that
are focused inwardly – exclusively on its existing membership –
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should be transformed into welcoming churches. An embodied

spirituality of hospitality is needed for a culture of welcoming in
emulation of Jesus.
Absence of the extended family

Unaccompanied migrant children face the challenge of an absent
nuclear and extended family. In Africa, the extended family is
significant in children’s care and development. It is essential in
guiding and providing children with a solid grounding within the
web of life. The extended family provides children with a sense of
belonging, security and identity. In the absence of this structure,
there is lack of guidance that causes the ‘spiritual reality triangle’
(balance of relationships between God, ancestors, self and the
rest of creation) to be fragmented. It causes a human crisis of
relational disengagement and confusion.
In Africa, guiding a child is central to that child’s well-being in
the present and future. It entails taking a parental role in directing
him or her on the journey of life in accordance with the accepted
values and norms. Guiding liberates a child because it does not
impose but rather facilitate finding purpose and meaning in life.
Lartey (2003:65) explains the principle of guiding as ‘[e]nabling
people through faith and love, to draw out that which lies within
them. This is not to deny the sharing of information and offering
of ideas and views …’. A lack of guidance exposes a child to various
risks and crises. It forces them to continuously search for home.
There are times where they fall into the wrong hands, as one of
the male URMs, explained when he said that he went to the church
building to seek protection, care, respect and counselling because
he was afraid that on the streets, alone and without adult guidance,
he would have fallen into criminal activities in an attempt to
defend himself from the evils of street life.
Chisale (2014:141) argues that the guidance parents, the
extended family and the community provide is significant for
children’s well-being. She argues that for a child to be liberated
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from neglect, cruelty and exploitation, there should be guidance

from a caring family with the child’s best interest at heart. Where
there is a concerned and caring family, children experience
purpose and meaning as they have a home and are at home. In
the crisis of displacement, unaccompanied migrant children are
isolated from a concerned and caring extended family. This
situation may lead to tension and conflict between continuity
and discontinuity in finding home and feeling at home. This is
because there is a future to look forward to and a history that
remains part of them in their journey as African children.
rom living in isolation to a community of love

F
and companionship
The challenge of living as unaccompanied migrant children in the
absence of the biological extended family means that a practical
theology and ecclesiology of home should advocate for the
recovery of a supporting and caring community. It should offer a
caring community that takes on the communal role and
responsibility in a child’s growth and development. The focus on
a community of love, care and companionship resonates with the
theological anthropological understanding of being created in
the image of God. Our relational God created human beings not
only to be in relationship with God but also in relationship with
others. When children live in isolation, they cannot enjoy true
humanity and in its fullness. This also resonates with the sacrament
of child baptism where the emphasis is on the covenant God who
takes the initiative to relate to his children and to bring them into
a relationship with a family of believers. The parents and
godparents, including the church as the body of Christ, are
assigned to be responsible for the child’s spiritual, social and
physical well-being. The sacrament of baptism can serve as a
meaningful ritual for unaccompanied migrant children, affirming
their position and status as a beloved child of a loving God. They
not only belong to God, as loving Parent, but also to the family of
believers. They become part of a family who has the God-given
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task to guide and nurture a hopeful living in the search of finding

home and being at home in the midst of displacement.
A practical theology and ecclesiology of home thus value
communality and relationality because God is a covenant God
who takes the initiative of being in a relationship with his children.
Our view and understanding of God thus determine our view on
the status and place of unaccompanied migrant children. All
human beings are created in the image of a covenant God and
are designed to live in relation with others. According to the
Christian life and world view, people who do not live in connection
with God and other people cannot experience a life of abundance –
where there is purpose and meaning in life.
This implies that individual members of faith communities
should express and embody Christian values like honesty, integrity,
recognition, love, respect, appreciation and friendship. When
children are on the receiving end of these values in a community
where they can experience a sense of belonging, it is easier for
them to internalise these values. In this way, children are enabled
to take up their roles and responsibilities to ensure reciprocity – a
mutual give and take in their relationships with others.
Cultural–spiritual dynamics
Cultural–spiritual dynamics are significant in finding a home. The
dual homes that are common amongst Africans, with a traditional,
cultural or spiritual home and an urban western home, seem to
be present in URMs’ narratives too. They highlighted the
significance of a native home with spiritual connections to which
they will one day return (homecoming). The urban home with its
individualist western connotations is a home that they found in
the urban space of the receiving country (South Africa) before
they went to the church building to find shelter. It seems
from the narratives of URM that migration did not completely
separate them from their rural traditional world views. Magezi
(2018:2) confirms this, as he argues that the movement from the
rural to the urban space does not disconnect people from their
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traditional beliefs. However, migration may cause inner conflict

about what to preserve from the country of origin and what to
embrace in the new destination, particularly for children without
adult guidance.
The urban space in Zimbabwe is not as complex as the
receiving urban space in South Africa (Johannesburg) where
there are different cultures as migrants who come from different
religious spaces mingle. The diversity of cultures and religion in
the receiving destination may confuse an unaccompanied child
with regard to cultural and spiritual security and stability. This
resonates with Magezi’s (2018:7) argument that people are in
between rural and urban lifestyles as they ‘desire to embrace
urban life fully but at the same time wanting to retain something
of their traditional values, norms and practices’. Unaccompanied
refugee minors raised the issue of the Inkaba buried at their
original homes as something that caused tension for them in
their efforts to find a home and be at home in a foreign country.
The idea of having multiple homes leaves them conflicted
because that would mean that a person is spiritually disconnected
from ancestral land or home. This is worse for children, particularly
in the absence of extended family who can guide and connect
them to ancestral roots. This is a crisis for children who does not
have a good understanding of their own cultural and spiritual
world views yet.
rom a fragmented cultural–spiritual life to a

F
contextualised holistic cultural–spiritual life
The challenge of unaccompanied children who may experience a
disconnection from their cultural and spiritual worldviews has the
implication that a practical theology and ecclesiology of home
should embrace the cultural–spiritual realities of people to
facilitate holistic cultural and spiritual well-being.
A contextualised holistic life acknowledges that all people are
embodied cultural beings. Jesus himself entered human life as a
cultural being. He lived his life as a Jew and respected the spiritual
147
significance of being a child born amongst the Jews. Thus, the

Inkaba, as highlighted by URMs, is a strong symbol of their culture
and spiritual identity. It links closely with their understanding of
their permanent ancestral home. McCarthy and Marks (2010:592)
offer a framework for improving URMs’ well-being in their
destination country. One of the aspects included in this framework
is to reconnect URMs with their home and their families. This
plays an important role in their happiness and well-being. The
idea of the framework was to create a space where URMs will feel
closer to home, in the midst of absent parents and guardians. In
designing a practical theology and ecclesiology of home,
attention should be given to how children can own the Christian
message in their own language and with their own cultural
symbols and expressions, enabling them to respond to the
Christian message by becoming the good news themselves in the
midst of the human crisis of displacement.
Conclusion
It seems from the voices of unaccompanied migrant children that
for displaced children home and security intersect. In the vernacular
languages of participants, home is Ekhaya in Ndebele and Kumusha
in Shona. The majority of the migrant children referred to the
Central Methodist Church in Johannesburg and Methodist
Community Centre in Soweto as a shelter and home. This indicates
that for children, home is where there is security, love, peace and
comfort. Two boys even referred to the church as a better home
than their homes in Zimbabwe and the then Bishop Verryn as a
true father compared to their biological fathers at home.
A public practical theology has at its core the social
transformation of civil society so that all people may experience
a humane life. We attempted to contribute to the construction of
a contextual practical theology by highlighting the challenges
that unaccompanied migrant children’s voices revealed to us. As
a response to the challenges, we suggested shifts that should
occur in civil society through the faithful witness of Christians.
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These are shifts in culture that is needed in civil society to work

actively towards a home – a humane society for all.
Christians, when driven by the humanity and deep love of
Jesus Christ for all people, can embody a spirituality that can
transform dehumanising spaces in society into homes where all
are welcomed in love and friendship as whole and integrated
human beings. Listening to the voices of unaccompanied migrant
children whilst keeping our mutual status as pilgrims in mind, can
help us understand how to journey with all displaced people
towards finding home and be at home in the midst of migration.
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A life beyond iron bars:

Creating a space of
dignity and hope for
the displaced father
in prison
Fazel E. Freeks
Abstract
Migration trends and the global increase in the number of
displaced refugee fathers have raised urgent and serious
concerns, such as the air of hopelessness amongst foreigners, the
disruption of family lives because of the absence of fathers and
problematic fatherhood. Migration trends are foregrounding
issues such as national identity and civil connectivity, and the
How to cite: Freeks, F.E., 2020, ‘A life beyond iron bars: Creating a space of dignity and
hope for the displaced father in prison’, in A.R. Brunsdon (ed.), The human dilemma of
displacement: Towards a practical theology and ecclesiology of home, pp. 151–170, AOSIS,
151
A life beyond iron bars: Creating a space of dignity and hope
refugee crisis has given rise to xenophobia. This chapter examines

resilience in the face of problems such as displacement, refugee
status, the absence of fathers, and the effects and after-effects of
prison life, as many displaced fathers unfortunately walk down
this path. Displaced fathers who have served prison terms have
been traumatised by prison life, and this remained even after
they had obtained parole or are released to go back to their
homes and communities. The prison bars are not easy to forget
and the adaptation to freedom and the idea of a new life are not
always easy. Inmates often echo very similar cries: ‘I am longing
for my wife and children’; ‘Guilt feelings over the things I did are
tearing me up here in prison’; ‘I am heartbroken and lost because
I miss my family’; ‘I am neglecting my role as a father and God is
punishing me’. Such are the desperate cries of fathers who have
been displaced and who have lost their opportunity to be fathers.
This study includes the use of the fatherhood training and
equipping programme to guide, train and equip displaced fathers
with skills and knowledge about their role. They receive help to
process the pain and suffering brought about by separation and
to become responsible fathers. When an effort is made to restore
dignity and build resilience, displaced fathers could be reunited
with their homes and the society.
Keywords: Prison; Space; Dignity; Resilience; Displaced; Refugee;
Father absence; Fatherhood.
Rationale
The website of Correctional Services reported in 2011 that South
Africa has 159 265 prison inmates, of whom 110 905 are sentenced
offenders and 48 360 are awaiting trial. These numbers include a
large proportion of illegal immigrants (Anon 2011). In 2013, the
World Prison Brief reported that South Africa has the largest
correctional population in Africa, and the 9th largest in the world
(Anon 2013). Further, Makou, Skosana and Hopkins (2017) noted
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in a yearly report that South Africa had 236 operational prisons

that had catered for both South African citizens and foreigners at
the end of March 2016. However, these estimates and statistics do
not differ much from those for the rest of the world. Darrah (2017),
for example, indicates in a report released in 2017 that in the
United States of America (USA), 92% of the foreigners in federal
correctional facilities are illegal immigrants. A very recent report
has confirmed this by indicating that approximately 12.1 million
immigrants have been living illegally in the USA since January
2014 (cf. Robertson 2018:1). The crisis of illegal immigration is a
great concern worldwide, not to mention those in correctional
facilities. It is therefore crucial to look at the situation found in
South African prisons in respect of illegal immigrants. A 2011
report states that most foreign prisoners hailed from Zimbabwe
and Mozambique, with 3931 foreigners in prison awaiting trial
(Anon 2011). Of this total, 1887 were Zimbabweans and 916 from
Mozambique. Further, 605 sentenced offenders originated from
Lesotho, 100 came from Swaziland, 11 from Namibia and 10
from Botswana (Anon 2011). The report also mentioned that 426
Nigerians were behind bars: 184 were sentenced offenders and
242 offenders were in the awaiting-trial category (Anon 2011).
In 2013, Minister Sibusiso Ndebele from correctional services
mentioned that 30% of prisoners are awaiting trial, and most of
them are young black men (Anon 2013). Furthermore, 53 000
inmates were youths as young as 17 years old and guilty of
shocking crimes because they dropped out of school, leaving
them homeless and illiterate. Sibusiso also indicated that although
23 000 prisoners are released each year, 25 000 other inmates
are signed into the correctional services system, a serious financial
burden on the Department of Correctional Services. It costs them
approximately R8000 per month to keep an inmate in prison
(Anon 2013). The report also indicated that 64 959 offenders
were at that time not incarcerated. Of these, 48 323 were released
or were on parole, 14 917 had been on interim acquittal and
another 1719 were on a waiting trial (Anon 2013).
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Introduction
This chapter deals with fathers who are in prison and as a result
experience great trauma. Most of the fathers in prison are South
African citizens, with a small number of illegal immigrants who
have been displaced and now find themselves in South African
prisons for various crimes. The chapter is not restricted to only
one group in prison, because immigrants and South African
citizens co-serve punishment for their crimes. Although the
fatherhood training and equipping programme provides and
caters for all groups of men (South African citizens and
immigrants), the focus of this chapter is on the displaced father
in prison. Furthermore, the chapter investigates and reports
on migrant crisis and its challenges, because illegal immigration
remains a troubling issue in the world. Fathers who are in prison
have very little contact with their family, especially their children.
Therefore, imprisonment exacerbates the dilemma of father’s
absence in any community and society.
Absent fathers is not a dilemma unique to South Africa, but it
is one of the major challenges faced by South Africa. Lack of a
father’s love, protection and provision leads to father hunger
(cf. McGee 1993:19). A current major issue is dysfunctional family
life, and fatherlessness and absence of father contribute greatly
towards this issue (Freeks 2018a:168). Although research confirms
that fatherhood is fundamental, families worldwide still suffer
immensely because of father absence and fatherlessness. Today,
fatherlessness, father absence and the fatherhood disease have
become worldwide tendencies and phenomena (Carstens
2014:129; Freeks 2013:3–9, 2016a:3–9, 2017c:90, 2018:129; Stringer
2009:16–17). It is evident that many people around the world
recognise the current crisis in manhood and are trying desperately
to correct this basic societal flaw (cf. Cole 1992:1). Yet fathers are
becoming ever more absent from the lives of their children, and
this tendency has created a father hunger in most of our children
today (cf. Richter et al. 2012; Freeks 2011b:1–4; McGee 1993:15–19;
Perrin et al. 2009).
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According to Carstens (2014:9), fatherlessness is one of the

biggest problems in the world (cf. also Richter et al. 2012; Freeks
& Lotter 2009:520–524). Statistically, families and society at large
cannot escape the insufferable truth that there is a fatherhood
disease in the world. This epidemic of fatherlessness is defining a
lost generation of children (The Herald 2002:18). As the situation
on fatherhood seems to be acute globally, it is crucial to examine
the current fatherhood problem in South Africa.
The society in South Africa has drifted away from recognising
the essence of fatherhood (Freeks 2017c:90; Ratele, Shefer &
Clowes 2012). As a result, communities in South Africa are
experiencing severe challenges of father absenteeism (Bartlett
2013:1–3; Del Russo 2009; Dobbs 2013:2; Freeks 2017c:90,
2018:170–171). It is proven that South Africa is swiftly moving
towards a fatherless society, which has led to a drastic decline in
fatherhood because men behave like monsters towards children
and women (cf. Feni 2016:2). Further, it is evident that father
absenteeism in the South African context is accumulating. This
tendency has created issues such as aggressive behaviour
amongst children, broken families as well as poverty, financial
and social ills (cf. Freeks 2016a:2). Father absenteeism in South
Africa has increased since 2011 from 42% to 48% (cf. Bartlett
2013:1). The influence of fathers in families has also declined
significantly since democracy in South Africa. South African
society has long neglected the importance of fatherhood (Ratele
et al. 2012). In 2012, South Africa was ranked as one of the
countries in the world with the top percentage of father
absenteeism (Freeks 2016a:6; Richter et al. 2012:2).
The fact that South Africa has the second highest rate of father
absenteeism in Africa after Namibia is shocking (Richter, Chikovore
& Makusha 2010:360). One should keep in mind that South African
fathers do not differ that much from fathers elsewhere, but South
Africa has unique circumstances that impact and affect families
immensely. For example, during the era of migrant labour system,
families were disrupted because fathers had to abandon their
155
immediate family to do labour in faraway cities and mines. Fathers

used to return home only over the Christmas period (Frazier 2015).
Another factor is that absent and abusive fathers are usually no
role models of paternity. They set no examples of how to raise
their children, and therefore it is not surprising that this dilemma
is identified as one of the major reasons putting family life in
endangerment (cf. Bertelsmann 2016). A further example is that in
several cases the family is reformulated, but significantly the
father does not count in this reformulation (cf. Ford et al. 2008).
The dilemma of absent fathers has led to a debate in South
Africa. In 2010, the statistics of the Institute of Race Relations in
South Africa indicated that 56% of parents are divorced, and
48% of these children have no fathers. Nine million children
grow up without fathers (Frazier 2015). The unfortunate reality
for most of the children is that 50% of the fathers in South Africa
do not communicate and do not have contact with their children
on a daily basis (Richter et al. 2010:361). A further negative
aspect is that 63% of reported youth suicides in South Africa
occur in fatherless homes (Frazier 2015). Another disturbing
factor is that one-third of the country’s prisoners are in the age
group of 18 to 25 years, and they have children outside prison
walls. Research shows that if children grow up without fathers,
anti-social behaviour and poor educational outcomes are
common aspects resulting in disarrayed avocation (Frazier
2015). Other factors that are directly or indirectly influenced by
the presence of father include health, well-being, academic
performance, self-confidence and behaviour control in boys and
girls (Frazier 2015).
Another disturbing factor is the xenophobic attacks that
indicate acute lack of father figures in the fragmented society
(Anon 2008b:15). During the xenophobic attacks of 2008, the
perpetrators were described as the ‘fatherless sons of violence’
(Anon 2008b:15). During these attacks, numerous people,
especially men, were brutally murdered, beaten up, stabbed
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and raped, and more children were left fatherless (Hans 2008:5).
The negative impact of these attacks was that millions of
children and adolescents were left without parents, and South
Africa during that time was described as a fatherless society
(Anon 2004, 2008a:15). An urgent request was made 12 years
prior to the xenophobic attacks to lessen the impact of
fatherlessness, considering that millions of South African
children have very less or none physical acquaintance with their
fathers. The Human Sciences Research Council Fatherhood
Project (2002) was an initiative to lessen the impact of
fatherlessness and to encourage the development of social
fathers (The Herald 2002:16).
It is important to take cognisance that fatherless households
are a serious problem in the South African society and this
problem cannot be ignored any longer. The problem is also
complex because there are no clear paths or solutions to take on
this detrimental societal problem. From a biblical point of view,
this problem originated with the fall of humans into sin and it has
resulted in a cycle of problems caused by fathers who are not
fulfilling their roles (Freeks 2017d:181–184; Munroe 2008:9–13;
also cf. Gn 3:1–24). The fall of man brought humanity out of God’s
purpose (Munroe 2001:66). As a result, men and women are
facing identity crises pertaining to their gender, sexual orientation
and even their roles in life, and men do not have any comprehension
or understanding of how to be fathers (Freeks 2016c:236–237;
cf. Stringer 2009:108).
Whatever questions are addressed in the political sphere,
fatherless children are a greater risk as it brings with it destructive
consequences such as substance abuse, mental illness, suicide,
poor education and criminality (cf. Feni 2016:2). Children who
grow up fatherless or have no father figure at all have an emotional
challenge. Therefore, it is crucial that men should develop
relationships with their children as father’s bond with them
emotionally, even if they are in prison (cf. Botha 2013:34).
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The Potchefstroom remand detention

facility (previously known as
Potchefstroom correctional services)
The establishment of prison for inmates (fathers) in Potchefstroom
was not an easy task and function. The first building was built in
1847, a one-room building with walls of hay and a roof of reeds to
serve as a prison. The second prison was built in 1864, but it was
a half-finished rotten affair. The third prison was built between
1874 and 1876 but was damaged during the 1880–1881 battle
between the English and the Afrikaners or Boers. The fourth
prison was constructed in 1967, accommodating approximately
390 prisoners. These prisoners were to help build a larger prison
to meet the needs of growing prison population. In 1977, the fifth
prison was set up and today it serves as command offices. Later,
all the prisoners were transferred to a new prison, which is also
referred to as the sixth prison. The Potchefstroom correctional
services, better known as Potchefstroom remand detention
facility accommodate approximately 2050 prisoners, including
both men and women (cf. Veltman 2018).
The fatherhood training and

equipping programme
An ideal and unique programme
for convicted inmates (fathers)
The fatherhood training and equipping programme (Freeks 2011a)
was started in 2015 at the Potchefstroom remand detention facility,
previously known as Potchefstroom correctional services. The
programme is in collaboration with Families South Africa (FAMSA)
and the Faculty of Theology, North-West University (NWU) as part
of the faculty’s community engagement programme and project.
The fatherhood training and equipping programme is an ideal and
unique programme. It carries the sub-title: Daddy should be
present! From the fatherhood training and equipping programme
flows the project: A life beyond iron bars, which focuses on and
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supports inmates (fathers) who are on parole or are released from

prison. The trainer and presenter of the programme monitors
inmates on parole and acts as a mentor to them. The fatherhood
training and equipping programme was first drafted in 2011
(cf. Freeks 2011a) and structured and compiled from own research
(cf. Freeks 2004, 2011b). It was later extended, amended and
adapted from other studies on fatherhood, father absenteeism,
uninvolved fathers and the fundamental task of a father in a family
context (cf. Freeks 2013, 2016a, 2016b, 2017a, 2017b, 2017c, 2018a,
2018b; Freeks, Greeff & Lotter 2015; Freeks & Lotter 2009, 2014;
Freeks, Strydom & Bartlett 2015). The fatherhood training and
equipping programme has the potential to be expanded and make
a positive impact on fathers to positively influence them against
negative and destructive behaviour.
Layout of the fatherhood training and

equipping programme
The layout of fatherhood training and equipping programme
comprises a manual, a workbook and practical activities
(cf. Freeks 2011a). The themes of the stated programme are as
follows (Freeks 2011a):
•• The concept of fathering

•• Self-mage
•• Character versus career
•• How to overcome labelling?
•• How to handle disappointments?
•• The father as a developer
•• Becoming fully you.
Purpose of the fatherhood training and

equipping programme
The fatherhood training and equipping programme is currently
offered to fathers (inmates) at the Potchefstroom remand
detention facility. The purpose of the programme is to make
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fathers more involved in the lives of their families, especially their

children (FAMSA 2014). Further, the programme aims to enable
men to connect with each other, to feel empowered, to help
identify common purposes amongst themselves and with regard
to their families, and to create a space within which new possibilities
could emerge for fathers. The impact fathers could have especially
on the development of children is profound and could last for a
lifetime. Fathers guide, guard and govern their homes (Stringer
2009:49). A father’s emotional engagement with his children
could lead to multiple positive outcomes. Building upon the
foundation of trust, mutual respect, connection and engagement,
families could once again flourish within a society.
The role of Families South Africa

Who and what is Families South Africa?
The acronym FAMSA stands for Families South Africa. It is a non-
governmental or not-for-profit organisation and focuses mainly on
families, children and youth of different communities. Families
South Africa is better known for its specialised services with
various counselling sessions; therapeutic services; prevention
programmes such as relationship counselling, marriage counselling,
divorce counselling, marriage preparation and marriage enrichment;
therapy; and prevention programmes such as families against
violence, parenting, and fatherhood. Families South Africa
programmes are mainly for prevention, training and rendering
purposes and families are assisted with conflict management
and parenting skills (FAMSA 2014:14–18, 2015:14–24).
Families are trained with parenting and life skills so to raise
emotional and physical health, balanced families and children.
Examples of such programmes are parenting, families against
violence, school holiday programmes for learners’, that is bullying,
teasing, and other programmes and projects with destructive
behaviours. Families South Africa delivers constant levels of
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excellent services to their clients, implying that people continue

to improve themselves (cf. FAMSA 2014, 2015).
The aim of Families South Africa

Families South Africa aims to empower parents, including fathers
in prison, in their valuable parenting skills and fatherhood to
ensure that families, and especially the children, should receive
the love, care and structure they needed within a household
context. The traditional image of a family structure of mother,
father and children has changed significantly in recent years.
In South Africa, single-parent households are almost considered
a norm in communities. Most children do not even know their
fathers. Children very seldom receive love, attention and care
from both parents, and this leaves them with a hollow space in
their hearts (cf. FAMSA 2014, 2015).
The dilemma of refugees, foreigners

and displaced people
Background
Displacement has been a reality since the beginning of universe,
so the refugee crises and displacement facing the world right
now are not a new phenomenon. Throughout history, people
have remained on move (Polak 2014:1). Adam and eve, for
example, were removed from their place made by God because
of their sin and disobedience. Another example was Cain; he was
judged and chased away from the place he had made his home
because of murder and jealousy. God, however, extends ample
mercy, favour and grace to displaced people (cf. Das 2016:34).
The Gospel of John (19:9–10) asks us a prominent question to
be considered within a practical theological approach: Where are
you from? (cf. Namli 2011:815). Jesus was a refugee according to
the Gospel of Matthew (2:13–23), and he is today joined by tens
161
of millions of brothers and sisters (cf. Shore 2016:1). One should

take cognisance that human beings are constantly on the move
and looking for a better place to live and stay. People have been
always on the move to other countries in search of religious
freedom, food, shelter and safety for their children or to escape
wars, political persecution or torture (Warr 2010:269).
Migration, asylum-seeking and refuge have been a worldwide
dilemma of vulnerable people being persecuted, displaced or
fled because of war and conflict (Langmead 2014:30). Migration
is a part of human history ever since its existence, and nearly
200 million people, one person out of 35 people globally today is
staying at faraway places away from their home country
(Groody 2009:638). Migration evoked a foreign turmoil where it
launched a new idea of domestic relatedness and national identity
(Polak 2014:1). In fact, migration is an approach of explaining
identity, which is a social dilemma and a major attachment of
human existence (cf. Castles & Miller 2009:299). Economic
migrants choose to move to other lands to better their lives and
refugees move to other places to protect their lives
(Warr 2010:270). However, these moves cause interruption to
cultural, socio-economic, political and personal influences as well
as family life in all spheres of life (Warr 2010:270). The world, for
the past decades, has experienced the largest migrations ever
written in history (cf. Falicov 2002).
The refugee and the displacement crisis

in the world
Displacement has increased over the last 50 years and has
become a major humanitarian challenge. It is difficult to work
with numbers and statistics in this chapter because they are
always changing but revealing (Langmead 2014:30–31). According
to the global statistics released by the office of the UNHCR in
2011, there were estimated 11 million refugees, 1 million asylum
seekers, 15 million displaced persons and 3 million stateless
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people (cf. Langmead 2014:30–31). According to estimates,

around 600 000 people or more had moved to Europe in 2015
(Vick 2015:26–34). Displacement and refugee problem have
raised urgent concerns, such as disruption of human lives in
certain lands and putting heavy burdens on receiving countries,
which, in fact, causes internal conflicts between receiving
communities (cf. Soares, Lotter & Van der Merwe 2017:1). This
refugee dilemma opens not only the dangerous plight of millions
of people but also the problem of moral predicament for many
countries (Galli 2015:33–34).
Countries such as Germany welcome 800 000 refugees, and
Illinois, one of the US states, serves 5500 immigrants and
refugees a year (Galli 2015:33–34). In the last three decades, the
USA has become a shelter for refugees and radar of trust and
hope for ample African refugees displaced by man-made or
natural disasters and the majority of those who are displaced
after noticing severe traumatic incidents such as rape, violence,
murder and domestic war battles (Adedoyin et al. 2016:95).
Reports from Australia, Turkey and the USA recount the plight
of refugees and migrants who were victimised or killed after
having arrived in countries they thought would be safe for them
(Shore 2016:4). China, for example, is one of the countries where
people fled for their lives (cf. Koop 2005:355). In 2010, South
Africa received about 180 600 applications for asylum, which
were the largest number globally for the fourth successive year,
and these applications were from Zimbabwe and the Horn of
Africa (cf. Holscher & Bozalek 2012:1097). However, ‘South Africa
on the other hand remains one of the most unequal societies in
the world with poverty increasing by the day’ (Hoogeveen &
Ozler 2005:1).
According to Crush et al. (2008):
South Africa has traditionally high levels of xenophobia, race-based
discourses and practices. The Zimbabwean migration to South Africa
increased in the early 2000s, contributing to a series of xenophobic
attacks in 2008. (pp. 1–2)
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The 11 May 2008 attacks were shocking in South Africa, where

the anti-migrant violence in Alexandria Township of Johannesburg
disseminated to other townships and informal settlements across
the city and the country (Bompani 2015:199). Ensuing a series of
xenophobic violence and attacks in May 2008, over 100 000
foreigners were displaced and most of these displaced refugees
found shelter in churches (cf. Holscher & Bozalek 2012:1093).
Approximately 62 migrants and 21 South Africans died,
670 persons were wounded, 100 000 were displaced and
innumerable women were raped during these attacks (Bompani
2015:199). Most of these migrants and refugees were assisted by
churches (Bompani 2015:197), and many NGOs and governmental
agencies were asked to offer help to these displaced people by
providing shelter, food, water, education and skill programmes
(cf. Bompani 2015:199). Churches, for example, were opened and
accommodated these refugees, and most of them found
sanctuary, communion, shelter and a place to unfold a new life
(Neumark 2004:9). Most churches hosted these refugees
temporarily in church rooms (Koop 2005:355). It is further
indicated that some churches began as refugee gatherings
(Cohn 2011:46). Studies had afterwards indicated that African
refugees have suffered more traumatic experiences compared to
any other refugees from other parts of the world’ (cf. Adedoyin
et al. 2016:96).
In the case of Libya, ‘hundreds of thousands of Liberians
remain displaced within the country’s borders in West Africa and
more than 300 000 refugees are in the capital Monrovia’ (Nyberg
s.a.:39–41). In 2011, the sub-Saharan migrants flee by ship to Libya
because of its violence but unfortunately were drowned because
many of these migrants were unable to swim (Groody 2015:314).
Also in 2011, the World Council of Churches (WCC) addressed the
refugee crisis and expressed concern over the humanitarian
situation in Libya (Dilonno 2011:20–21). Further, an example of
desperation, 250 migrants fled the chaos and were missing after
their boat sank off the Italian coast and the ecumenical groups,
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by requests from government and aid agencies to give assistance,

provide aid and protection to refugees and migrant workers in
the Libya crisis (Dilonno 2011:20–21).
Canada has the most vulnerable refugees in the world, and this
migration of people is mostly influenced by religion (cf. Bramadat
2014:909). It was estimated at the end of 2015 that there were
65.3 million forcibly displaced people worldwide, and 21.3 million
of these people were refugees (Shore 2016:1). Every day, nearly
34 000 people leave and flee their home countries because of
conflict and persecution, and over half of the world’s forcibly
displaced people are children (cf. Shore 2016:1–2). More than
40 000 migrants’ deaths globally are documented today, since
the year 2000 (Groody 2015:315).
Who is a refugee: A displaced person

and a stranger?
The refugee convention defines a refugee as (Naja et al. 2016):
[S]omeone who, owing to a well-founded fear of being persecuted
for reasons of race, religion, nationality, membership of a particular
social group or political opinion, is outside the country of his
nationality and is unable or unwilling to avail himself of the protection
of that specific country. (p. 78)
The UN uses the same definition (cf. Adedoyin et al. 2016:96).

Refugees are displaced people who have been forced to flee
their own countries (Shore 2016:1). Displacement could be an
outcome of natural disasters or war and has a long history
through ages (Das 2016:33). Refugees are furthermore poor, live
in poverty and have lost their homes and identity (Das 2016:33).
Pertaining identity, it is crucial to keep in mind that identification
is one of the most obvious markers of safety and reliability,
especially when you are displaced (cf. Namli 2011:813).
Displacement is one element that desolates identity and the
sensibility of self and dehumanising, and belonging to a land
165
gives a person identity. For example, Paul of Tarsus and Joseph

of Arimathea indicated not only their hometown but also
identified who they were in terms of their families (Das 2016:36).
Even Jesus the Son of God was referred to as Jesus of Nazareth
(cf. Das 2016:36; Mt 4:13; Mk 1:9; Lk 1:26; 4:16, 29; Jn 1:45, 46).
Furthermore, asylum seekers and refugees are amongst the most
marginalised, powerless and dislocated or displaced human
beings in the world, and hospitality should be the most appropriate
approach towards these people (Langmead 2014:29–30).
Dimensions of hospitality should include protection of human
rights, acceptance, justice-seeking, hospitable church life, etc.
(cf. Langmead 2014:29–30).
God’s view and his care for refugees

and the displaced persons
The phenomena of refugees and displacement of people are not
only analysed through political, economic and social lenses but
also through spiritual lens. The gospels do not speak much about
displacement or refugees. The gospel occasionally refers to
strangers and briefly mentions that Jesus, as a child, was a
refugee. However, Jesus follows the tradition of Old Testament
by showing compassion for vulnerable in the society.
Approximately 75%–85% of Jesus’ audiences were poor, which
included foreigners residing in the land (Das 2016:36).
God is concerned about refugees, displaced persons, strangers
and the vulnerable. It is evident that Jesus has shown much
compassion for the vulnerable in society. He cares and has
compassion for the displaced and people who live on the edge of
society; he is also concerned about the people who even
spiritually are not part of his kingdom (Das 2016:36). The notion
of God’s view and care pertaining to refugees and the displaced
is that he takes care of the poor, weak, vulnerable, refugee,
broken, discarded and rejected because he created them and for
him such people are of equal value, irrespective of their ethnicity,
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nationality, and social or economic status (cf. Das 2016:34–36).

God wants to pour out his heart to this fatherless generation,
including refugees and the displaced. In fact, God wants to be
the father to this generation that has been misguided and
misdirected by a sense of hopelessness (cf. Stringer 2009:131).
God adopts each and every person who comes to him through
Christ, and wants to nurture them with love, affirmation,
acceptance and self-worth (cf. McGee 1993:219–220).
The Samaritan woman, for example, belonged to a community
that was despised and marginalised by the Jews. However, Jesus
shows her respect, compassion and understanding (Jn 4:5–15).
Another example is that of the centurion, who approached Jesus
for healing his servant. Jesus honours the centurion in front of
crowd for his authority and faith by healing his servant (Lk 17:1–10).
A further example is where Jesus delivers the daughter of a Siro-
Phoenician woman from demonic spirits (Mk 7:24–30; Mt
15:21–28). The Lord does not ignore her and heals her daughter.
The woman did not even belong to the Jewish community.
If Jesus could show respect and compassion to all at every
instance and even met their needs (cf. Das 2016:39), then how
would we as Christians respond and understand the displaced,
and what would be our religion towards refugees and the
displaced? According to Porobic (2012:317–330), religion could
be a positive factor in dealing with refugee experiences.
A question is regularly asked when dealing with refugees and
displaced people: Is religion different? (cf. Churgin 2016:2013–
2015). How bad the refugee and displacement crises might be, it
still gives an opportunity for Christians to shine brightly in the
light of Christ’s love than ever before (cf. Galli 2015:33–34). Robert
Guppah, a pastor in Monrovia’s Sinkor district, says that ‘we must
be a people of hope and Jesus Christ is the basis of our hope’
(cf. Nyberg s.a:39–41). It is therefore important to preach and
teach the refugee stories because how would it be possible for us
as Christians to live faithfully at a time of such mass displacements
(cf. Shore 2016:2).
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Displaced fathers could be reintegrated

in society if we restore their dignity and
build spiritual resilience
Building spiritual resilience and restoring dignity amongst
displaced fathers at the Potchefstroom remand detention facility
is fundamental because it reduces destructive behaviour amongst
such persons. Building resilience is necessary because it brings
hope to displaced fathers, especially against the spiritual
challenges that many of the fathers are facing in their daily lives.
In 2017, research was conducted amongst displaced fathers at
the Potchefstroom remand detention facility. A total of 38 fathers
participated in this research. Findings in terms of the fatherhood
training and equipping programme were based on resilience
building in four specific areas, namely emotions of fathers before
the programme, emotions of fathers after the programme, areas
of growth after the programme and fathers’ spiritual life after the
fatherhood programme.
Before the presentation of fatherhood programme, fathers
indicated that they felt very depressed. This problem was further
explored in group discussions, and reasons included that the
fathers had no hope, no support, and lacked skills development
and poor training. They also felt inferior because of family
rejection, degrading life in prison and poor living conditions.
After the fatherhood programme, it was significant to see that
fathers felt more positive and were more hopeful compared to
before. Furthermore, fathers indicated that they felt happier than
before because of follow-up, emotional support, and building
positive values and relationships between the presenter, fathers,
facilitators and the staff of the correctional services.
Because of the positive relationship that fathers had built
amongst themselves, it was remarkable to notice the positivity of
fathers towards the programme, facilitators and correctional
staff. Furthermore, growth was evident in terms of own identity,
and that most of them took responsibility of their life, actions and
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choices. Furthermore, it was noteworthy to observe as to how

fathers indicated their positive growth in terms of their spiritual
life. The fatherhood programme indicated that it was important
for fathers to do self-introspection, and many of them were
motivated and willing to do so. This behaviour is, however, evident
and could be seen from their participation in spiritual activities
such as the Bible study, prayer groups and spiritual services on
specific Sundays. Fathers also indicated that they felt part of a
spiritual family, and that they had a deep desire to be transformed.
Unfortunately, a smaller group of fathers indicated a sense of
responsibility, which was, in fact, a great inadequacy in terms of
responsible fatherhood.
Christian’s responsibility for the

displaced fathers
Refugees and displaced people often need help in bereavement,
grief and loss (cf. McLellan 2015:131–138), and this is what the
fatherhood training and equipping programme does in its project:
A life beyond iron bars. It offers hope, builds resilience, offers relief
and strength, gives encouragement, provides solutions and inspires
inmates (fathers) to make progress in life (cf. Freeks 2011a).
The fatherhood programme implies that Christians should
have and practice a compassionate ministry towards displaced
people. Christians should act as families to those displaced people
who have lost their families. They should minister impoverished
and previously disadvantaged and less-developed communities,
and reach out to orphans and vulnerable children. Christians must
ensure that different ministries are in place to build sound
marriages, complying with generation and steadfast families
(cf. Freeks 2018a:200).
Furthermore, Christians must build faith through worship
because worship songs enhance trust in God as a father to the
fatherless and mother to the motherless and provide comfort.
Worship songs strengthen the faith that God is present with
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powerless and in abandonment of their life situations. In an article

examining the Afro-American understanding of Psalm 68, Gilkes
(1989:134–152) explains how the words of Psalm 68:5 provided
hope in the worst of circumstances imaginable in their
communities, along with the assurance of Psalm 27 that if their
mothers or fathers had forsook them, God would surely ‘take
them up’, they found the image of God that transformed their
lives (Gilkes 1989:134–152).
Pertaining development amongst displaced persons, it is
necessary to train and equip displaced fathers. This should take
place through various strategies such as workshops, road shows,
conferences, seminars and camps on marriage and family
enrichment, premarital counselling programmes, equipping
events as well as programmes and activities for community
training. All these strategies should focus on building strong and
steadfast families and providing training for effective parenting.
Christian fellowship for the displaced is fundamental and should
be encouraged in the society because of the mutual aspect of
care. Fellowship with the displaced means worshipping God
together and knowing him in all circumstances. This fellowship is
further significant because it also includes taking care of their
needs, for example sharing meals and praying together to deal
with challenges.
One of the core aspects of the fatherhood programme is that
it teaches inmates (fathers) to become teachers in their families,
especially teaching them the Word of God and about God as their
Father (Freeks 2019:12). This is a major challenge for men because
many men are intimidated by their wives (cf. Munroe 2008:31).
Fatherhood has to be taken seriously and with cognisance
because it gives an anticipation of what and who is our Father
(cf. Freeks & Genade 2017), and if human fatherhood does not
exist then all truth and knowledge about God, the Father, is void
and insignificant. Today, fatherhood has become an element, and
perhaps the most threatening element in the world. That’s why,
Christian responsibility has become all the more crucial and
relevant pertaining to displaced father.
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Chapter 8
Migrants, missio Dei

and the church in
South Africa
Johannes J. Knoetze
Department of Missiology,
Paul Verryn
Methodist Church,
Soweto, South Africa
Abstract
The chapter is written from a missional perspective and attends
to the possible responses of local churches in South Africa
towards migrants. The parable of the sower, as found in Matthew 13,
is used as an analogy to discuss these responses. Some practical
examples of the responses of the churches are cited. The last part
of the chapter discusses different aspects of the ministry of local
churches that could contribute to a missional response.
How to cite: Knoetze, J.J. & Verryn, P., 2020, ‘Migrants, missio Dei and the church in South
Africa’, in A.R. Brunsdon (ed.), The human dilemma of displacement: Towards a practical
theology and ecclesiology of home, pp. 171–187, AOSIS, Cape Town. https://doi.org/10.4102/
aosis.2020.BK198.08
171
Migrants, missio Dei and the church in South Africa
Keywords: Migrants; Matthew 13; Missional church; Globalisation;

South Africa.
Introduction
The chapter is written from a missional perspective and attends
to the possible responses of local churches in South Africa
towards migrants. The parable of the sower, as found in
Matthew 13, is used as an analogy to discuss these responses
of churches. Together with a critical literature and exegetical
study, the method used in the analogy could be viewed as an
ethnographic study. This implies that the authors are personally
involved in, and in many instances ‘responsible’ for a ministry
with migrants, and write from their own experiences,
perspectives and contexts. One of the authors is working with
migrants nationally; the other author is working with a group
of migrants in one of the most rural areas of the North West
Province near the border of Botswana. However, it seems as if
the responses from different denominations and local churches
do not differ much when it comes to ministering together with
strangers. After looking at the reactions of local churches, the
chapter attends to some principles to help local churches act
in a more missional manner in welcoming migrants as
participants in the ministry.
Background
We live in a pluralistic society where millions of people travel
everyday across borders from one country to another. Many
of these people cross the borders of their country of origin
permanently as they are looking and hoping for a better
future. Migration and mission – to make God known in the
world – have remained inseparable throughout the Bible
(Knoetze 2012:40–44). When God created his covenant with
Abraham as the father of all believers (Rm 4), God called
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Abraham, from his country, from his land, from his father’s
house, to an unknown land (Gn 12:1). In the Old Testament,
God uses the migration of people such as Abraham and Israel
to make himself known to the world (Wright 2006:75–104).
Even the church could then be nothing less than a migrating
movement; we live in a kingdom which is not from this earth
(Jn 18:36), we live with hope of a new life and a new earth, an
eschatological hope that characterises our current reality. The
first letter of Peter reads: ‘To God’s chosen people who live as
refugees scattered throughout the provinces of …’ (1 Pt 1:1). It
is along these lines of movement, or migration, that Myers
(2017) argues about globalisation and the influence on and of
the poor in relation to Christian mission in the current
hyperconnected, post-modern world. The present authors
agree with Myers (2017) statement:
[T ]hat God is the God of history, all of history, and that God’s story
has an end and purpose. I take it on faith that God is working on
a project of redemption and restoration and thus that nothing in
history or in the lives of human beings is outside the scope of God’s
project. (p. 16)
Myers (2017) makes a very important remark when he says:

I believe that proclamation by word must always be part of the church
mission, but I wonder if the part about the Kingdom, about loving our
neighbours and even our enemies, needs some serious renovation.
(p. 16)
The focus of this chapter is to understand something of how

God’s redemption plan plays out from the perspective of kingdom
through migration and migrants, who are viewed and treated as
people from the margins.
In spite of wonderful definitions of mission, the general
understanding of mission is ‘(a) propagation of faith; (b)
expansion of the reign of God; (c) conversion of the heathen
and (d) the founding of new churches’ (Bosch 1991:1). It is from
this general understanding that Myers’ remarks about the
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kingdom and loving our neighbours and even our enemies

become relevant when focusing on migrants. This chapter
seeks to focus on the reaction of local churches in urban and
rural South Africa, as faith communities, towards immigrants
from outside South Africa as well as migrants from rural to
urban South Africa. As such, the mission of the church is
understood in the context of immigrants as centripetal, moving
to the centre and moving to the church as part of God’s mission
project of redemption and restoration. Ott and Straus (2010:23)
write about the centripetal understanding of mission: ‘Yet at
the consummation of the Old Testament eschatological vision,
the direction will reverse again, and the nations will be drawn
centripetally to Zion, the New Jerusalem’. This chapter indicates
that faith communities as part of missio Dei are to communicate
with immigrants as marginalised people and welcome them
into the kingdom of God. There are clearly some contact points
with the parable of the Great Feast (Lk 14:15–24) and the
command to ‘Go out to the country roads and lanes and make
people come in, so that my house will be full’ (Lk 14:23).
Focusing on the kingdom of God and centripetal mission, this
chapter seeks to use the parable of the sower (Mt 13:1–23) as
an analogy of church’s different responses to immigrants in
South Africa.
It would be true to say of any country that migrants are
regarded as superfluous to the essential fabric of society. A visit
to the department of home affairs would quickly expose an
intricate maze of regulations that govern the legitimacy process.
At the heart of being a migrant in South Africa from another
country is the unspoken message of restriction and unwantedness.
The journey to essential belonging is truncated and awkward and
certainly does not convey to the migrant concerned a welcome
and an affirmation of their personhood or giftedness. We must
understand that this is in direct contradiction to the gospel which
seeks to emphasise a welcome to any outsider and worse still a
welcome to a sinner in the presence of sanctified. This unspoken
paradigm is also applicable to migrants within the country,
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although far less regulated by our bureaucracy. The unspoken

prejudices of tribe and clan make the free movement of people in
South Africa very uneasy. One has to listen to officials from large
metropoles or Gauteng province to discern anger at their
obligations to provide services to people who come from ‘other
provinces’, let alone other countries. To return to the discussion
around foreign nationals and their experience of South African
attitude, the scourge of xenophobia has shamed the Christian
community of this country and has left images reminiscent of
institutionalised apartheid in our memories. Considering the
vulnerability of many migrants to South Africa and the
considerable trauma that many of them have faced at the hands
of alienating governments, the picture of a migrant being
necklaced in Alexandra during the height of xenophobic attacks
is undoubtedly an unmitigated crime against humanity, and that
also in a country that considers itself Christian.
Application to Matthew 13:1–23

Although Matthew is the focus of interpretation, it is important to
note that there are synoptic similarities that are relevant
(cf. Mk 4:1–20; Lk 8:1–15).
Context of the parable in the text

In Matthew 12:46–50, Jesus explains that his call surpasses loyalty
to family. Similarly, the calling of Abraham out of family and land
emphasises the priority that obedience to God has over personal
commitments (Gn 12:1ff.). This certainly breaks the norms
surrounding Middle Eastern family ties and the socio-historical
context of the New Testament where family ties are a priority. We
must therefore recognise that our engagement with migrants
confronts our comfort zones and priorities. Therefore, expectation
is to expand the biological definitions of family to include the
‘other’, the marginalised. The principle of taking care of
the vulnerable and the marginalised is recognised throughout
175
the Old and New Testaments. Matthew 13 therefore re-emphasises

the gospel prerogative for all of life and shifts focus from our
traditional or cultural interpretation of life to a new focus of the
kingdom of God. The implication of the church universal is to
shift focus from the institutionalised church or faith community
to God and the coming of his kingdom in the world.
Although Matthew 12 expounds Jesus’ confrontation of the
Pharisees with the nature of the kingdom, we must understand
that Matthew is probably referring to the church of his day,
struggling with the signs of the kingdom. His reference to Isaiah
6:9f. emphasises that blindness and deafness would be the
ongoing struggle of the church community.
With this short background, it is clear why the focus of this
parable is on the soil receiving the seed. The analogy would be
that the believing community here is equivalent to the soil. At
first Jesus speaks to the multitude (Mt 13:2) when he tells this
parable, but when he interprets the parable, he speaks to the
disciples (Mt 13:10) and to the church. Stiller (2005:36) remarks
when a storyteller ends his story with an interpretation of its
meaning: ‘It is a signal to take it seriously’. This could be seen
clearly in Matthew 13:9, where Jesus calls for discernment in the
understanding of this parable.
Having a clear understanding of the relationship between the
missio Dei and the kingdom of God, the church needs to decide
how it is going to react to the opportunities and threats or
challenges that immigrants contribute to living the kingdom of
God and to being in church. These decisions become clear in the
manner the church treats immigrants, that is to say either as
‘seed’ from God, or ‘beggars’ from elsewhere. An important
principle is that both mission and church belong to God. Within
the context of the parable, both the ‘seed’ and the ‘soil’ belong to
God in his kingdom and he is busy fulfilling his redemptive plan
through them. We, both immigrants (seed) and the church (soil),
have the privilege to participate and be included in this plan
(cf. Mogensen 2016:56).
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When Jesus talked about the soil in Matthew 13, he identified

four different types of soils and how the seed reacted in each soil.
The seed that fell along pathways was consumed by birds, that
which fell on rocky soil was scorched, the seed that fell amongst
thorn bushes was choked and the seed which fell on good soil
produced a large harvest.
Some tangential thoughts to consider relating to migrants
would be to try and understand the correlation between the seed
having to die first to bear fruit, and what dying or transformation
for the migrant would be in a new context. According to John
12:24–26, if a grain of wheat does not die, ‘it remains just a grain
of wheat’ (Newman & Nida 1980:405). For the migrant (or the
church) to die means to become and live as part of the body of
Christ and not just to remain a migrant or a church. Attending to
John 12:26, it literally reads ‘and where I am, there my servant will
be’, meaning a ‘died grain’ would serve God (Newman & Nida
1980:407). Furthermore, it might be worth imagining the
correlation between the smallness of migrant seed as compared
to a large mustard tree that might result from a migrant exposed
to good soil in the church (Mt 13:31–35).
Application of the parable to

migration
Seed along the pathways
The church that does not recognise that migrants in their context
are part of God’s mission is avoiding its responsibility to the
kingdom of God. For instance, in many of our inner cities, we find
mainline churches’ service communities that travel far distances
to the church to be entertained by the Sunday service but have
no connection with the migrants that are crammed into hijacked
buildings at their doorstep. In fact, many of these churches are
oblivious to the exponential need for the hope of the gospel in
these contexts. Much money is spent on ensuring security
systems that would keep the unwanted and marginalised at bay.
Probably, most profoundly expressed is the story of a policeman
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finding the dead body of a baby – unidentified and of no

importance – in the rubbish dumpster outside a church. Death
along the pathway gains new dimensions of insensitivity in this
narrative. Luke 10:31f. describes a similar indifference towards the
vulnerable. Of course, this assumes recognition that the migrant
is vulnerable until exposed to the good soil. The deeper issue
which is raised confronts the church with its fundamental
understanding of mission. The decision of a church community to
engage in God’s mission implies a dramatic shift from maintenance
to radical engagement with the context and therefore the world.
It implies a decision to take seriously the fact that God loves the
world, possibly even more than he loves the church (Jn 3:16). This
paradigm shift is as immense as the shift from death to life for
church community. It implies a change in priorities and obviously
the way in which the finances of church govern themselves. The
pathway would always be relatively clean, unobstructed,
accessible, predictable and seemingly leading to a goal, because
a lot of sown seeds were snatched away (Mt 13:19).
Seed on rocky places

This would be symbolic of the church which at first was
enthusiastic but as the troubles started creeping in and the
realisation of the commitment dawned, enthusiasm withered.
The experience at Central Methodist Mission, when first the doors
to migrants were opened, quite conservatively, was applauded,
especially by the governing bodies of the church. However, as
soon as the implications on budgets, infrastructure, loss of space
for church meetings, cleanliness, organised predictability, and
relationships with municipality and government departments
became problematic, the narrative was literally suffocated. Of
course, the demands made in this context covered each and
every detail of human existence, from proper cleaning facilities to
intimate relationships, power struggle, crime and drugs, struggle
to resolve political difficulties that had caused migration in the
first place, to grief, psychological dysfunction and brokenness.
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The mountain was too steep to climb, often for people from the
church community. Many people of this community came to the
church really to connect with a place of sanity but were confronted
with the inhumanity of scarcity and desperation. The rocks
depleted the potential for the expansion of kingdom.
Seed amongst the thorn bushes

It is not, that the church is not willing to commit to immigrants
and their needs, it is just that the church is preoccupied with
many other issues such as worries of survival, or the deceitfulness
of wealth. Therefore, the migrants have to compete with these
other issues, which are described as thorn bushes in the parable.
One of the ongoing mantras of xenophobia is, ‘they are stealing
our resources, our jobs, our women, our social services’.
In the context of South Africa, the absurdity of these complaints
is unspeakable. If one considers that many of those who were
involved in the so-called liberation of this country were hosted,
educated and employed by the very countries from which we are
now receiving migrants, these complaints are simply absurd.
When South Africa projects to the world an image of economic
stability and lucrative success in business, we must not be
surprised that for economically downtrodden people, this nation
seems to be a destination of hope, and indeed we are a destination
of hope. The wealth of this nation really does imply that there
should be no poor in our midst and that this is a political destiny
which has resolved its conflicts. There is something crude in
trying to balance in our minds the bizarre levels of corruption and
basically the theft in the light of the struggle to survive.
An interesting conundrum emerged during discussions with a
migrant community in the deep rural areas of the North West
province, particularly regarding their relocation to Mahikeng.
Some relocations have taken place, but there was an outcry that
previously earmarked government subsidy houses (RDP) have
been reassigned at this relocation and thus these new migrants
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should not be given priority in the context of such a dire need.

The public protector would need Solomon’s wisdom to balance
priorities. Some of these real struggles don’t even seem to fall
within the ambit of church’s imagination, let alone providing a
space to people seeking a new beginning. In many respects, the
church has been smothered by the lure of wealth and comfort. To
some, it offers a place of relief from the struggle of survival, but
in many instances, our church buildings represent middle to
upper class in both appearance and accumulated wealth. These
things, it is thought, cannot be sacrificed for anything, let alone
the kingdom.
Good soil
Within the context of Matthew, the disciples were disturbed that
Jesus was not taking over leadership by initiating an armed
struggle and evicting Romans (intruders). Instead of taking up
the sword and fighting people, Jesus insisted on spreading his
kingdom vision. Within the current migration context of South
Africa, the church should not be disturbed by migrants but
receive them as part of God’s kingdom. The ‘good soil’ church is
the church that understands God’s vision. Unfortunately, for
some, this reality demands a decisive engagement and not a
somewhat ambivalent rejection. The latter has been the prevailing
position of the church.
It is true to say that the South African community has been
benefited hugely from the injection of migrations that have
happened in this country since the beginning of the 21st century,
in particular. For instance, our academic institutions are controlled
by international scholars, many of whom are essentially migrants
from other African countries. The intellectual capital introduced
in this country has saved lives, transformed a fiscus and opened
up spaces of hope right down to the streets of local townships.
On a far more practical level, the investment shown by migrants
to the cleanliness and maintenance of the infrastructure of our
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cities through participation in the recycling industry has been

exemplary.
Furthermore, for the first time, literally in centuries, this

southern tip of Africa has been exposed to the culture and
spirituality of a continent that is profoundly nuanced and wise.
When the church risks allowing the seed to fall within its walls,
the richness of interaction and human development could not be
measured.
We cannot be unaware of the fact that amongst some of the

migrants there could well be and are opportunists and thieves
and robbers who carry with them the infection of corruption. It is
naïve to imagine that every migrant by implication of being a
migrant is good and clean and fresh. However, the parable that
follows our study speaks of weeds that ultimately need to be
exposed and punished (Mt 13:24–30). As an aside, we must also
note that South Africa could be considered as a university for
criminals and corruption. It has been alleged that foreign nationals
sow the seeds of criminality in our society. However, to imagine
that all foreign nationals are criminals and need to be treated
with appropriate suspicion is not unlike the prejudice which had
bedevilled South Africa for so many centuries, where black
people were assumed to be wrong in every dimension of life.
They stole, smelt and were untrustworthy and stupid.
A further example could be taken from the establishment of

Albert Street School in downtown Johannesburg. On 05 July
2008, three teachers requested to open a school in a church in
Albert Street because ‘40 children, mostly unaccompanied
minors, had arrived in the Central Methodist building, subsequent
to the closing of the xenophobic violence camps, and if we did
not take the initiative, they would learn from the streets’
(unspecified speaker, teacher, 05 July 2008).
The school started operating on 08 July 2008 and has
consistently produced outstanding O level results in the
Cambridge examinations. Despite several attempts, the
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secondary school is still not recognised by the Department of

Basic Education. The primary school is registered but has not
received a cent in subsidy for the hundreds of learners that they
have kept off the streets and for whom a bright future is being
crafted. Those three school teachers understood profoundly the
good soil, and now witness to many professionals serving this
country and adding value to the truth that the seeds bear fruit in
good soil.
Sitler (2005:44) clearly indicates the tension between the idea

of the disciples sowing seeds and launching a new order. The fact
that something as harmless as seeds would upset the world is
ridiculous. Within the context of welcoming migrants as possible
‘seed’ of God and the apathy of local and national church bodies
towards migrants and the marginalised, we are challenged to
engage with the ideal of the kingdom in a new way. Whether we
engage this challenge or not, it must be understood that a new
mission movement from the margins, Together Towards Life
(Keum 2013), is initiating a new order of church on the soil of
Africa. Predictably, this disturbs the institutionalised church in
South Africa, especially when it has to consider that this new
movement would emerge, as it has always happened, from the
most marginalised in the world and the church.
The dictum of Marx that the religion is the opiate of masses

must always remain a challenge to the institutionalised, settled,
comfortable and efficient church. Just as migration disrupted
Abraham and began a completely new way of understanding a
relationship with God, so migration in this context opens a new
window to our understanding of mission and our relationship
with God. Indeed, it cannot be seen as anything less than a
redefinition of our humanity. Just as the mission of Paul to
the gentiles disrupted the comfortable traditions and predictable
safe spaces for the early church, so our determination to redefine
community must disrupt the neat tick-a-box bureaucracies of
departments of home affairs and international relations.
Once again, the powerless in every respect are about to disrupt
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the neatly organised desks of who-belongs-where. At the heart

of this entire discussion lies the more profound challenge of
belonging. In essence, Christ’s incarnation implies the intrusion
of a foreigner into our mind space and our spiritual order. The
irony is that our prejudices have always presented themselves as
reasonable, understandable and imminently decent. They are in
fact the quintessence and creation of chaos. And here lies the
irony that the removal of these barriers, although initially
disrupting our comfort zones, is actually the opening to a wider
grasp of what it means to be human in God’s world. It is still
difficult for us to imagine that God confronts us as an equal in
Christ, but this in essence is what the gospel expects of those
who call themselves by his name in this journey comparing with
those who do not belong.
Implications of migration for the

church as kingdom community
The pathways exposing the need to
create community
One of the needs of migrants is to be found in their search for
belonging, and one of the characteristics of the church community
is that it should provide migrants a place of community and
therefore belonging. According to Matthew 13, the pathway
depicts a place of movement where there is no time for the
creation of community. When we deal with migration, we can
either choose to deal with it as an intrusive chaos or as an
extension of community. Dealing with migration as part of our
community gives impetus to two powerful forces that have
influenced the future of church in South Africa. The first force
towards the church is centrifugal, ‘It dislodges people, their
beliefs, values and relationships, from traditional foundations,
and thrusts them outwards into the bewildering “cosmopolitan”’
(Clark 2015:5). In this regard, it links closely to the missional
church movement where the church and congregational life is
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focused on service to life outside the church (Burger 2017:25).

The other force as a reaction to centrifugal is centripetal, ‘Here
people are impelled inwards in an attempt to retain or reclaim
their physical and human roots, their common heritage and a
distinctive identity’ (Clark 2015:5). In this regard, it links closely to
Christendom’s institutionalised church. Although both these
forces carry with them certain threats to community, ‘the quest
for community is as much about depth as about breath’ (Clark
2015:9), and a fine balance has to be struck between these two.
Some of the threats, for example centrifugal threats such as
anonymity and amorality, and centripetal threats such as
xenophobia, directly or indirectly, could be related to migration
as discussed above. However, it is the image of the kingdom
community that offers us the most reflective and convincing
vision of what community is all about. God’s kingdom is not only
about the sovereignty of God but also about all those living in
accordance with his purposes. As such, the kingdom includes the
following gifts to humankind – life, liberation, love and learning.
According to Clark (2015), the church as a servant of the kingdom
community:
[I]s called by God, to witness to the epitome of all learning
communities, the kingdom community, and to build communities
that manifest the kingdom community’s gifts of life, liberation, love
and learning. (p. 57)
To address the seed falling on the pathways, the church has to

create kingdom communities. If the soil of a church can be
compared with the soil of the pathways, then the church needs to
address the two-fold issues raised by Clark, that is the centrifugal
and centripetal forces.
The rocky places exposing the need to act

and serve as church
In our analogy, rocky places could be symbolic of the church
community that offers people a strong sense of security, based
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on collective territory and common heritage, as well as significance

and solidarity embedded in family and parish life (Clark 2015:58).
The described church communities are also closely linked to
secular power and, as such, soul saving. At first, these communities
are enthusiastic about the challenges and opportunities offered
by migrants, but as troubles start coming and the full implications
of commitment are realised, enthusiasm wanes. Niyonsaba
(2018:459) describes church’s mission as not only saving souls
but also as having a diaconal dimension, ‘The practical implications
of diakonia is a call to action as a response to challenges of human
suffering, injustice and care for creation’. One of the benefits of a
diaconal church is an effort to bridge old and unhealthy divides
between spiritual and social gospels. Bevans and Schroeder
(2004) describe this as Type A theology ‘mission as saving souls
and extending the church’. This theological view follows the
exclusive redemption model of institutional church and has a
negative view of humans. According to this understanding of
theology, the original creation of human beings in the image of
God no longer exists after the fall, and the life is seen in dualistic
terms as body and soul (Rooms 2017:307–308). In this theology,
power is important and there is a clear hierarchy and separation
between the clergy and the laity. When the church decides to
address the rocky soil, it must imagine the implications of holistic
diaconal ministry. This ministry is of word and deed, and body
and soul. It implies the determination to overcome race, class,
power and gender divides prevailing in society.
The thorn bushes expose the need to

respect the ministry of clergy and laity
The church, as made up of laity and clergy, is preoccupied with
the concerns of survival and lure of wealth. Although the church,
as a servant of the kingdom community, has always retained a
mystical and sacramental character, to embrace the implications
of a pluralistic society involving migrants, we need a radically
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different form of ministry than has been experienced for centuries

(Clark 2015:102).
The missional movement in South Africa helped us to
rediscover ‘the truth that the saving gospel is not primarily about
the church but about God and Jesus’ (Burger 2017:27). We need
leaders who are able to discern God’s redemptive and restorative
work within different contexts. Our task is to empower and
coordinate different gifts of different people within the church
for ‘their work of Christian service’ (Ep 4:12). Church leaders who
empower and coordinate have at least two major responsibilities:
The first is to empower the church to be a community that
obviously makes the gifts of life, liberation, love and learning. The
second is to be a catalyst for the church to become a learning
community and expose interdependence of the clergy and laity,
enabling ‘the laity to interpret the Christian faith not as a closed
book, but as an ongoing journey of spiritual discovery in search
of the meaning of the kingdom community’ (Clark 2015:107).
The good soil exposes the full potential of

the church as a vibrant community
Within the current pluralistic context of South Africa, the church
is not embattled by migrants but receives them as part of missio
Dei. The good soil church recognises the visitation of migrants as
an opportunity to expand its participation with God in a new
creation. Its key responsibilities are to enable the healing and
wholeness of damaged people, to open spaces for the gifts of a
new humanity and to sacrifice the self-satisfied inflexibility of
exclusion. The good soil church knows that the opening of its
doors ultimately means its reason for being.
Conclusion
Migration obviously implies a journey. The journey presents the
challenges of discovery, rejection, learning and giving. At the
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heart of the gospel is the action of love, the action of journey

(Cape Town Commitment 2010):
Such love is the gift of God poured out in our hearts, but it is also
the command of God requiring the obedience of our wills. Such love
means to be like Christ himself: robust in endurance, yet gentle in
humility; tough in resisting evil, yet tender in compassion for the
suffering; courageous in suffering and faithful even unto death. Such
love was modelled by Christ on earth and is measured by the risen
Christ in glory. (para. 5)
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Chapter 9
A pastoral encounter
with the stranger: The
basic ambivalence of
hostility to hospitality
inherent to the human
response
Abstract
This chapter examines what a pastoral encounter with a stranger
should entail, with a special focus on the basic ambivalence
inherent to the human response that makes us waver between
hostility and hospitality. In this context, ‘strangers’ refers to
displaced human beings, whether immigrants or refugees.
How to cite: Du Plessis, A.L., 2020, ‘A pastoral encounter with the stranger: The basic
ambivalence of hostility to hospitality inherent to the human response’, in A.R. Brunsdon
(ed.), The human dilemma of displacement: Towards a practical theology and ecclesiology
of home, pp. 189–206, AOSIS, Cape Town. https://doi.org/10.4102/aosis.2020.BK198.09
189
A pastoral encounter with the stranger
Statistics show that more than 50 million people have been

displaced. This results in a human dilemma, which gives rise to
new challenges for society. Many countries close their borders to
refugees because they see these groups as a threat to the stability
and resources of their country. The question investigated here is
based on the role of the church and especially that of the pastoral
caregiving ministry in helping displaced persons find the resilience
to not only cope with their hardships, but to find a sense of
meaning in life and in helping others in the same circumstances.
The research is presented in four parts. An exegetical study is
first conducted on Acts 10 to establish the scriptural foundation
of the calling of believers to witness and care for strangers from
different ethnic and cultural backgrounds. The focus then shifts
to what a pastoral encounter with a stranger entails. This is
followed by a discussion of the rapidly changing world of today.
The chapter concludes with a view on how to help without
hurting, an explanation of the paradigm shift from divine definition
to divine infinition and three guidelines or principles for a pastoral
encounter with a stranger.
Keywords: Pastoral encounter; Stranger; Church ministry;
Resilience; Divine infinition.
Introduction
Nobody can doubt that the world is changing. The recent
research in the field of practical theology provides evidence for
the changing discourse. Scholars may never stop asking: what is
changing? What is new? What is coming tomorrow? What does
it mean for us? The church must be aware of the rapidly
increasing changes across the globe. A responsiveness will help
the church to resist the threats, and also be prepared to employ
every beneficial innovation for the advancement of God’s
kingdom and the glory of Christ. Sills (2015:211) states that the
only way in which the church could be ready to meet the
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challenges of the changing world, is to approach their ministry

with an open Bible, an open newspaper and an open mind. He
(Sills 2015:211) also warns that there is a more crucial task before
the church, even more crucial than our attempt to ensure the
contextualisation of theology, ‘The most vital and challenging
aspect is to make the essential changes whilst safeguarding
what must never change: the Gospel’. This is also a challenge for
the pastoral ministry of the church as believers work in cultures
that are different from their own, come into contact with
different rituals, symbols and metaphors and try to find the way
to inner peace and inner healing. The biggest challenge to the
pastoral ministry is to stay true to the Word of God. Whilst this
challenge is always present for the church, it is even greater
when dealing with strangers. Jean (1997:42) writes that the
world is in crisis and the growing number of refugees is a tragic
illustration of the convulsions that plague the planet. For the
purpose of this chapter, strangers refer to displaced people –
immigrants, refugees, foreigners and those from a different
culture. They are the evidence of war, famine, corruption and
oppression that force millions of people into exodus. During a
pastoral encounter between a believer and a stranger on this
road, the basic ambivalent human response that wavers between
hostility and hospitality is always present. The pastoral caregiver
is confronted with the choice to respond with fear or with trust;
to act as a master or a servant or to bring death or life to the
circumstances. This research departs from a practical theological
point of view as its epistemology, with a special focus on pastoral
ministry. In an effort to understand this ambivalent reaction, the
chapter unfolds through the following sections:
•• Do not call anything that God has made clean as impure.

•• An encounter with a stranger.
•• The changing world.
•• Helping without hurting – divine definition to divine
infinition.
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Do not call anything that God has

made clean as impure
The encounter between Peter and Cornelius in Acts 10:1–11:18
shows that believers have the calling to minister cross-culturally,
and in a certain sense Acts 1:8 offer the geographical outline for
the growth of the church. When considering Luke’s narration of
this particular encounter, it is evident that the leading theme is
for believers to move beyond known customary borders.
According to Wilson (2018:83), the characters in the narrative
take ‘steps of faith’ to move beyond not only geographical
borders but also borders created by purity codes, dietary
restrictions and identity markers. Wilson (2018:96) shows that
the geographical borders are especially important in relation to
the historical context of this narrative. Caesarea – a bastion of
Roman authority – was the setting of the constant tension and
frequent conflicts that marked Jew–Gentile relationships. Joppa,
on the other hand, was characterised by its legacy of Jewish
nationalism. Because Peter was aware of the political tension in
Caesarea, one doubts whether the visit of the messengers from
Cornelius would have proceeded so peacefully if it was not for
the spirit guiding Peter to go with the men, ‘doubting nothing’
(Ac 10:20). It is in this atmosphere of racial tension that Cornelius
extends hospitality towards Peter. Luke shows something of
Peter’s hostility in verse 28–29 when Peter explains that it is
unlawful for a Jew to visit a foreigner (stranger). Cornelius’s
hospitality in verse 33 communicates a lesson of divine neutrality
(‘do not call anything impure that God has made clean’, Ac 10:15).
Peter’s response shows a willingness to change from hostility to
hospitality as he learns the lesson of the rooftop vision. He
answers: ‘truly I understand that God shows no partiality, but in
every nation the one who fears him and works righteousness is
acceptable to him’ (Ac 10:34–35) – a statement that shows that
Cornelius’s household, though foreign to Peter, is prepared to
share in the gospel. The general features of the early kerygma
are all present, although adapted to a company of gentiles
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(Bruce 2008:1264). The integration of geography and ethnicity in

this narrative and the intervention of God are significant for the
trajectory of the early church. The importance of this narrative
lies in the universality of God’s presence and the universal lordship
of Jesus Christ over all nations alike.
The challenge posed to Peter in this narrative is still relevant to
the church today, despite an ever-changing world. As a volunteer
working with Doctors Without Borders, Shawgrass (1997:2) refers
to a publication by Eric Morris, head of the office of the UNHCR
from 2002 to 2005 where he argues that ‘the world is in the
throes of the creation of new states emerging from the collapse
of an old world order’. The old world order refers to the Cold War.
He (Morris 1997) further states:
[W ]ith this process of creation the demands of and for ethnicity
have become ever more virulent. No one quite knows what it
means – ancient hatred … has become the catchall cliché to
describe and explain it – but the effects have been powerfully
destructive. Ethnic demands have played an important part in
creating something approaching chaos in international relations –
at the least disorder. (p. 2)
With the call for decolonisation of the African continent around

1960, some of the ethnic dignity and respect of Africans were
restored. In 1963, the Organization of African Unity was formed,
but sadly what started with hopeful enthusiasm soon withered as
more and more revolutions occurred and military dictatorships
arose (Paas 2016:413). The decolonisation discourse is currently
strongly evident in South Africa. Shawgrass (1997:1) describes
decolonisation as a possible reason for the instability of the
continent because governments ‘fought guerrilla liberation
movements, which were often based on a desire for independence
and on some form of political morality’. He (Shawgrass 1997:2)
describes decolonisation as a period of non-structured or
destructive conflict. It is sometimes called ‘identity-based’, and in
this regard, Shawgrass quotes a senior officer of the International
Committee of the Red Cross, who said that almost every individual
in Africa was looking for his or her own identity and that this was
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the main reason for the conflict. The 20th century is known as the
period in history where a shift took place from ad hoc responses
and selective cohesion to a universalisation and institutionalisation
of the refugee problem because of the continuing conflict
(Jean 1997:42). For this reason, the church must be prepared for
an encounter with the stranger.
An encounter with a stranger

Deuteronomy is the richest book in the Bible with respect to
the stranger and lessons for believer on behaviour towards the
stranger. A few examples include Deuteronomy 10:18; 16:11;
24:17 and 27:19. The Hebrew word ger is translated as xenos in
Greek and peregrinus or advena in Latin. This word is
particularly suggestive in that it connotes (1) one who comes
from outside, from afar, from the future (advena), and (2) one
who migrates across borders of nation, tribe or home
(peregrinus). The meaning includes a sense of surprised
exclamation about the coming of this estranged and estranging
outsider, almost like a sense of unknowability calling for risk
and adventure. Hospitality to the stranger does not come
naturally, and whilst the Bible acknowledges the predictable
impulse to persecute seeming intruders, it exhorts the believer
to hospitality (Kearney 2010:22).
Kearney (2010:17–39) conducted a study involving encounters
with strangers as found in the Abrahamic religions. He starts with
Judaism and uses the history of the Hebrew Bible to show how
such encounters come down to the choice between hostility or
hospitality. He highlights that it is a choice that has to be made
repeatedly with every encounter. He (Kearney 2010:n.p.) explains
that biblical religion, like most other religions, ‘is capable of the
best and the worst’ depending on a hermeneutical reading of the
Word of God. When believers choose hospitality over hostility,
they open themselves to a new life. His description of the
encounters with a stranger or the other in Christianity also
involves Jesus himself. His disciples have portrayed him as a
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terrifying alien apparition on several occasions. Consider, for

example, the events that took place on Mount Tabor when he is
transfigured or when he appears to his disciples after his
resurrection. Each time, Jesus responds to them with ‘do not be
afraid’ and he turns their terror into communion: preparing fish
on the lakeshore, breaking bread for the Emmaus disciples and
other such events. Jesus is portrayed as both the one who
believes in providing hospitality to the thirsting stranger, and the
one who calls on believers to host him as their guest (Kearney
2010:27). In this way, Jesus announces his role as the uninvited
guest. When he describes the believer’s behaviour towards ‘the
least of these’ in Matthew 25:31–46, xenophilia, love for the
stranger, becomes love for God.
The manner in which believers treat strangers reflects their
love for God. At the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus preaches that it
is easy to love those who love you (Mt 5:43–48), but it is difficult
to love a stranger, especially an adversary. It is the most difficult –
and the most divine – thing of all. Calvin (transl. by Pringle 1845)
comments as follows on this pericope in Matthew:
It is astonishing, that the Scribes fell into so great an absurdity, as to
limit the word neighbour to benevolent persons: for nothing is more
obvious or certain than that God, in speaking of our neighbours,
includes the whole human race. Every man is devoted to himself;
and whenever a regard to personal convenience occasions an
interruption of acts of kindness, there is a departure from that mutual
intercourse, which nature itself dictates. To keep up the exercise of
brotherly love, God assures us, that all men are our brethren because
they are related to us by a common nature. Whenever I see a man, I
must, of necessity, behold myself as in a mirror: for he is my bone and
my flesh (Genesis 29:14). Now, though the greater part of men break
off, in most instances, from this holy society, yet their depravity does
not violate the order of nature; for we ought to regard God as the
author of the union. Love your enemies. This single point includes
the whole of the former doctrine: for he who shall bring his mind
to love those who hate him, will naturally refrain from all revenge,
will patiently endure evils, will be much more prone to assist the
wretched. Christ presents to us, in a summary view, the way and
manner of fulfilling this precept, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as
thyself (Matthew 22:39). For no man will ever come to obey this
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precept, till he shall have given up self-love, or rather denied himself,

and till men, all of whom God has declared to be connected with him,
shall be held by him in such estimation, that he shall even proceed to
love those by whom he is regarded with hatred. (p. 157)
What Calvin describes here is that the commitment to radical

hospitality is central to the Christian mission of service. On the
one hand, hospitality cultivates a community that offers a home
to someone who has lost his or her own home. It is based on
xenophilia (love for the stranger), and creates a space where the
believer and the stranger can meet to enter into a (pastoral)
encounter. Hostility, on the other hand, causes further damage to
the stranger’s sense of home and is based on xenophobia (fear of
the stranger), thus alienating the stranger even more. The main
aim of hospitality is to create a home for those who are far from
their own homes. In the pastoral encounter with the stranger
(working cross-culturally), an attitude of presence is especially
important. Du Plessis (2018:7) describes it as ‘being with, feeling
with, thinking with and acting with’ the stranger. This presence is
rooted in the context of the believer’s faith. In the 16th century,
hospitality was also a core principle of St. Benedict’s Rule. The
following passage of the rule is characteristic and pioneering
(Kearney 2010; Rule of St. Benedict, ch. 53):
Let all guests who arrive be received like Christ, for He is going to say:
‘I came as a guest, and you received Me.’ And to all let due honor be
shown, especially to the domestics of the faith and to pilgrims … In the
salutation of all guests, whether arriving or departing, let all humanity
be shown. Let the head be bound or the whole body prostrated on
the ground in adoration of Christ, who indeed is received in their
persons. (p. 29)
When this is taken into consideration, how is it then that the

church today has become so distanced and estranged from the
world? What is the church doing to support the more than 50
million immigrants or refugees who are victims of a changing
world?
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Changing world
In Genesis 4:7, we read that Cain built a city and named it after his
son, Enoch. Since then, human beings have lived in cities. The
dynamics of globalisation started evolving when the first nations
started living near, trading with and battling one another (Sills
2015:23). Urbanisation and globalisation are not new to the
modern or post-modern world, but the exponential growth and
the challenges they present to the pastoral ministry of the church
are certainly new. According to a United Nations survey in 2011,
the world has become more urban than rural for the first time in
human history. More than half of the world’s population lives in
urban cities and the globe is becoming increasingly urbanised
and globalised. Inherent to this change is the phenomenon of
human displacement. According to Louw (2017a:2), the refugee
dilemma and migrant crisis have become a global, civil and
political nightmare. Human displacement challenges what we
know of our culture. Worldviews influence and are influenced by
interaction. Sills (2015:25) describes this phenomenon as ‘cultural
mosaics’ and Van der Walt (2003:98) describes the strangers
who come into contact with different cultures as ‘divided souls’
or people with an ‘identification conflict’.
Apart from the phenomenon of human displacement,
Christianity has also experienced a profound shift to the south in
its geographical centre of gravity (Johnson 2005). In the 1900s,
more than 80% of all Christians lived in Europe and North America,
but by 2005 this percentage had dropped below 40%. The centre
of gravity for Christianity is moving south and east1 and this has
resulted in three key challenges. Because Christianity is moving
south and east, what was once considered a Western religion no
1. The term ‘Global South’ refers to the countries that lie south of the equator, previously
referred to as developing nations, the Third World, the Two-Thirds World or the Majority
World (Sills 2015:189).
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longer remains so. The first challenge is the influence of the

southern and the eastern cultures on the gospel and their
understanding of what it means to be a believer. The second
challenge is the change in the dominant language(s), and the
third challenge is the influence of the near-neighbour religions
such as Islam, Hinduism and Buddhism. The Global South plays
an increasingly significant role on the world stage, even though
many areas are still unstable because of corruption (Sills 2015:190).
The crippling burden of poverty and oppression has influenced
many communities to grab hold of extreme forms of the prosperity
gospel and liberation theology. Thus, not only is the world
changing, but the changes have the potential to change the
unchanging message of the Bible, especially if believers are not
attentive to the process and respond to it with an attitude of
presence.
Kearney (2010:49) refers to Ricoeur who called for an
‘interconfessional hospitality’, meaning a linguistic hospitality
that takes the form of an exchange between host and guest
languages, and ‘Eucharistic hospitality’ as an exchange between
selves and strangers. Starting with the basic hermeneutics
paradigm of translation, Ricoeur writes (Kearney 2010):
Bringing the reader to the author, bringing the author to the
reader, at the risk of serving and of betraying two masters: this is to
practice what I like to call linguistic hospitality. It is this which serves
as a model for other forms of hospitality that I think resembles it:
confessions, religions, are they not like languages that are foreign
to one another, with their lexicon, their grammar, their rhetoric, their
stylistics which we must learn in order to make our way into them.
And is Eucharistic hospitality not to be taken up with the same risks
of translation-betrayal, but also with the same renunciation of the
perfect translation? (p. 49)
According to Kearney (2010:50), cross-reading (or listening) lies

at the core of interreligious hermeneutics and ‘it involves an
endless and reversible process of translation between one religion
and the next: a process whose aim is not some unitary fusion but
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mutual disclosure and enhancement’. Interconfessional dialogue

does not aim to eliminate differences, but to welcome them. It is
important to notice that the phrase ‘to welcome them’ does not
mean adopt and conform to them. When reflecting on the
meaning of the words hospitality and hostility, the following
conclusions are marked. Whilst hospitality does not necessary
include approval, hostility conveys overt disapproval and
rejection. Hospitality allows an openness and a willingness to
listen to another, whilst hostility is compelling and prescriptive.
Hospitality makes communication possible, whilst hostility results
in further estrangement. A pastoral encounter that seeks to
understand the stranger implies hospitality with an openness of
mind in the process of conversation, whilst an open Bible is
‘settled’ in the heart of the pastoral caregiver. In 1990, when South
Africa’s first democratic president, Nelson Mandela, was released
from prison, he began his speech with the words ‘I stand here
before you not as a prophet but as a humble servant of you, the
people’ (Anon 1990:n.p.). It was an attitude of hospitality that
Mandela portrayed, although it can be assumed that he had
reason to be hostile.
Another matter of concern is that animism is a religious

worldview that permeates the Global South (Sills 2015:197).
Animism is based on the belief that everything that exists has
a spirit or the life force. The traditional belief system is that
benevolent, malevolent and ambivalent spirits, as well as
ancestral spirits, must be considered and often appeased.
What is considered by the Western world as a primitive
worldview of tribal nations who embrace an ‘unevolved’
superstitious belief system based on witchcraft and folk
stories, is finding its way into presidential offices and the
boardrooms of powerful policy shapers (Sills 2015:198).
The sad consequence is that most religious expressions are
blended with animism, and the citizenry embraces
the resulting syncretism.
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To be relevant in today’s changing world, pastoral caregivers

must be aware of the cultural preferences of the Global South
and consider how the gospel may be contextualised (not
decolonised). The church must be cautious of the deceptive
slide towards an expression of Christianity that is more cultural
than Christian. Van der Walt (2003) indicates very strongly that
the biblical message is clear: ‘the Gospel associated itself with
different cultures – never to be domesticated, nor to be the
captive of these cultures, but to liberate and transform them’
(p. 102). In the year 1952, Niebuhr wrote his classical work on
the Christian faith and culture, and formulated various models
in an attempt to understand the relation between these two
themes:
•• The rejection and anti-model: in this approach, Christ is

portrayed as against culture.
•• The accommodation model: in this approach, Christ is
portrayed as the Christ of culture.
•• The synthesis model: Christ is portrayed above culture, that is,
to maintain the distinction between Christ and culture.
•• The dualistic model: Christ and culture are portrayed in a
paradoxical relationship.
•• The operational model: Christ is seen as the transformer of
culture. Niebuhr believes that this last model is the best
working model for the context in which the church finds
herself and states that although Christ is above culture, he
operates through it to transform (convert) it.
The church is facing numerous and complex issues in the
cosmopolitan pluralistic world, and therefore it is necessary to
have a new look at what the scriptures teach regarding an
encounter with the stranger so that pastoral caregivers can help
without hurting. Pastoral caregivers must find the resilience to
change from hostility to hospitality in their encounters with
strangers.
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Helping without hurting: From divine

definition to divine infinition
We find ourselves in an era where knowledge is freely available
and where there is more knowledge than ever before, but we
still do not have solutions to many of the direst problems.
Even pastoral caregiving is confronted with the burning issue
of its role in the (rapidly) changing world. Louw (2016:13)
states that the church should admit that an immediate solution
to the human displacement dilemma is not possible because
of several contradictions and opposing issues. There should
be a universal network of interculturality that indicates our
common humanity. Hospitality is a core value in a Christian
understanding of pastoral caregiving. Xenophilia allows an
inclusive approach that agrees to an encounter with the
stranger despite the differences because the believer
understands that love, care and compassion are unpretentious
Christian values.
In the light of these values and attitudes, the so-called ‘atheist’
Ludwig Feuerbach warned the church in the early 20th century
against ‘an idol of God with “brains,” but without any passion and
“heart”’ (Louw 2016:15). How is it that a stranger to the Christian
faith could identify the heartlessness of the church and the church
failed to see this herself? Believers should then not be surprised
by a statement such as (Kearney 2010):
My wager … is that it is only if one concedes that one knows virtually
nothing about God that one can begin to recover the presence of
holiness in the flesh of ordinary existence. Such holiness … was
always already there – only we didn’t see, touch or hear it. This
is what Jacob discovered after he wrestled with the stranger
through the night, realizing at dawn that he had seen the face of
God. It is what the disciples of Jesus discovered after they walked
with the stranger down the road of Emmaus before recognizing,
retrospectively, after the breaking of bread, that this wanderer was
their risen rabbouni. (p. 5)
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Kearney (2010:5) describes this wager as anatheism – a return to

God after God. Ana means repetition and return, a turning back
to the (true) gospel. Louw (2017b) describes this paradigm shift
as a:
[M]ove from a fixed dogmatic approach to a more flexible dynamics
of hermeneutics within different cultural contexts; i.e. the dynamics
of ‘presenting’ – a position of ‘not knowing’ and being open for the
mystery and surprise of God’s intervention from the ‘eschaton’ into
the vulnerability of the existential here and now of daily events. (p. 11)
If the pastoral caregiver wants to help without hurting, there

must be a shift from divine definition to divine infinition – the
active expression of the love commandment as a servant and not
a master. Furthermore, there must be a clear understanding that
the concept of God in the Old Testament (Ex 3:14) is an infinitive
verb, which indicates that God will always be where human
beings are. Louw (2017b:11) describes God as an exodus-God and
not a cathedral-God. The presence of God is an infinitive mode –
a continuously ongoing ever-present divine encounter through
and by the indwelling Holy Spirit. El Shaddai refers to the all-
empowering presence of the Lord that is displayed as a co-
suffering source of encouragement, resilience and hospitality.
Within this uneasiness with and awareness of the contradictions
and opposing issues that the church is facing today, the focus
must not be on divine definition of omniscience and omnipotence,
but on divine infiniscience – ‘the on-going intervention of God
and the faithful presence of a covenant God in all spheres of life’
(Louw 2017b:11), through believers (Praxis pietatis).
Vorster (2018:6) describes four themes found in reformed
social thought that might be helpful for peaceful co-existence,
namely ‘the recognition of universal dignity, respect for the
symbiotic and associational nature of human existence, the
commitment to truth-seeking, and the understanding that
continuous social reform is important’. Unity in co-existence is
the theme of many papers today. Paas (2016:431) writes that
according to scripture, unity is characterised by diversity
and truth. Diversity and truth apply to God and his creation.
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In scriptures such as Deuteronomy 6:4, Mark 12:29–32; Romans

3:30 and James 2:19, the oneness of God is emphasised, but in
other parts (e.g. 1 Jn 5:7) the diversity (or Trinity) of God is
evident. God’s diversity is an essential aspect of his character.
Diversity in unity is also a main characteristic of the created
things, for example, the body of human beings (1 Cor 12:12ff.).
Paas (2016:431) says that according to scripture, there is truth
also in unity (e.g. Jn 14:6; Dt 32:4). True unity, however diverse, is
strong, healthy and trustworthy. The whole world is a ‘composition
of endless variety that is composed to a faithfully working
oneness of beauty and strength’ (Paas 2016:431).
The concept of ‘working with oneness of beauty and strength’
links with the continuous act of forming (divine infinition). The
Latin word formosus means to bring out the beauty. The same
meaning is conveyed in Paul’s words in Galatians 4:19 when he
writes that Christ must be formed in believers (Du Plessis 2018:3).
Pastoral caregiving to a stranger therefore also implies the
continuous formation to bring out the beauty in diversity and
truth. Whilst hostility results in stagnation, hospitality opens the
door for continuous formation – therefore, the need for resilience
to change from hostility to hospitality in human response.
In the last part of the 20th century, practical theology (with
pastoral caregiving as a subdivision) has developed into an
authoritative science and is defined as the religious actions of
believers, with special attention to the encounter between God
and human beings in sacred life and in ordinary life events (Heyns
& Pieterse 1990:6). The emphasis is again on actions – a verb, an
activity. Canda and Furman (1999:1) define spirituality powerfully
as religious actions: ‘(spirituality) is the heart of helping – the
heart of empathy and care, the pulse of compassion, the vital
flow of wisdom and the driving force of action to service’. In
today’s world, where the value of human beings more often rests
on what they produce rather than on their humanity, religion and
spirituality can provide a sense of meaning. This is especially true
in the case of the stranger (the homeless, the displaced person)
who is at the mercy of others. Pastoral caregiving thus involves
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taking care of life – irrespective of whether the person is a

stranger or not, it is a life – with the goal to help others to know
God in such a way that God is glorified. In the ambivalence
between hostility and hospitality in human response, helping
others to become whole and to find dignity again, is at the core
of resilience. Resilience refers to a process where human beings
manage not only to endure hardships, but also to create and
sustain meaningful lives in the hardship and contribute to those
around them (Van Hook 2013:1). Pastoral caregiving with an
attitude of presence (there where the stranger is) can strengthen
resilience by providing support in the form of a sense of unity,
hope, care and compassion – the praxis pietatis and divine
infinition.
But what does a praxis pietatis entail? First of all, in a servant

attitude of presence the pastoral caregiver must know that he or
she is only an instrument in the hands of God – they are totally
dependent on the work of the Holy Spirit flowing through them
to care for the other. It is therefore not an attitude of ‘I have all
the answers’, but let me care for you. Caring means supporting
and making space for the other to find their dignity. It is said that
the biggest need of a human being is to know ‘who am I?’ and ‘to
whom do I belong?’ For the more than 50 million displaced
people all over the world, these two questions are not easy to
answer. They are uprooted from where they belong and therefore
confused about who they are. Hospitality creates a space to find
answers to this basic question of identity and value. Because of
the complexity of the phenomenon, believers do not have all the
answers, but they do have a calling to be channels or
representatives of God’s infiniscience.
Secondly, we must know that – just like other religions –

Christianity (therefore, pastoral caregiving also) has the
potential to heal or to hurt. Religion can decrease resilience
when it is practised with an attitude of demoralisation.
Hospitality implies being sensitive to the commonality between
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us and the stranger (humanity) and to react with respect in

adoration for the immanent Christ in the stranger. Help without
hurting is based on the recognition of commonality – ‘do not
call anything impure that God has made clean’.
Thirdly, a pastoral encounter with the stranger is based on the
hermeneutics of inclusiveness to create a safe space for
communication. Note that inclusiveness does not necessarily
mean agreement, and communication also does not mean
persuasion. Although pastoral caregiving also includes
evangelism, the other’s beliefs and rituals have to be respected.
In pastoral caregiving, actions speak louder than words. Actions
of care can result in an opportunity to share the gospel, but even
the sharing of the gospel is the continuous formosus of God.
Conclusion
The world is changing and the rapid changes result in many social
problems. One such a problem is the dilemma of human
displacement. This chapter views important aspects of what a
pastoral encounter with a stranger should entail, with special
focus on the basic ambivalence about hostility or hospitality in
the human response. The word ‘stranger’ is used to refer to the
more than 50 million displaced human beings, whether immigrants
or refugees. Many countries close their borders to refugees
because they are seen as a threat to the stability and resources of
the country to which they turn. The article examined the role of
the church and especially of the pastoral caregiving ministry
of the church in helping displaced human beings find the resilience
to not only cope with their hardship but also find a sense of
meaning in life and helping others in the same circumstances.
The research was presented in four parts. Firstly, an exegetical
study of Acts 10 was conducted to formulate a scriptural
foundation for the calling of believers to witness and care for
strangers from other ethnic and cultural backgrounds. Secondly,
the focus shifted to looking at what a pastoral encounter with the
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stranger entails. Thirdly, the rapidly changing world we currently

live in was discussed. Finally, the article concluded by describing
how believers can help without hurting by making the paradigm
shift from divine definition to divine infinition. The article provided
three guidelines or principles for a pastoral encounter with a
stranger based on this principle.
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Embracing
compassion,
hospitality, forgiveness
and reconciliation:
The quest for peaceful
living in the human
displacement crisis
Rudy A. Denton
Abstract
Increase in the migration of asylum seekers and refugees has
turned out to be a major global challenge. Addressing relationships
How to cite: Denton, R.A., 2020, ‘Embracing compassion, hospitality, forgiveness and
reconciliation: The quest for peaceful living in the human displacement crisis’, in A.R.
Brunsdon (ed.), The human dilemma of displacement: Towards a practical theology and
ecclesiology of home, pp. 207–229, AOSIS, Cape Town. https://doi.org/10.4102/aosis.2020.
BK198.10
207
Embracing compassion, hospitality, forgiveness and reconciliation
between the people of host countries and displaced foreigners

(refugees) is essential to create peaceful co-existence within the
parameters of ‘welcoming the stranger’ and ‘defending one’s own
territory’. What we should deal with is not the dread and division
of right-wing and jihadi extremism but the challenges faced by
both people of host countries and displaced foreigners who are
struggling to live in a peaceful co-existence as significant ‘others’,
to show hospitality and compassion and find a safe place to live
and being at home in this world. This chapter unfolds challenges
for societies to face the impact of globalisation on social changes
and individuals’ or groups’ understanding and conceptualisation
of a safe haven and country for peaceful living, wherein people
could move away from prejudice and discriminatory discourses.
The multidimensional concepts of compassion, hospitality,
forgiveness and reconciliation position xenophilia as a replacement
of xenophobia, and appeal to people in host countries and
displaced foreigners to abolish the feelings of resentment, panic,
fear, suspicion and insecurity towards one another.
Keywords: Refugees; Peaceful co-existence; Compassion;
Forgiveness; Reconciliation.
Introduction
Increase in the migration of asylum seekers and refugees has
turned out to be a major challenge in the shrinking planet
framework of globalisation. Globalisation could be described ‘as
the intensification of worldwide social relations which link distant
localities in such a way that local happenings are shaped by
events occurring many miles away and vice versa’ (Giddens
1990:64). In their article ‘Globalization and conflict resolution’,
Tidwell and Lerche (2004) have described the complicated and
interrelated relationship of globalisation and conflict:
Globalization, understood broadly, is an accelerator of social change,
and as such, may act as a catalyst for conflict, aggravating the
tensions in any given society and even creating new ones. At the same
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time, it may also catalyze and accelerate conflict resolution. Thus, the
intensifying interconnectedness which characterizes globalization
has unintended consequences for both conflict and peace processes
… (pp. 47–48)
Globalisation, conflict and conflict resolution may emerge in

various actions that affect the expression of conflict, which Tidwell
and Lerche (2004:50) claim, ‘including disturbing local events,
providing new resources over which to compete, and threatening
deeply held values or symbols’. Tidwell and Lerche (2004:57) also
indicate that ‘conflict resolution processes such as negotiation,
mediation, or other third party processes may also be impacted by
globalisation’ and concluded that ‘one cannot simply state that
globalization will either escalate or de-escalate conflict’. However,
Vorster (2017:203) has stated that because of the ‘reaction against
the new value systems and culture posed by globalisation, people
become possessed with an over-estimation of the own national,
religious and cultural identity’.
According to Lerche (1998:n.p.), the paradoxical effect of
globalisation on re-shaping societies, ‘is that while it seeks to
homogenise, it also increases awareness of social heterogeneity’.
With the loss of control over societies, as an effect of globalisation
and the dynamics of cultural conflict, Fuller (1995:152) has indicated
that ‘cultural anxieties are welcome fuel to more radical political
groups that call for cultural authenticity, preservation of traditional
and religious values, and rejection of the alien cultural antigens’.
Within this shrinking planet framework of globalisation,
‘culture conflict’ tends to intensify fundamentalist religious and
ethnic ideologies in international community. Louw (2016:5)
emphasises that ‘religious radicalism has become the spiritual
pathology in the global village and is intoxicating the belief
systems of communities of faith’. One troublesome living proof of
the ripple effects of globalisation and conflict could be found in
the international context of increasing right-wing and jihadi
extremism. According to Louw (2016):
Instead of spreading peace in the global village, the radicalisation
of abstract belief systems is contributing to the phenomenon of
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xenophobia and is increasingly becoming a schismatic factor rather

than a reconciling factor, dividing civil societies along religious
prejudices. (p. 5)
The following events are an example of recent extremism within

the framework of globalisation and conflict.
On the one hand, the Christchurch shootings of 15 March 2019
at the Al Noor Mosque and the Linwood Islamic Centre injured
numerous people and killed 51 whilst the gunman live-streamed
the Al Noor Mosque shooting on Facebook. The shootings have
been linked to right-wing extremists and white supremacism
driven by Islamophobic hatred (cf. Barton 2019). In his 17 000-
word, 87-page manifesto of white supremacist militant ideology,
the gunman defined his heritage as follows: ‘The origins of my
language is European, my culture is European, my political beliefs
are European, my philosophical beliefs are European, my identity
is European and, most importantly, my blood is European’
(Ward 2019:1). According to Coalson (2019:n.p.), the gunman
characterises the shootings as ‘anti-immigration, anti-ethnic
replacement and anti-cultural replacement’.
On the other hand, next to the threat posed by right-wing
extremism, in what looks like retaliation and revenge to the jihadi
Islamist extremism and jihadi terror attacks in parts of the world,
jihadi extremism is a comparable threat to the well-being and
security of the world. The Tony Blair Institute for Global Change
(2018:n.p.) has pointed out that violent extremism, ‘both the
violence and the underlying ideology that drives it, is an urgent
and pressing challenge that holds back development, stability
and opportunity for many around the world’. A selection from
the Global Extremism Monitor (GEM) report of 2017 reveals the
following on jihadi Islamist extremism:
•• Extremistic groups orchestrated deadly campaigns against

civilians to infuse fear and erode public morale.
•• Violent extremist groups that targeted civilians deemed to be
heretics for failing to respond to jihad call, which in turn
triggered intensifying community tensions around the world.
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•• Executions of individuals and minority groups accused of

spying and disobedience, and suicide attacks (istishhad –
martyrdom) are used to execute violent terror attacks.
•• More than 95% of sectarian attacks targeted Muslim Shia-
minority groups, and a substantial amount of attacks had
focused on the religious persecution of Christians, symbols of
the Christian faith and Christian denominations.
•• The GEM also captured data of violent groups that apply
punishments to force discipline and spread fear amongst their
ranks and civilians under their rule to enforce their ideological
extremism.
•• Following violent attacks around the world, violent extremist
groups have a colonising goal to pursuit by carrying out local
insurgencies and expanding their terrorist missions across
borders into new territories.
In spite of the ideology and rhetoric of right-wing and jihadi

groups, their extremism and attacks, whether offensive, defensive
or ritualistic, have, instead of uniting and protecting the global
community, divided it. Because of escalating conflict, persecution,
war and human rights violations, the global migration crisis,
caused by violent extremist attacks, has brought about a global
emerging security crisis on countries to safeguard their territories
(space and place). In order to outline the international context of
increasing right-wing and jihadi extremism and the scenario of
attempts to generate ‘a kind of globalised paranoia and
international and intercultural systemic network of panic and
fear’ (Louw 2016:2), it is important to focus on the challenges of
migration of displaced and homeless people (refugees) all over
the globe.
Against this background, the world faces the challenges of
migration of displaced and homeless people, and host countries
are ‘forced to adjust to a sudden arrival of hundreds or thousands
of people from different cultures, languages and religions’
(Rebelo, Fernández & Achotegui 2018:239). Within the parameters
of global turmoil of violence and revenge, the question of
‘welcoming the stranger’ or ‘defending one’s own territory’ rises
211
to the centre stage (cf. Louw 2016:1). It emphasises the challenging

issues of human displacement, migration and the ‘refugee crisis’
that incite prejudice, xenophobia and terror attacks from
right-wing and jihadi extremism.
This chapter examines multidimensional concepts that focus
on the issues of human displacement crisis and migration
developments of strangers, outcasts and marginalised homeless
immigrants (refugees) who are increasingly being discussed in
the practical theological concepts of faith-seeking compassion,
space and place (cf. Louw 2017:2). It reveals a challenge to
societies to face social changes and individuals’ or groups’
understanding of multidimensional concepts of compassion,
hospitality, forgiveness and reconciliation.
The complexity of human

displacement
The word ‘stranger’ or ‘alien’ (xénos) refers to the variety of what
a person could be, specifically guest, host, friend or foreigner
(cf. Derrida 2005:19). On 10 December 1948, the General Assembly
of the United Nations approved the Universal Declaration of
Human Rights (UDHR), which describes the fundamental rights
of all human beings, including foreigners and refugees (ed. Brown
2016). Langmead (2014) briefly summarises the rights and
freedoms of all people in the UDHR as follows:
[T ]hat all humans have dignity, are treated fairly and without
discrimination, can move freely, know security and freedom from
violence, have rights before the law, are not imprisoned for political
reasons, may speak freely, may hold religious beliefs freely, may
assemble peacefully, can vote freely, are able to work, receive medical
care, have a roof over their heads, and have access to education. (p. 39)
Unfortunately, regardless of the UDHR, people displaced as a

result of conflict, persecution, war and human rights violations
have become a major humanitarian challenge. Increase in
involuntary migration by refugees and asylum seekers has
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increased excessively, and the UNHCR’s (2019a) statistics

database is an alarming indication of this global trend. At the end
of 2017, there were 71.44 million forcibly displaced people globally,
the count that is anticipated to increase rapidly. The UNHCRs
(2019b) global appeal update has also indicated South Africa as
one of the three main migration routes and destinations of
refugees and asylum seekers:
The north-west route converging on the central Mediterranean Sea
and crossing into Europe mainly through Libya, the north-east route
transiting Somalia or Djibouti across the Red Sea and converging
in war-torn Yemen into the Gulf States, and the southern route into
South Africa. (p. 67)
The involuntary migration of refugees and asylum seekers to

relocate to new countries is a global social concern that forces
hosting countries into persistent and complex humanitarian
challenges. The growing number of populations and individuals
migrating to new countries because of social threats has posed
challenges, such as protection and developing of strategies to
aid newcomers with basic needs and finding a safe place to live,
for host countries around the world.
Challenges of human displacement

The homogeneous human community of the 21st century is
globally confronted with national and transnational migrations.
Louw (2016:3) describes migrants and refugees as people
‘without home in search of a secure space and place’. Homelessness
implies, according to Louw (2016:3), dislocation and displacement:
‘It is about the quest for a safe haven and country wherein one
can regain dignity, stabilise family life and start a new life’. Within
the context of South Africa, Klaasen (2016:1) describes the motive
for immigration as ‘the result of scientific innovation, expansion
of territory, conflict, poverty and globalisation’, and emphasises
the complex threat within a homogeneous identity and migration:
Homogeneity is now threatened by the redefining of once clear and
definite borders and frameworks of being. The biggest threat to identity
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is migration of people across borders and the racial distinctions and

consciousness that such migration accompanies. (p. 1)
Migration creates a space for tension amongst people and

communities who cherish their differentness and foreignness in
today’s global village and reinforce their alienation to
accommodate refugees. This refugee crisis could manifest into
discrimination and stigmatisation that deprive them of their basic
needs of living normal and productive lives in host countries. The
growing number of migrants who pose a challenge to host
countries obligated their population to adjust to an unexpected
influx of foreigners from diverse cultures, religions and languages
(Rebelo et al. 2018:239). On the other hand, migrants entering a
new environment are also faced with the challenges of adapting
to the host country’s cultural habits and customs, languages and
religions. Sonn (2010:433) refers to the challenges of immigration
as ‘uprooting and subsequently reconstructing lives in a new
social, cultural and political context’. Adjustment to a changing
unfamiliar new environment could trigger uncertainty, confusion
and anxiety in both the general population of host countries and
the inbound migrants (Kristjánsdóttir & DeTurk 2013:196).
The extent of social changes and cultural space between the
cultures of host country and that of migrants could result in the
feelings of fear and suspicion, which could generate prejudice,
isolation, anger, insecurity about the future and xenophobia.
Prejudice
Within the realm of stigmatising and discriminatory prejudices
towards foreigners, host countries are exposed to the challenges
of their internal political strains, poverty, economic problems and
unemployment. Prejudice towards refugees, dislocated strangers
and outsiders could lead to communal paranoia, increased
radicalisation of emotions, exclusive thinking and self-defence
actions to isolate and safeguard own territory (cf. Louw 2016:2).
Prejudice intensifies judgement that foreigners and outsiders are
not only displaced strangers but also possible perpetrators,
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insurgents and ‘suspects of terrorism, dangerous outsiders and

outcasts’ (Louw 2016:2).
Polarisation, separation and isolation

As the world and societies face social changes, deteriorating
economic conditions and internal political tensions could be the
main factors triggering polarisation and separation, where the
people of host countries tend to resent and blame refugees
for ‘culture conflict’, economic problems and unemployment
(cf. Magezi 2017:232). The research conducted by Nyamnjoh
(2006:45) and Soares, Lotter and Van der Merwe (2017:4) has
revealed that most people in host countries feel that foreigners
and outsiders should stay in their domestic countries and solve
their problems themselves instead of competing for resources
and opportunities in foreign countries. Consequently, people of
host countries could deny foreigners the right to protection and
dignity; access to services and basic needs; fulfilment of
meaningful relationships to establish new social networks or to
find employment by separating themselves and alienating
outsiders (cf. Fozdar & Hartley 2013:130).
Xenophobia
Refugees, dislocated strangers and outsiders fear rejection and
are uncertain about their future, given the occurrences of
xenophobia in host countries. The South African Human Rights
Commission (SAHRC) defined xenophobia in general as ‘the
deep dislike of non-nationals by nationals of a recipient state’
(South African History Online 2018). Xenophobia is also an
expression of racism and shares prejudiced and discriminatory
discourses based on evaluating foreigners and thereby generating
negative assumptions. The labelling and profiling of dislocated
strangers and outsiders have shown that ‘profiling in the case of
racism is on the basis of race, [and] in the case of xenophobia on
the basis of nationality’ (South African History Online 2018).
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Continuous re-emergence of xenophobic eruptions

demonstrates the fragile society composition of South Africa
with its complex socio-political history and various cultural
contexts. Representation of refugees as ‘criminals’ or ‘illegals’
appears to be continuing historically based on fears of the ‘other’.
Fear of the ‘other’ has been a feature of colonial discourse and
is a frequent theme fuelling anti-foreigner and anti-refugee
sentiments. The colonial discourse on ‘race’ that formed
philosophies of an ‘anti-apartheid’ mindset in multicultural South
Africa continues to incorporate concepts of ‘racial’ ideology as a
social construct in the human rights debates on refugees
(cf. Klaasen 2016:2). The concept of ‘race’ also remains central to
discussions on xenophobia and national identity issues. Vorster
(2017:201) stated that ‘the term “racism” can also be used to
describe “bias” and intolerance between groups other than racial
groups, such as ethnic and religious groups’. According to Hall
(1992:255), this design of national identity based on ‘race or
racism’ amplified the ‘racial’ boundaries between belongingness
and otherness. This highlights the challenging ‘refugee crisis’ that
could incite reciprocal prejudice, xenophobia and terror attacks
from right-wing and jihadi extremism.
Tolerance and hospitality

Extending Christian hospitality is fundamentally a call to authenticity
and faithfulness to receive strangers as guests, and then ‘insiders at
home’ (cf. Langmead 2014:39). French philosopher Derrida
(2003:126) describes the problematic European view of a stranger
through the epitome concept of an inbuilt ambivalence of tolerant
culture within an atmosphere of suspicion and resistance (cf. Namli
2011:819). Derrida (2003:126) stated that ‘the word “tolerance” is
first of all marked by a religious war between Christians, or between
Christians and non-Christians’. To understand tolerance as a form of
charity, Derrida (2003) specified that:
Indeed, tolerance is first of all a form of charity. … Tolerance is always
on the side of the ‘reason of the strongest’, where ‘might is right’; it is
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a supplementary mark of sovereignty, the good face of sovereignty,

which says to the other from its elevated position, I am letting you be,
you are not insufferable, I am leaving you a place in my home, but do
not forget that this is my home. (p. 127)
According to Derrida (2003), tolerance is actually the opposite

of hospitality to foreigners:
If I think I am being hospitable because I am tolerant, it is because
I wish to limit my welcome, to retain power and maintain control over
the limits of my ‘home’, my sovereignty, my ‘I can’ (my territory, my
house, my language, my culture, my religion, and so on). … Tolerance
is a conditional, circumspect, careful hospitality. (p. 126)
Social tension is, according to Louw (2016:7), ‘the welcoming and

the setting of limitations’ and ‘tolerance and resistance’. To
describe the tolerant conditional or unconditional hospitality
culture towards a foreigner, Derrida (2003) defines the epitome
concept as follows:
Indeed, and so a limited tolerance is clearly preferable to an absolute
intolerance. But tolerance remains a scrutinized hospitality, always
under surveillance, parsimonious and protective of its sovereignty.
… We offer hospitality only on the condition that the other follow[s]
our rules, our way of life, even our language, our culture, our political
system, and so on. … But pure or unconditional hospitality does not
consist in such an invitation (‘I invite you, I welcome you into my
home, on the condition that you adapt to the laws and norms of my
territory, according to my language, tradition, memory, and so on’).
Pure and unconditional hospitality, hospitality itself, opens or is in
advance open to someone who is neither expected nor invited, to
whomever arrives as an absolutely foreign visitor, as a new arrival,
non-identifiable and unforeseeable, in short, wholly other. I would call
this a hospitality of visitation rather than invitation. (p. 128)
Derrida (2003) explains that the ambivalence of tolerance and

hospitality could be eventually found in the risk-taking of the
‘impossibility’ of unconditional hospitality:
An unconditional hospitality is, to be sure, practically impossible
to live; one cannot in any case, and by definition, organize it. … No
state can write it into its laws. But without at least the thought of
this pure and unconditional hospitality, of hospitality itself, we would
217
have no concept of hospitality in general and would not even be able

to determine any rules for conditional hospitality (with its rituals, its
legal status, its norms, its national or international conventions).
Without this thought of pure hospitality (a thought that is also, in
its own way, an experience), we would not even have the idea of the
other, of the alterity of the other, that is, of someone who enters into
our lives without having been invited. We would not even have the
idea of love or of ‘living together (vivre ensemble)’ with the other in
a way that is not a part of some totality or ‘ensemble’. (pp. 129–130)
Within the framework of Christian religious traditions

(Mt 25:31–46), the risk-taking of tolerant unconditional hospitality
culture is the call ‘to receive the stranger with all the uncertainty
that every estrangement bears within itself’ (Namli 2011:820).
Hospitality could turn out to be ‘a divine moment’ and a
transformation process for the homeless foreigner who is seeking
refuge and one’s own identity through the risk-taking of
hospitality to a stranger (cf. Langmead 2014:46).
Compassion and hospitality

Displaced persons and foreigners share a common need, that is,
to have compassion from host countries; hence, a strong emphasis
should be placed on compassion, concerning social justice for
displaced persons and foreigners. The Christian faith proclaims
that compassion is vital within the outlines of Jesus Christ’s focus
on the marginalised, the poor, the stranger and the outcast.
Within this context, the homeless, the oppressed, the displaced
and the suffering refugees and migrants all over the world could
be included. According to Louw (2016):
The intention in a Christian performance of compassion is not to solve
the tensions and to come up with instant solutions for the refugee and
migrant dilemma. The challenge is to demonstrate xenophilia in such a
way that both perpetrator and victim become objects of care. (p. 10)
It is within the quest for place and space (meaning and belonging)
that compassion could play a vital role by assuming that a
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theology of home affects people in their relation to God to reveal

love of God. Louw (2017:1–2) emphasises that the ‘experience of
displacement create[s] an awareness of not being at home in this
world’, which culminates in the human quest for home, the quality
of daily living and a sense of meaning and belongingness in the
world. According to Louw (2016):
Compassion in Christian spirituality is not a fleeting emotion of
empathy; it is a new state of being and condition; it displays the
mindset of Christ’s vicarious suffering on behalf of the other; it
exemplifies a hospital place and room for displaced human beings –
even for displaced perpetrators. (p. 10)
Biblical references to displaced

people
Displacement, migration and refugees are not unfamiliar to the
biblical narrative. When searching the Bible for clarification on
displacement, the Old and New Testaments have numerous
references to displaced people:
•• Adam and Eve are the first case of displaced persons, driven
from the Garden of Eden by God for their disobedience against
God’s instruction (Gn 3:22–24). In this first narrative of
displacement, before God sent them out of the Garden of
Eden, God revealed his compassion and provided relief to
Adam and Eve and covered them in clothes of skin (Gn 3:21) as
a visible sign of care and to address their lost dignity
(cf. Neufeld 2005:681).
•• The flight of Lot and his family, from Sodom and Gomorrah in
Genesis 19, presents a situation of family displacement. Henry
(2012:585–595) associated suffering with the loss of
possessions, friends and everything for the meaning of home
and belonging. The narrative shows God’s care and mercy for
a family of refugees by saving them to escape to safety before
destroying Sodom and Gomorrah (Gn 19:28–29).
219
•• Food shortage was not an unusual phenomenon in biblical

period. Jacob and his family were forced to migrate to Egypt
as refugees to survive famine and to be reunited with his son
Joseph (Gn 46–47). As a result of the famine in the land of
Canaan, the narrative of Jacob and his family is a descriptive
example of family displacement which caused dislocation and
relocation of the entire nation of Israel to Egypt (Gn 42:6,
46:3–4). Jacob’s dislocation to Egypt saved the nation of Israel
from famine, but later had a period of slavery at the hands of
Pharaoh (Ex 1:8–14).
•• The Lord heard the Israelites’ call to be rescued from slavery
and oppression in Egypt and freed them from Egyptians and led
them out of Egypt under the leadership of Moses (Ex 3:9–10).
In the desert, the Israelites lived a semi-nomadic way of life and
experienced challenges of displaced people (Phillips 2000:28).
The exodus journey was a lesson of trust and obedience in God’s
wisdom and provision (Gn 15:6; Ex 14:31).
•• Exile, or forced migration, is one of the main themes found in
the Bible. Whilst in exile in Assyria (722 BC; cf. 2 Ki 17:4) and
Babylon captivity (586 BC; cf. 2 Ki 25:1–21), the displaced
people of God were oppressed and treated poorly by the host
country (Scott 1995:60–61; Walvoord & Zuck 1985:571). Living
in exile outside the Promised Land in captivity and without a
temple, created a challenge for the people of God. They
developed new ways of establishing their community whilst
confronting powerful cultural pressures of a foreign land and
endured the period of exile in order to maintain their religious
identity. Knowles (2004:65–67) states that after 70 years of
exile, God showed mercy to his people by bringing them back
to the Promised Land (2 Chr 36:22–23; Ezr 1:1–4; Jr 31).
•• Jesus’ earliest years were, according to Matthew 2:13–18, spent
as a refugee in Egypt to escape Herod’s massacre. Joseph,
Mary and Jesus fled to Egypt as refugees, and Jesus lived as a
displaced refugee child a long way from his family’s original
home in Nazareth (cf. Taylor 2017).
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Like many modern-day displaced migrants, people in biblical

times were also vulnerable and delivered to the religious, political
and economic changes of their homeland. In the biblical narrative,
God always cared for the displaced and homeless people, showed
mercy to them, set them free and brought them back to their
homeland.
Displacement of strangers and foreigners

residing amongst God’s people
The people of Israel’s living space also included the strangers and
foreigners who lived amongst them and became part of God’s
people (Lv 19:10). Scriptures have referred to displaced people as
‘the stranger’, ‘the foreigner’ or ‘the alien’, and a number of biblical
texts have teamed foreigners with the ‘widows’, ‘orphans’ and
‘strangers’ in difficult circumstances, and deserved shelter and
protection (Ex 22:22; Dt 10:18; Ps 146:9; Jr 7:6, 22:3; Zch 7:10; Ml 3:5).
God also taught his people to embrace strangers and provide
for the needy in the Law of Moses (cf. Chester 2011:89). The same
law and regulations applied to both the Israelites and the foreigners
residing amongst Israelites (Ex 12:49). On the protection and
well-being of displaced strangers and foreigners who live amongst
Israelites, Bromiley (1995:569) and Soares et al. (2017:3) point out
that the laws given to Moses revealed the following:
•• provision for rest to foreigners on the Sabbath (Ex 20:10, 23:12;

Dt 5:14)
•• ensuring righteousness in court, which confirmed that
foreigners received similar protection as the Israelites (Dt 1:16)
•• protection of people who seek asylum and access to cities for
refuge if their lives were endangered (Nm 35:15; Jos 20:9)
•• participation in religious festivities (Lv 16:29; Nm 9:14; Dt 16:1, 11)
•• provision of food security for sustenance (Lv 23:22; Dt 24:20)
•• financial aid from the three-year tithe (Dt 26:11).
221
To ameliorate compassion towards foreigners who took refuge in

Israel, the Israelites’ social responsibility towards refugees were
prescribed in Exodus 22:21 and linked with the period they were
foreigners in Egypt: ‘Do not ill-treat or oppress a foreigner;
remember that you were foreigners in Egypt’. Bosch (1980)
points out how the people of God should serve and show
compassion to displaced strangers and foreigners residing
amongst them:
Israel, who had been stranger in Egypt, had to have compassion on
the stranger in her midst. The constitutive element here was neither
the ethnic, nor the biological, nor the cultural; the stranger who lived
in Israel had to be accepted completely and without reserve. (p. 52)
Refugees continuously face numerous challenges as they search

for protection and hospitality in a new social environment when
they have been forced to leave their native land of origin because
of situations that posed threat to their lives. Langmead (2014:34)
highlights that ‘a strong and focused concern for the most
marginalized is deeply embedded within the Christian tradition’.
In his life, Jesus upholds the human dignity of people on the
sidelines of society. Vorster (2007:27) indicates that ‘as the perfect
image of God, Christ is the model for true humanity’. By referencing
Isaiah 58:6 and 61:1–2, Jesus declared in Luke 4:18–19 that the Spirit
of the Lord is upon him because the Lord has anointed him to
proclaim good news to the poor, freedom for the captives, healing
for the sick and liberation for the oppressed. The prophetic
tradition from which Jesus communicates with his listeners
requests God’s people for compassion and social justice (Is 58):
6
The kind of fasting I want is this: Remove the chains of oppression
and the yoke of injustice, and let the oppressed go free. 7Share your
food with the hungry and open your homes to the homeless poor. Give
clothes to those who have nothing to wear, and do not refuse to help
your own relatives. 8Then my favour will shine on you like the morning
sun, and your wounds will be quickly healed. I will always be with you
to save you; my presence will protect you on every side. (vv. 6–8)
The imago Dei, as the key concept of theological anthropology,

compels man to extend compassion and hospitality to fellow
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humans in society (cf. Oberdorfer 2010:232). Klaasen (2016:1)

points out that ‘faith plays a role in the formation of identity and
that faith creates space for cohesive coexistence’. Of particular
relevance and focus for the marginalised, the poor, the stranger
and the outcast are Jesus’ teaching in Matthew 25 for showing
friendship and love to the most vulnerable in societies by serving
the hungry, thirsty, sick, naked, imprisoned and foreigners:
35
For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty
and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited
me in, 36I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you
looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me. (vv. 35–36)
Jesus reached out to the poor and the marginalised, showing

compassion and displaying God’s inner nature. Jesus revealed
the love of God in serving the hungry and thirsty, providing
hospitality to the homeless and stranger, clothing the naked,
healing the sick and visiting the prisoner (cf. Carter 2000:445).
Through this command, Jesus emphasises the relation between
the love for God and love for one’s neighbour, declaring that
those who extend compassion and hospitality to fellow humans
actually identify with Jesus and God (cf. Viljoen 2015:7). Klaasen
(2016) states:
Immigrants and minority race groups do not threaten the existence of
the group in the centre but is significant others, who form an integral
part of the process of becoming in the image of God. (p. 5)
Embracing forgiveness and

reconciliation in the human
displacement crisis
The relevance of forgiveness and reconciliation are two complex
and challenging subjects when migration creates a space for
tension instead of peaceful living within the human displacement
crisis. On the one hand, people in host countries may tend to
reinforce their alienation to accommodate refugees by
stigmatisation and discriminatory prejudice towards foreigners.
223
Challenges from their own social changes, internal political

tension, deteriorating economic conditions, poverty and
unemployment could lead to communal paranoia, increased
radicalisation of emotions, exclusive thinking and self-defence
actions to isolate refugees and dislocated strangers. Xenophobic
eruptions in host countries could trigger polarisation and
separation through extreme terror attacks from right-wing
extremists, who want to safeguard own territory against the
unexpected influx of foreigners from diverse economic adversity,
cultures, religions and languages. On the other hand, competing
for resources and opportunities, and social isolation could result
in migrants’ experiences of hostility and rejection, which could
escalate xenophobic eruptions from people of host countries
who tend to resent and blame foreigners for ‘culture conflict’,
economic problems and unemployment. Adjustment to the
changing and unfamiliar new environment, insecurity about the
future and xenophobic eruptions could trigger uncertainty,
confusion, fear and anxiety. Consequently, sustained negation of
migrants’ rights of protection and dignity, access to services and
basic needs, fulfilment of meaningful relationships to establish
new social networks or to find employment could incite reciprocal
terror attacks from jihadi extremism.
In this discussion about forgiveness and reconciliation, it is
necessary to distinguish between the two. Forgiveness is
understood to be detached from condoning, excusing, pardoning,
justifying, forgetting and reconciliation (Enright & Fitzgibbons
2000; Hook et al. 2012:687). Forgiveness does not necessarily
entail reconciling, but it is nearly impossible for reconciliation
without some mode of forgiveness. Enright (2011:31) argues that
‘one may forgive and not reconcile, but one never truly reconciles
without some form of forgiving taking place’.
Forgiveness could activate reconciliation and restoration of a
fragile society when social relations are emphasised (cf. Denton
2018:1; Vorster 2011:75). McCullough, Fincham and Tsang
(2003:540) well defined forgiveness as a pro-social transformation
in thoughts, emotions, motivations or behaviours, although
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socio-cultural worldviews connect to one’s understanding of

forgiveness and might affect how individuals or groups
understand forgiveness based on cultural context. Hook et al.
(2012) argue that ‘individuals do tend to view forgiveness
differently on intrapersonal–interpersonal dimension, and these
differences may influence feelings about the relationship’:
How individuals or groups conceptualize forgiveness may affect
their expectations and interpretation of the events following a
transgression. A person with a strong interpersonal conceptualization
of forgiveness may expect there to be substantial interpersonal
interactions following the transgression, whereas a person with a
more intrapersonal conceptualization of forgiveness may not expect
or desire these interactions. (pp. 688, 691)
Individuals or groups within one’s socio-cultural worldview,

situation or context could benefit from the interpersonal
conceptualisations of forgiveness, whilst other individuals or
groups within another socio-cultural worldview, situation or
context could benefit more from intrapersonal conceptualisations
of forgiveness (cf. Worthington 2001). Different conceptualisations
of forgiveness have an influence on individuals’ or groups’
process to forgive. Derrida (2005:33) argues that ‘forgiveness
must announce itself as impossibility itself. It can only be possible
in doing the impossible’. An interpersonal type of personality with
a collectivistic worldview ‘tends to view forgiveness within the
context of reconciliation and relational repair’ (Hook et al.
2012:691), whilst an intrapersonal type of personality defines
‘forgiveness as a process that happens within the mind and heart
involving emotions, cognitions, and motivations’ (Hook et al.
2012:687). Forgiveness, whether interpersonal or intrapersonal, is
an indispensable practice of reconciliation and restorative healing
within the context of relational repair and within the mind and
heart (cf. Denton 2018:3).
However, people are much more reticent when forgiving
refugees, dislocated strangers and outsiders. Forgiveness can be
described as ‘more moral in nature and starts as a private act’
and ‘reconciliation is the act of two people coming together after
225
separation’ (Enright 2011:31). According to Enright and North

(1998:78), ‘it is possible to forgive without reconciling, without
coming together again in love and friendship. But it is not possible
to reconcile truly without forgiving’. That is why a premature
reconciliation would serve no purpose, given the resentment and
blame, people in host countries may feel following a sudden
arrival of foreigners from different cultures, languages and
religions, who are seen as the cause of ‘culture conflict’, economic
problems and unemployment.
Reconciliation is a continuous process of renouncing violence
and fear and maintaining social peace. In its progressive
dimension, reconciliation means to get on with life and establishing
a civilised society. Huyse (2003:19) claimed that reconciliation
prevents, ‘the use of the past as the seed of renewed conflict’.
The process of reconciliation brings people together for the
common purpose to live in peace; it halts the cycle of violence to
restore democratic societies or reinforces a newly established
social order. Thesnaar (2014:7) appealed that ‘we need to embody
reconciliation and peace by, amongst others, respecting the
human dignity of all involved in the conflict, especially the “other,”
and emphasising justice and not revenge’.
Before reconciliation begins for a peaceful and non-violent
society, trust and compassion must be embodied in people’s
minds and hearts, thus connecting thoughts, emotions,
motivations or behaviours in the reconciliation process. According
to Huyse (2003:24), different mechanisms are needed to initiate
a process of reconciliation such as practices to promote healing,
truth-telling, restorative justice and reparations.
Reconciliation is seen as a vital feature of conflict prevention,
even though lasting reconciliation requires the reconciling of
individuals, and groups and communities as a whole. In order to
implement reconciliation, it has to be embedded with essential
values, for example equality and respect, be attentive to specific
matters of culture, identity, religion and ethnicity, and addressing
disputes in a paradoxical impact of globalisation that pursues to
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Chapter 10
homogenise whilst intensifying consciousness of social

heterogeneity. Although authorities are not able to enforce
reconciliation or forgive on behalf of sufferers or enforce trust
and empathy by decree (cf. Huyse 2003:26), they can however
make every effort to create a social environment that may
precede reconciliation process.
Forgiveness and reconciliation are possible when forgiveness
paves way to reconciliation. Forgiveness involves a Christian duty
based on the theology of reconciliation and salvation through
God’s love, redemption and reconciliation (cf. Mt 6:14; Col 3:13;
Eph 4:29–32). Enright, Freedman and Rique (1998) outline
forgiveness as follows:
[A] willingness to abandon one’s right to resentment, negative
judgment, and indifferent behavior toward one who unjustly
injured us, while fostering the undeserved qualities of compassion,
generosity, and even love toward him or her. (pp. 46–47)
Christian forgiveness calls on Christians ‘to live in their community

and society as forgiven, redeemed and reconciled people’,
committed to compassion and justice (Denton 2018:4). For
forgiveness to be viable or even constructive, people in host
countries must be willing to forgive, and a process of healing
proceeds that moment, where restorative justice outweighs
retributive justice.
The quest for peaceful living

Addressing relationships between people of host countries and
displaced foreigners (refugees) is essential to helping create
peaceful co-existence within the parameters of ‘welcoming the
stranger’ and ‘defending one’s own territory’. What we should
deal with is not the dread and division of right-wing and jihadi
extremism, but the challenges faced by host countries and
displaced foreigners (refugees) struggling to live in a peaceful
co-existence as significant ‘others’. To reveal hospitality and
compassion and find a safe place to live and being at home in this
227
world are major challenges face by host population and displaced

persons. According to Louw (2016:9), the complexity of human
displacement and migration emphasises the paradox that ‘the
refugee crisis can bring out the ugliness in human beings, but
reveal the best as well’.
Migration creates a space for tension amongst people and
communities which may generate prejudice, isolation, anger,
insecurity about the future as well as xenophobic eruptions,
which could incite reciprocal terror attacks from right-wing and
jihadi extremism. To the extreme, right-wing and jihadi extremism
could bring out violent ugliness in human beings.
The imago Dei compels man to extend compassion and
hospitality. Hospitality towards displaced foreigners is fundamentally
a call to receive strangers to become guests and ‘insiders at home’.
Compassion is vital within the outlines of Jesus Christ’s friendship
and love towards vulnerable and marginalised. The multidimensional
concepts of compassion and hospitality reveal the best in human
beings and demonstrate xenophilia as a replacement of xenophobia.
Forgiveness and reconciliation call on the people of host countries
and displaced foreigners to abolish the mutual feelings of
resentment, panic, fear, suspicion and insecurity towards one
another and replace the same with xenophilia.
Conclusion
In conclusion, if we are not able to incorporate concepts of
‘compassion and hospitality’ and ‘forgiveness and reconciliation’
into our quest for peaceful co=existence between the people of
host countries and displaced foreigners (refugees), we would
continue to suffer with prejudice, isolation, anger, insecurity
about the future and xenophobic eruptions in society. The end
result is that we could possibly see ever-increasing right-wing
and jihadi extremism in society. Within these parameters of global
turmoil of violence and revenge, we would be less welcoming to
strangers and defending our territory based on political history,
social context, culture, race, ethnicity, religion and language.
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Chapter 10
This chapter reveals a challenge for societies to face the

impact of globalisation on social changes. It further calls for
individuals’ or groups’ understanding and conceptualisation of a
safe haven and country for peaceful living – a society wherein
people could move away from prejudiced and discriminatory
discourses based on fear of the ‘other’, or the assertive assumption
of ‘us’ against ‘them’. In the ethics of welcoming, to generate a
space of meaning and belonging, Langmead (2014:45) describes
the act of hospitality and compassion comparable to the act of
embrace, and refers to Volf’s (1996) four movements:
We open our arms in offer (or open the door). We wait for a free
response to accept. We close our arms in embrace (or invite
others into our house and make them at home). But finally and
most importantly, we open our arms again (or let the guest go),
symbolizing a recognition of difference, a willingness for the other to
be them-selves, though perhaps now in a new space. These are the
ethics and dynamics of hospitality and embrace. (pp. 140–147)
229
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259
Index
A
accept, 58–59, 86, 101, 104, 120, 229 81–82, 84–85, 87–88, 90, 94–96,
acceptance, 10, 47, 50, 166–167 98–99, 116, 118, 134, 137–138,
Africa, 1, 4, 13, 20, 31, 37–38, 41, 48, 140, 142, 144–145, 161, 166, 170,
51–60, 62–68, 70–72, 74, 76, 78, 175, 185, 190, 201, 203–205, 212,
80, 82, 84–85, 103–109, 112–117, 218–219
123, 125–126, 129–134, 136–138, challenges, 3, 8, 11–12, 31–32, 36,
140–142, 144, 146–148, 151–158, 38–42, 45, 47–54, 56, 58,
160–161, 163–164, 171–172, 60–62, 64–66, 68–70, 72–76,
174–176, 178–184, 186, 189, 193, 78, 80–84, 86–87, 90, 94–95,
199, 207, 213, 216 99–101, 103, 105, 111, 114–116,
African continent, 31–32, 37–38, 48, 118–121, 125–126, 129–131, 134–135,
66, 193 137, 142–143, 148, 154–155, 168,
African, 4, 13, 20, 31–32, 34–35, 37–38, 170, 176, 185–186, 190–191, 197,
40–46, 48–50, 54–57, 59–68, 208, 211, 213–214, 220, 222, 224,
71–72, 84, 90, 103–128, 132–134, 227–228
137, 140–143, 145, 153–155, 157, change, 11–12, 14, 17, 22, 33, 39–40, 110,
163–164, 175, 180, 193, 215 114, 178, 191–192, 197–198, 200,
age, 37, 132, 134, 156 203, 208, 210
agencies, 112, 164–165 character, 2, 19, 44, 115, 159, 185, 203
agency, 35–37, 110, 235 characteristics, 68, 116, 183
AIDS, 118, 122, 125 child, 12, 82, 132–133, 136, 141–145,
analogy, 171–172, 174, 176, 184 147–148, 166, 220
anxiety, 4, 10, 40, 61, 118, 126, 214, 224 children, 39, 61–62, 123, 129–149, 152,
awareness, 11, 28, 61, 99, 202, 209, 219 154–157, 160–162, 165, 169, 181
Christ, 25–27, 73–74, 82, 89, 93–95,
98–99, 115, 124, 145, 149, 167, 177,
B
183, 187, 190, 193, 195–196, 200,
behaviour, 56, 91, 97, 122, 142, 155–156,
203, 205, 218–219, 222, 228
159, 168–169, 194–195
Christian, 4, 8–10, 12, 21, 23–24, 27, 29,
Bible, 75, 99, 109, 114–115, 118, 120–121,
43–44, 46–50, 70, 72, 83, 93,
124, 127, 169, 172, 191, 194,
95, 97, 99, 101, 109, 113, 115–116,
198–199, 219–220
120, 125, 131, 135–136, 140, 146,
birth, 8, 86, 91, 114, 141
148, 169–170, 173, 175, 186, 196,
business, 21, 42, 56–57, 63, 125, 179
200–201, 211, 216, 218–219, 222,
227
C church ministry, 54, 190
care, 2, 7, 24, 28–29, 32, 42, 45, church, 1–10, 12, 14, 16, 18, 20, 22,
65–66, 68–69, 72–74, 79, 24–28, 30, 41, 43, 49–54, 83–86,
261
Index
88, 93, 95, 99–101, 104, 108, 110, creation, 56, 113, 144, 183, 185–186, 193,
112, 115–125, 127, 131, 135–142, 202
144–146, 148, 164, 166, 171–174, culture, 22, 27, 64, 68, 73, 90–92, 99,
176–186, 190–194, 196–197, 113, 131, 143–144, 148–149, 181,
200–202, 205 191, 197, 200, 209–210, 215–218,
citizenship, 87, 94 224, 226, 228
city, 90, 138, 164, 197
coexistence, 18–21, 23, 223 D
community, 19, 27, 32, 40–44, 48–50, death, 8, 34, 74, 104, 114, 142, 178, 187,
60, 64, 66, 68–71, 80–81, 83, 88, 191
91–92, 95, 99, 105, 108, 117–118, defined, 6, 26, 66–67, 69, 81, 87, 109,
137–138, 140–141, 144–146, 112, 130–131, 203, 210, 215, 224
148, 154, 158, 167, 170, 175–176, democracy, 7, 116, 132, 155
178–180, 182–186, 196, 209–211, design, 4, 11, 13, 15, 22, 24, 26, 29, 216
213, 220, 227 determination, 182, 185
compassion, 2–3, 10, 12, 15, 17, 21–22, develop, 19, 36, 50–53, 73, 84, 96, 98,
28–29, 41–42, 48, 50, 67–69, 72, 100–101, 125, 157
79, 81, 84, 88–89, 96, 166–167, developing, 65, 84, 99–100, 197, 213
187, 201, 203–204, 207–208, development, 18–19, 41, 62, 85–86, 95,
210, 212, 214, 216, 218–220, 100–101, 103, 105, 116, 118, 125,
222–224, 226–229 130, 133, 136, 144–145, 157, 160,
complex challenges, 51–53, 73, 84 168, 170, 181, 210
composition, 203, 216 dignity, 7–8, 29, 66, 68, 99, 120, 127,
concept, 20–21, 33, 52–53, 65–76, 136, 151–152, 154, 156, 158, 160,
80, 83–84, 103, 130, 137, 159, 162, 164, 166, 168, 170, 193, 202,
202–203, 216–218, 222 204, 212–213, 215, 219, 222, 224,
conception, 56, 59, 70, 81, 90 226
context, 24, 31–32, 37, 41–45, 53–54, displaced, 2, 4, 12, 15, 25–27, 32,
60–61, 65–66, 68, 71–75, 77, 82, 34–39, 41–46, 48–50, 86–87,
84, 86, 88–90, 92–95, 100–101, 94, 101, 104, 117, 121, 126, 132,
104, 111, 126, 130–131, 155, 159, 139, 148–149, 151–152, 154,
161, 174–180, 182, 186, 189, 192, 161–170, 189–191, 203–205, 208,
196, 200, 209, 211, 213–214, 218, 211–214, 218–222, 227–228
225, 228 displacement crisis, 2–3, 16–17, 25, 29,
contextual, 53, 86, 95, 100, 116, 31, 162, 207, 212, 223
130–131, 148 displacement, 1–4, 7–13, 16–17, 19,
create, 3, 13–14, 19, 22–24, 28, 43–44, 22–23, 25, 28–29, 31–42, 45,
49, 56–57, 72, 92, 148, 160, 48–49, 51, 85, 87, 94, 101,
183–184, 196, 204–205, 208, 103–105, 129–130, 134–136, 143,
219, 227 145–146, 148, 151–152, 161–163,
creating, 5, 14, 18, 20, 23, 26, 34, 47, 165–167, 171, 189, 197, 201, 205,
56, 69, 151–152, 154, 156, 158, 207, 212–213, 219–221, 223, 228
160, 162, 164, 166, 168, 170, 193, divine infinition, 190–191, 201–204,
208 206
262
Index
E foreigner, 2–3, 13, 52–53, 84, 134, 183,

economic, 21, 33–34, 38–40, 49, 52, 192, 212, 216–218, 221–222
100, 106–107, 110, 118–120, 125, forgiveness, 68, 89, 207–208, 210, 212,
127, 134, 137, 162, 166–167, 179, 214, 216, 218, 220, 222–228
214–215, 221, 224, 226
education, 39, 49, 59, 61, 117, 124, 134,
G
140–141, 157, 164, 182, 212
Genesis, 82, 195, 197, 219
embodiment, 47, 67
globalisation, 44, 172–173, 197,
enemies, 42, 77, 173–174, 195
208–210, 213, 226, 229
environment, 45, 50, 59, 87, 95, 141,
God, 4, 22–24, 26–27, 43, 52–53,
214, 222, 224, 227
73–77, 79–80, 82–84, 89, 93,
eschatological home, 86, 94, 96, 98,
95, 97–98, 109–112, 117–120, 122,
101
124, 127, 136, 138–139, 143–146,
eschatological, 86, 88–89, 93–98, 101,
152, 157, 161, 166–167, 169–170,
173–174
172–178, 180, 182–187, 190–196,
eschatology, 86, 93–97
201–205, 219–223, 227
ethical, 7, 14, 24, 89, 95, 101, 117, 124,
Good Samaritan, 51–54, 65–66, 73–75,
136
77–78, 80, 82–84
ethics, 58, 67, 83, 95–97, 99, 121, 125,
gospel, 74, 83, 89, 112, 115, 117, 120,
229
127, 136, 161, 166, 174, 176–177,
Europe, 37, 40, 112, 163, 197, 213
183, 186–187, 191–192, 198, 200,
exclusion, 60, 86, 143, 186
202, 205
exploitation, 25, 40, 49, 57, 118, 145
governance, 117, 123, 125
government, 34, 52, 55, 62–65, 71,
F 107–108, 116–117, 123, 126, 134,
faith community, 32, 41–44, 48–50, 165, 178–179
117, 176 grace, 77, 120–121, 138–139, 161
families, 34, 39, 72, 114, 125, 139, 141, Greek, 21, 27, 45, 93, 194
148, 154–155, 158, 160–161, 166, growth, 48, 104, 145, 168–169, 192, 197
169–170
family, 26, 42–44, 49, 58, 71, 81, 91,
100, 121, 139–145, 147, 151–152, H
154, 156, 159, 161–162, 168–170, healing, 11, 13, 17, 22, 29, 104, 109,
175, 185, 213, 219–220 112–113, 115, 117, 119, 122, 167, 186,
father absence, 152, 154 191, 222–223, 225–227
father, 139, 148, 151–152, 154–157, health, 40, 49, 95–96, 98, 113, 115,
159–161, 167, 169–170, 172–173 117–118, 156, 160
fatherhood, 151–152, 154–155, 157–161, heaven, 94, 117
168–170 hermeneutics of listening, 130, 136
fear, 2, 6, 8–10, 14, 16, 19, 25, 34, 61, hermeneutics, 9, 11, 14, 29, 94, 130,
63, 77, 118, 139, 165, 191, 196, 136, 198, 202, 205
208, 210–211, 214–216, 224, 226, holistic, 42, 54, 114–115, 117, 147, 185
228–229 Holy Spirit, 109, 113, 202, 204
flourish, 160, 256 home away from home, 85–86, 139
263
Index
home, 1–2, 4, 6–10, 12, 14, 16, 18, 20, inclusive, 4, 27, 68, 86–87, 201
22, 24–28, 30–34, 36, 38–51, influence, 91, 95, 114, 119–120, 125, 155,
71, 85–94, 96–98, 100–101, 159, 173, 197–198, 225
103, 105–106, 129–149, 151, 156, injustice, 70, 113, 185, 222
161–162, 165, 171, 174, 182, 189, integrity, 18, 88, 146
194, 196, 207–208, 213, 216–217, interpret, 53, 95, 118, 127, 186
219–220, 227–229 interpretation, 21–22, 95, 121, 136,
hope, 7–8, 23–25, 34, 47, 118–119, 175–176, 225
125, 151–152, 154, 156, 158, 160, investigation, 62, 95
162–164, 166–170, 173, 177, Israel, 75, 77, 79, 118, 173, 220–222
179–180, 204
households, 157, 161 J
human dignity, 7–8, 66, 99, 136, 222, Jerusalem, 74, 78–79, 174
226 Jesus, 27, 52, 73–82, 89–90, 93,
human displacement, 1, 3–4, 8, 10, 22, 97–98, 113, 143–144, 147, 149,
32–35, 37, 41, 45, 48–49, 197, 161, 166–167, 175–177, 180, 186,
201, 205, 207, 212–213, 223, 228 193–195, 201, 218, 220, 222–223,
human rights, 70, 86, 122, 132, 166, 228
211–212, 215–216 Jewish, 74, 77, 80, 167, 192
human, 1–10, 14–15, 20–22, 24–25, justice, 68, 117, 124, 136, 166, 218, 222,
27–28, 31–35, 37–42, 45, 48–49, 226–227
51, 54, 66–70, 73, 75, 82–83,
85–86, 90–91, 94–95, 97, 99, K
103–104, 110, 113–114, 120, 122, Kingdom of God, 74–75, 89, 93, 97,
129–130, 132, 135–136, 141, 122, 174, 176–177
143–149, 151, 157, 162–163, 166, kingdom, 74–75, 77, 86, 88–90,
170–171, 173, 178, 181, 183–185, 93–94, 96–98, 101, 113, 117, 122,
189–191, 195, 197, 201–205, 207, 166, 173–174, 176–177, 179–180,
211–213, 215–216, 219, 222–223, 182–186, 190
226, 228
humanity, 7, 20, 52–53, 66–68, 81,
L
83–84, 99, 145, 149, 157, 175, 182,
language, 60, 73, 82–83, 93, 105–106,
186, 196, 201, 203, 205, 222
140–142, 148, 198, 210, 217, 228
laws, 35–36, 41, 54, 58, 217, 221
I leadership, 12, 106, 121, 123–125, 135,
Identity, 5, 7, 14–15, 18, 39, 44, 47, 50, 180, 220
78, 81, 91–92, 97, 99, 134, 144, liberation, 120, 179, 184, 186, 193, 198,
148, 151, 157, 162, 165–166, 168, 222
184, 192–193, 204, 209–210, 213, listening, 21, 130, 136, 149, 198
216, 218, 220, 223, 226 love, 9, 25, 27, 72–73, 75–77, 79–83,
Imago Dei, 82, 222, 228 137–138, 140–141, 144–146,
implementation, 99, 107 148–149, 154, 161, 167, 184,
implications of, 183, 185 186–187, 195–196, 201–202,
importance, 37, 122, 124, 131, 155, 218–219, 223, 226–228
178, 193
Luke, 52–54, 65, 73–84, 89, 178,
inclusion, 5, 96, 131, 143 192, 222
264
Index
M nostalgia, 31–32, 34, 36, 38, 40, 42,

Mark, 25, 122, 203, 217 44–48, 50
media, 6, 44, 48, 63, 65, 113 nurture, 142, 146, 167
mercy, 21, 23, 80, 138, 161, 203, 219–221
metaphor, 43, 48–49, 95, 99 O
migrants, 4–7, 10, 26, 29, 34–35, 37, Old Testament, 75–76, 166, 173–174,
40, 45–48, 50–56, 58, 62, 65, 202
73, 83–88, 90–101, 105–108, operative ecclesiology, 2, 24–25, 30,
117–120, 124–127, 133–134, 138, 85–86, 93
147, 162–165, 171–186, 213–214, orphans, 137, 169, 221
218, 221, 224
migration, 2–3, 5–7, 11, 22, 32–38, 40, P
48, 51–52, 54, 56–58, 60, 62, paradigm, 4, 11, 18, 32, 42–43, 48–49,
64–66, 68, 70, 72, 74, 76, 78, 80, 131, 174, 178, 190, 198, 202, 206
82, 84, 86–88, 91–94, 99–100, parent, 145, 161
105, 107–108, 118, 130–133, 136, parents, 61, 132, 134–135, 140, 144–145,
143, 146–147, 149, 151, 162–163, 148, 156–157, 161
165, 172–173, 177–178, 180, participation, 16, 19, 23–24, 119, 121,
182–184, 186, 207–208, 211–214, 123, 136, 169, 181, 186, 221
219–220, 223, 228 pastoral care, 32, 42, 45, 94–95
mission, 74, 103, 112, 114, 172–174, pastoral encounter, 189–192, 194, 196,
176–178, 182, 185, 196 198–200, 202, 204–206
missional church, 172, 183 peace, 18–19, 71, 91, 97–98, 113, 117,
moral, 3, 10, 17, 25, 66–67, 69, 109, 116, 137–138, 141, 148, 191, 209, 226
120, 163, 225 people, 3–4, 6–7, 11, 13–14, 16, 20,
morality, 25, 119, 193 23–25, 27, 29, 33–39, 44, 46,
48–49, 52–59, 61, 63–69, 71–83,
N 86–87, 89–101, 106–107, 111–115,
narrative, 41, 46, 50, 52–53, 55, 73, 78, 117–118, 120, 124–127, 130–132,
80, 82, 84, 135, 138, 178, 192–193, 138–140, 144, 146–149, 154, 156,
219–221 161–167, 169, 172–175, 179–181,
nature, 62, 89, 97, 105, 108, 114, 176, 183–184, 186, 190–191, 197, 199,
195, 202, 223, 225 204, 208–215, 219–229
need, 13, 23, 39, 51, 53, 73, 75, 77, 79, philosophy, 66, 139
81–82, 87, 89–90, 98, 101, 111, politics, 9, 12, 20, 34, 119–121
113–115, 118, 120, 127, 169, 177, poor, 2, 34, 62, 82–83, 106, 108, 111, 118,
180–181, 183–186, 203–204, 122, 125–126, 156–157, 165–166,
218, 226 168, 173, 179, 218, 222–223
neighbourliness, 52–54, 65–66, 73–75, population, 105, 112, 115, 118, 152, 158,
80, 83–84 197, 214, 228
neo–pentecostal churches, 109, poverty, 107, 113–115, 117, 120–121,
115–117, 124–125 125, 133, 155, 163, 165, 198,
neo–prophetism, 104, 111–112, 114, 117, 213–214, 224
121, 124–127 power, 14, 110–111, 113–114, 117, 120, 134,
network, 9, 42, 201, 211 136, 143, 178, 185, 217
265
Index
practical theology of home, 130, 132, relationship, 44, 69, 78, 82, 87, 97, 111,
135–136, 142 124, 145–146, 160, 168, 176, 182,
Practical Theology, 1, 23, 31, 51, 70, 200, 208, 225
85, 95, 103, 129–132, 135–136, representation, 108, 216
142–143, 145–148, 151, 171, research, 2, 5–6, 35, 39, 44, 54, 70,
189–190, 203, 207 76, 103, 105–106, 111, 118, 125,
praxis, 11, 18, 41, 131, 202, 204 133–135, 137, 139, 154, 156–157,
prayer, 120, 169 159, 168, 190–191, 205, 215
prison, 151–154, 156–159, 161, 168, 199, resilience, 152, 168–169, 190, 200,
223 202–205
process, 11, 14, 18, 35, 46, 79, 99–100, resources, 19, 38, 40, 92, 99–100,
113, 136, 152, 174, 193, 198–199, 107–108, 131, 142, 179, 190, 205,
204, 218, 223, 225–227 209, 215, 224
prophecy, 103–104, 106, 108–118, 120, responsibilities, 89, 146, 186
122–124, 126, 128 responsibility, 16, 57, 97, 117, 120, 127,
prophetic, 109–113, 119–123, 125, 128, 140, 145, 168–170, 177, 222
222 rhetoric, 198, 211
prophets, 27, 97, 104, 109–113, 115, rights, 35, 41, 61, 70, 86, 107, 122–123,
117–120, 122–127 132, 136–137, 143, 166, 211–212,
protection, 15–16, 35, 123, 134, 138, 215–216, 224
142, 144, 154, 165–166, 213, 215, risk, 11–12, 61, 100–101, 118, 126, 139, 157,
221–222, 224 194, 198, 217–218
purpose, 73–74, 88, 91, 95, 105, 110, Roman, 27, 104, 109, 192
144–146, 157, 159, 173, 191, 226 Romans, 180, 203
R S
reciprocal, 88, 216, 224, 228 salvation, 68, 74, 77, 104, 113–114, 227
reciprocity, 68, 146 school, 61–62, 123, 139, 153, 160,
recognition, 13, 47, 50, 82, 88–89, 97, 181–182
146, 178, 202, 205, 229 scripture, 75, 121, 202–203
reconciliation, 207–208, 210, 212, 214, separate, 86, 135, 146
216, 218, 220, 222–228 services, 107, 115, 123, 131, 142–143,
refugee, 2–3, 6, 9–10, 18, 28, 32, 35–37, 152–153, 158, 160–161, 168–169,
44, 130, 132–135, 137, 142–143, 175, 179, 215, 224
147, 151–152, 161–167, 194, 197, sin, 79, 89, 157, 161
212, 214, 216, 218, 220, 228 social relations, 42, 208, 224
refugees, 4–7, 10, 12, 18, 32, 34–35, societies, 3, 9, 20, 68–69, 71, 82, 120,
37–38, 40–41, 44–45, 48, 86–87, 125, 163, 208–210, 212, 215, 223,
105, 107, 118, 124, 126, 132, 134, 226, 229
136, 138–140, 161–167, 169, 173, society, 2, 7–9, 12, 20, 30, 39, 66–68,
189–191, 196, 205, 207–208, 88, 103, 108, 113–114, 116, 131, 136,
211–216, 218–220, 222–225, 148–149, 152, 154–157, 160, 166,
227–228 168, 170, 172, 174, 181, 185, 190,
relation, 67, 130, 137, 146, 173, 192, 195, 208, 216, 222–224, 226–229
200, 219, 223 socio–economic, 118–119, 125, 162
relational, 14, 18–19, 67, 82, 139, 141, solidarity, 11–12, 15–17, 19, 23–24,
144–145, 225 29–30, 68, 97, 121, 185
266
Index
soteriology, 115, 117 transformation, iv, 4, 90, 94, 124–125,

soul, 21, 23–24, 76, 185 127, 148, 177, 218, 224
South Africa, 1, 13, 20, 31, 41, 51–60,
62–68, 70–72, 74, 76, 78, 80, U
82, 84–85, 103, 105–109, 116, Ubuntu, 20, 44, 48, 50, 52, 54, 65–73,
126, 129–134, 136–138, 140–142, 84, 117
144, 146–148, 151–158, 160–161, unaccompanied migrant children,
163–164, 171–172, 174–176, 129–136, 138, 140, 142, 144–146,
178–184, 186, 189, 193, 199, 207, 148–149
213, 216 urban, 61, 105, 146–147, 174, 197
space, 8, 10, 13–16, 18–20, 22, 25,
43, 88, 95, 137, 139, 141, 143, V
146–148, 151–152, 154, 156, 158, value, 8, 32, 39, 44–45, 69, 123–125,
160–162, 164, 166, 168, 170, 178, 131, 146, 166, 182, 201, 203–204,
180, 183, 196, 204–205, 211–214, 209
218, 221, 223, 228–229 values, 10, 14, 18–19, 40, 66, 68, 72,
spaces, 40, 42–44, 49, 63, 131, 136, 114–117, 140–141, 144, 146–147,
147, 149, 180, 182, 186 168, 183, 201, 209, 226
status, 6, 27, 34–36, 83, 123, 134, 136, violence, 6, 8, 13, 19, 35, 37, 39–40, 59,
145–146, 149, 152, 167, 218 61, 64–65, 107, 125, 138, 156, 160,
stigmatisation, 214, 223 163–164, 181, 210–212, 226, 228
stories, 19, 66, 167, 199 virtue, 26, 70, 94
story, 53, 65, 73, 77–78, 81–83, 90, 135, vulnerable, 3, 34–35, 39–40, 49, 63,
173, 176–177 114, 124, 162, 165–166, 169, 175,
stranger, 7–8, 12, 26, 41–42, 48–50, 178, 221, 223, 228
138, 165, 189–192, 194–196,
198–206, 208, 211–212, 216, 218,
W
221–223, 227
well–being, 9, 23, 90, 97, 114–115, 118,
streetwise ecclesiology of home, 2,
136, 144–145, 147–148, 156, 210,
26, 28
221
suffer, 21, 40, 57, 60, 62, 154, 228
wisdom, 21, 23, 180, 203, 220
suffering, 3–4, 6, 19–22, 26–27, 116,
women, 39, 155, 157–158, 164, 179
138, 152, 185, 187, 218–219
written, 74–75, 111, 122, 162, 171–172
sustainability, 23, 28
X
T
xenophobia, 2, 4, 8, 10, 15, 23, 25,
temple, 79, 220
28–29, 40, 49, 56–57, 61, 64,
theological theory, 51–52, 54, 73–75,
103–108, 116–120, 125–127, 139,
80, 84
142–143, 152, 163, 175, 179, 184,
theology, 1–3, 9, 11, 21–25, 31, 51, 70,
196, 208, 210, 212, 214–216, 228
72–73, 85, 88–89, 95, 103, 109,
115, 127, 129–132, 135–136, 142–143,
145–148, 151, 158, 171, 185, 189–191, Y
198, 203, 207, 219, 227 youth, 124, 142, 156, 160
267
This scholarly collected work is written by practical theologians who see
Africa as their home and who are enthused to participate in the academic
discourses related to the phenomenon of displacement and migration.
The authors approach their research with an empathetic compassion for
affected people. They link their scientifically based pastoral approach to
operative ecclesiologies seeking solutions to the trauma of displacement
and migration. The book represents a valuable attempt at a practical-
theological and also a critical-theological reflection at the intersection of
the Christian faith and those who find themselves without a home and
without hope.
Prof. Dr Ian Alfonso Nell, Department of Practical Theology and
Missiology, Stellenbosch University, Stellenbosch, South Africa
In this book, social responsive theological research converges in order
to provide practical theological and ecclesiological perspectives on the
growing human dilemma of displacement. The book presents the research
of practical theologians, a missiologist and a religious practitioner whose
work pertain first and foremost to the (South) African context. The book
engages the critical questions of what kind of church would be relevant in
today’s world and what kind of care should the church provide in the face
of the growing predicament of human displacement. The theological and
theoretical principles uncovered in the different chapters are functional
for academic exploration and use by theologians from multidisciplinary
research areas focusing on communities that are challenged with the
growing realities of strangers on their doorsteps and in their pews.
Prof. Dr Andries G. van Aarde, Commissioning Editor,
AOSIS Scholarly Books, Cape Town, South Africa

aosis.2020.BK198
Theology Without Walls
Thinking about ultimate reality is becoming increasingly transreligious. This

transreligious turn follows inevitably from the discovery of divine truths in
multiple traditions. Global communications bring the full range of religious
ideas and practices to anyone with access to the internet. Moreover, the
growth of the “nones” and those who describe themselves as “spiritual but
not religious” creates a pressing need for theological thinking not bound by
prescribed doctrines and fixed rituals. This book responds to this vital need.
The chapters in this volume each examine the claim that if the aim of
theology is to know and articulate all we can about the divine reality, and if
revelations, enlightenments, and insights into that reality are not limited to
a single tradition, then what is called for is a theology without confessional
restrictions. In other words, a Theology Without Walls. To ground the
project in examples, the volume provides emerging models of transreligious
inquiry. It also includes sympathetic critics who raise valid concerns that
such a theology must face.
This is a book that will be of urgent interest to theologians, religious
studies scholars, and philosophers of religion. It will be especially suitable
for those interested in comparative theology, interreligious and interfaith
understanding, new trends in constructive theology, normative religious
studies, and the global philosophy of religion.
Jerry L. Martin has served as Chair of the National Endowment for

the Humanities and of the Philosophy Department at the University of
Colorado at Boulder and has also taught at Georgetown University and the
Catholic University of America. He has published on issues in epistemology,
philosophy of mind, phenomenology, transreligious theology, and public
policy. In 2014, he founded the Theology Without Walls project, which
meets with the American Academy of Religion. He is the author of God: An
Autobiography, as Told to a Philosopher (2016).
Routledge New Critical Thinking in Religion, Theology
and Biblical Studies
The Routledge New Critical Thinking in Religion, Theology and Bibli

cal Studies series brings high quality research monograph publishing back
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the series take research into important new directions and open the field to
new critical debate within the discipline, in areas of related study, and in key
areas for contemporary society.
Theologising Brexit
A Liberationist and Postcolonial Critique
Anthony G. Reddie
Vision, Mental Imagery and the Christian Life

Insights from Science and Scripture
Zoltán Dörnyei
Christianity and the Triumph of Humor

From Dante to David Javerbaum
Bernard Schweizer
Religious Truth and Identity in an Age of Plurality

Peter Jonkers and Oliver J. Wiertz
Envisioning the Cosmic Body of Christ

Embodiment, Plurality and Incarnation
Aurica Jax and Saskia Wendel

The Transreligious Imperative
Jerry L. Martin
For more information about this series, please visit: www.routledge.com/

religion/series/RCRITREL
The Transreligious Imperative
Edited by
Jerry L. Martin
First published 2020
by Routledge
2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN
and by Routledge
52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017
Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business
© 2020 selection and editorial matter, Jerry L. Martin; individual
chapters, the contributors
The right of Jerry L. Martin to be identified as the author of the
editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters,
has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
The Open Access version of this book, available at www.taylorfrancis.com,
has been made available under a Creative Commons Attribution-Non
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Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks
or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and
explanation without intent to infringe.
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A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
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ISBN: 978-0-367-02871-8 (hbk)
ISBN: 978-0-429-00097-3 (ebk)
DOI: 10.4324/9780429000973
With grateful thanks to my teachers
Richard McKeon
Henry Veatch
Philip Wheelwright
Contents
List of figures x
List of tables xi
Acknowledgements xii
List of contributors xiii
Introduction 1
JERRY L. MARTIN
PART I
Why Theology Without Walls? 5
Introduction 5
JERRY L. MARTIN
1 Paideias and programs for Theology Without Walls 7
ROBERT CUMMINGS NEVILLE
2 In spirit and truth: Toward a Theology Without Walls 14
RICHARD OXENBERG
3 Revisiting Bellah’s Sheila in a religiously pluralist century 25
CHRISTOPHER DENNY
4 Theology Without Walls as open-field theology 35
KURT ANDERS RICHARDSON

viii Contents
PART II
Experience and transformation 49
Introduction 49
JERRY L. MARTIN
5 Theology Without Walls as the quest for interreligious wisdom 53

JOHN J. THATAMANIL
6 My Buddha-nature and my Christ-nature 65

PAUL KNITTER
7 “Why not ten 60-foot wells?” 73

PETER SAVASTANO
8 Theology Without Walls: an interspiritual approach 85

RORY MCENTEE
9 With open doors and windows: doing theology in the spirit

of William James 98
JONATHAN WEIDENBAUM
PART III
Challenges and possibilities 107
Introduction 107
JERRY L. MARTIN
10 Is Theology Without Walls workable? Yes, no, maybe 109

PETER FELDMEIER
11 Daunting choices in transreligious theology: a case study 119

WESLEY J. WILDMAN WITH JERRY L. MARTIN
12 Cognitive science of religion and the nature of the divine:

a pluralist, nonconfessional approach 128
JOHAN DE SMEDT AND HELEN DE CRUZ
13 Love and desire, human and divine: a transreligious

naturalist account 138
WESLEY J. WILDMAN
Contents ix
PART IV
Theologizing in a multireligious world 151
Introduction 151
JERRY L. MARTIN
14 Dialogue and transreligious understanding: a hermeneutical

approach 153
J. R. HUSTWIT
15 Strategic religious participation in a shared religious

landscape: a model for Westerners? 165
PAUL HEDGES
16 How to think globally and affiliate locally 172

JEANINE DILLER
17 Theology Without Walls: Is a theology for SBNRs possible? 189

LINDA MERCADANTE
PART V
Expanded confessional theologies 201
Introduction 201
JERRY L. MARTIN
18 More window than wall: the comparative expansion of

confessional theology 205
S. MARK HEIM
19 Strong walls for an open faith 213

FRANCIS X. CLOONEY, SJ
20 A Hinduism without walls? Exploring the concept of the

avatar interreligiously 227
JEFFERY D. LONG
21 My path to a theology of Qi 234

HYO-DONG LEE
Index 243
Figures
16.1 Home and outside beliefs 174
16.2 Soteriological diversity in Schmidt-Leukel 177
16.3 Example of soteriological diversity after Heim and Cobb 178
16.4 Partialism about knowledge of the Ultimate 184
Tables
16.1 Summary of views on religious diversities in Hick, Heim,
and Cobb 181
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank Christopher Denny, John Thatamanil, and Wesley Wild-
man for encouraging and helping to conceptualize this volume. Christopher
Denny earned my double gratitude for generously and capably supervising
the final stages of the editing process. I also owe a deep debt of gratitude to
all my colleagues who have contributed to the vibrant dialectic of Theology
Without Walls, including those not represented in this volume: John Becker,
John Berthrong, Susan Power Bratton, Kenneth Cracknell, Hans Gustafson,
Jan-Olav Henriksen, Joyce Ann Konigsburg, Michael McLaughlin, Anselm
Min, Hugh Nicholson, Thomas Jay Oord, Michelle Voss Roberts, Wm.
Andrew Schwartz, Rita Sherman, Bin Song, Leonard J. Swidler, Jon Paul
Sydnor, Wilhemus (Pim) Valkenberg, and Anthony J. Watson.
Contributors
Francis X. Clooney, SJ is Parkman Professor of Divinity and Professor of

Comparative Theology at Harvard Divinity School. His primary areas
of scholarship are theological commentarial writings in the Sanskrit and
Tamil traditions of Hindu India and the developing field of compara
tive theology, a discipline distinguished by attentiveness to the dynamics
of theological learning deepened through the study of traditions other
than one’s own. He has also written on the Jesuit missionary tradition,
particularly in India, and the dynamics of dialogue in the contemporary
world. Professor Clooney is the author of numerous articles and books,
most recently The Future of Hindu-Christian Studies: A Theological
Inquiry (Routledge, 2017) and Learning Interreligiously: In the Text, in
the World (2018) and Reading the Hindu and Christian Classics: How
and Why Deep Learning Still Matters (University of Virginia, 2019).
During 2010–2017 he was the Director of the Center for the Study of
World Religions at Harvard Divinity School. He has received honorary
doctorates from four institutions, and in 2010 he was elected a Fellow of
the British Academy. He is currently Vice President of the Catholic Theo
logical Society of America.
Johan De Smedt is a postdoctoral fellow at Saint Louis University, work
ing in the philosophy of cognitive science, philosophy of religion, and
philosophy of art/aesthetics. He has co-authored, with Helen De Cruz, A
Natural History of Natural Theology (MIT Press, 2015) and is currently
co-writing The Challenge of Evolution to Religion under contract with
Cambridge University Press.
Helen De Cruz holds the Danforth Chair in Philosophy at Saint Louis
University, working mainly in the philosophy of cognitive science, phi
losophy of religion, and experimental philosophy. She is the author of
Religious Disagreement (Cambridge University Press, 2019) and has co
edited, with Ryan Nichols, Advances in Religion, Cognitive Science, and
Experimental Philosophy (Bloomsbury, 2016).
xiv Contributors
Christopher Denny is an associate professor in the Department of Theology
and Religious Studies at St. John’s University in New York, where he
teaches undergraduate and graduate courses in historical theology from
the patristic to the modern era. Denny is the author of A Generous Sym
phony: Hans Urs von Balthasar’s Literary Revelations (Fortress, 2016);
the coeditor, with Patrick Hayes and Nicholas Rademacher, of A Real
ist’s Church: Essays in Honor of Joseph A. Komonchak (Orbis, 2015);
and the coeditor, with Jeremy Bonner and Mary Beth Fraser Connolly, of
Empowering the People of God: Catholic Action before and after Vatican
II (Fordham University Press, 2014). Other recent publications include
articles in the journals Horizons, Journal of Interreligious Studies, Jour
nal of Hindu-Christian Studies, and Christianity and Literature. Denny is
the recipient of best-article awards from the Catholic Press Association,
the College Theology Society, and the Conference on Christianity and
Literature.
Jeanine Diller is an associate professor in the Department of Philosophy and

Program on Religious Studies at the University of Toledo with a PhD in
philosophy from the University of Michigan. She teaches and researches
in philosophy of religion and religious studies, concentrating especially
on the nature of ultimate reality, the diversity of traditional and secular
views of religion, and the power of religion to change the world for ill
and for good. She co-edited Models of God and Other Alternative Ulti
mate Realities (Springer, 2013); authored several articles; and worked in
the federal legislative, state executive, and local nonprofit sectors. She
lives in Ann Arbor with her husband and two sons.
Peter Feldmeier is Murray/Bacik Endowed Professor of Catholic Studies at

the University of Toledo. He received his PhD in Christian spirituality
at the Graduate Theological Union in Berkeley, California. Feldmeier’s
scholarship has focused on Christian spirituality, comparative theology,
and Buddhist-Christian dialogue. He is the author of numerous articles
and book chapters as well as nine books, the most recent being Experi
ments in Buddhist-Christian Encounter: From Buddha-Nature to the
Divine Nature (Orbis, 2019).
Paul Hedges is Associate Professor in Interreligious Studies at the Studies

in Interreligious Relations in Plural Societies Programme at the S. Raja
ratnam School of International Studies (RSIS), Nanyang Technological
University, Singapore. He has previously worked for other universities
in Asia, Europe, and North America, and been a consultant or trainer
for the media, faith groups, nongovernmental organizations, and govern
ments. He has published a dozen books and over 60 papers. Recent books
include Comparative Theology: Critical and Methodological Perspec
tives (Brill, 2017), Towards Better Disagreement: Religion and Atheism in
Dialogue (Jessica Kingsley, 2017), and Contemporary Muslim-Christian
Contributors xv
Encounters (Bloomsbury, 2015), and his next book, provisionally enti
tled Understanding Religion: Method and Theory for Exploring Reli
giously Diverse Societies (California University Press, due 2020), should
be out soon. He is co-editor of Interreligious Studies and Intercultural
Theology and Interreligious Relations (occasional paper series) and sits
on the editorial board of a number of other international journals and
book series.
S. Mark Heim is Samuel Abbot Professor of Christian Theology at Ando
ver Newton Seminary at Yale Divinity School. His books include Salva
tions: Truth and Difference in Religion (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books,
1995), The Depth of the Riches: A Trinitarian Theology of Religious
Ends (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2001), Saved From Sacrifice: A Theol
ogy of the Cross (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2006) and Crucified Wis
dom: Christ and the Bodhisattva in Theological Reflection (New York:
Fordham University Press, 2018). He is a member of the American Theo
logical Society and has co-chaired the comparative theology group in the
American Academy of Religion. An ordained American Baptist minister,
he has represented his denomination on the Faith and Order Commissions
of the National Council of Churches and the World Council of Churches,
and served on various ecumenical bodies, including the Christian–
Muslim relations committee of the National Council of Churches.
J. R. Hustwit is Professor of Philosophy and Religion at Methodist Univer
sity in Fayetteville, North Carolina. His research specialties are philo
sophical hermeneutics, interreligious dialogue, and comparative theology.
He is the author of Interreligious Hermeneutics and the Pursuit of Truth
(Lexington Books, 2014).
Paul Knitter is the Emeritus Paul Tillich Professor of Theology, World Reli
gions, and Culture at Union Theological Seminary, New York, as well as
Emeritus Professor of Theology at Xavier University in Cincinnati, Ohio.
He received a Licentiate in theology from the Pontifical Gregorian Uni
versity in Rome (1966) and a doctorate from the University of Marburg,
Germany (1972). Most of his research and publications have dealt with
religious pluralism and interreligious dialogue. More recently, his writing
and speaking engagements have focused on what Christians can learn in
their dialogue with Buddhists, which is the topic of his 2009 book, With
out Buddha I Could Not Be a Christian (Oneworld), and of his 2015
co-authored book with Roger Haight, SJ, Jesus and Buddha: Friends in
Conversation (Orbis).
Hyo-Dong Lee is Associate Professor of Comparative Theology at Drew
University Theological School and its Graduate Department of Religion.
A native of South Korea, he holds a PhD from Vanderbilt University and
is the author of Spirit, Qi, and the Multitude: A Comparative Theology
for the Democracy of Creation (Fordham University Press, 2014) and
xvi Contributors
numerous articles, including “Ren and Causal Efficacy: Confucians and
Whitehead on the Social Role of Symbolism” (in Rethinking Whitehead’s
Symbolism, Edinburgh University Press, 2017) and “Confucian Democ
racy and a Pluralistic Li-Ki Metaphysics” (Religions 9, no. 11 [2018]).
Jeffery D. Long is Professor of Religion and Asian Studies at Elizabethtown
College, where he has taught since receiving his doctoral degree from
the University of Chicago Divinity School in 2000. He is the author of
A Vision for Hinduism (IB Tauris, 2007), Jainism: An Introduction (IB
Tauris, 2009), and the Historical Dictionary of Hinduism (Rowman &
Littlefield, 2011) and is editor of Perspectives on Reincarnation: Hindu,
Christian, and Scientific (MDIP, 2019) and co-editor of the Buddhism
and Jainism volumes of the Springer Encyclopedia of Indian Religions
(Springer, 2017). He also edits the Lexington Books series, Explorations
in Indic Traditions: Ethical, Philosophical, and Theological. In 2018 he
was given the Hindu American Foundation’s Dharma Seva Award in
acknowledgment of his work to promote accurate and sensitive portray
als of Hindu traditions in the American education system and popular
media. His forthcoming book projects include Indian Philosophy: An
Introduction and Hinduism in America: A Convergence of Worlds, both
from Bloomsbury.
Jerry L. Martin has served as chair of the National Endowment for the
Humanities and of the Philosophy Department at the University of Colo
rado at Boulder, and has also taught at Georgetown University and the
Catholic University of America. He has published on issues in epistemol
ogy, philosophy of mind, phenomenology, transreligious theology, and
public policy. In 2014, he founded the Theology Without Walls project,
which meets with the American Academy of Religion. He is the author of
God: An Autobiography, as Told to a Philosopher (Caladium Publishing
Company, 2016).
Rory McEntee is a philosopher and interspiritual theologian working at an
intersection of spirituality, education, social justice, and culture. Through
his work with influential teachers and his own writings, Rory is consid
ered one of the architects of the New Monastic and Interspiritual move
ments. Rory is co-author, with Adam Bucko, of The New Monasticism:
An Interspiritual Manifesto for Contemplative Living (Orbis Books,
2015) and Executive Director of The Foundation for New Monasticism
and InterSpirituality. Rory has done doctoral work in Mathematics and
Theological and Philosophical Studies. Among other endeavors, Rory
can be found writing in his hermitage, snowboarding, playing with his
niece and nephew, and trekking in the Himalayas.
Linda Mercadante, PhD, is Distinguished Research Professor and for
mer Straker Professor of Historical Theology at Methodist Theological
School in Ohio. Specializing in theology and culture, Mercadante’s most
Contributors xvii
recent book is Belief without Borders: Inside the Minds of the Spiritual
but not Religious (Oxford University Press, 2014). The author of five
books and hundreds of articles dealing with a theological analysis of
culture, her topics include spirituality, addiction recovery, Shaker gender
imagery, faith and film, moral injury, trauma, reproductive loss, and spir
itual geography. She is ordained in the Presbyterian Church in the United
States.
Robert Cummings Neville is quite old, having begun giving out grades in
1961. In the course of that time he has taught at Yale, Fordham, SUNY
Purchase, SUNY Stony Brook, and Boston University. He is the author
of the Philosophical Theology trilogy (Ultimates, 2013; Existence, 2014;
Religion, 2015) published by SUNY Press. He is a member of the Ameri
can Philosophical Association, the New Haven Theological Discussion
Group, the American Academy of Religion, the Metaphysical Society,
the International Society for Chinese Philosophy, the Boston Theological
Society, the Institute for American Religious and Philosophical Thought,
the American Theological Society, and the Charles S. Peirce Society; in all
but the first two he has been the chief officer.
Richard Oxenberg received his PhD in Philosophy from Emory University
in 2002, with a concentration in Ethics and Philosophy of Religion. He
is the author of numerous articles on interreligious theology and the phi
losophy of spirituality. His book, On the Meaning of Human Being: Hei
degger and the Bible in Dialogue, has been recently published by Political
Animal Press. Richard currently teaches at Endicott College in Beverly,
Massachusetts.
Kurt Anders Richardson, DTh (Basel), is a comparative theologian at Dallas
International University and at Toronto/McMaster universities. He spe
cializes in Abrahamic Studies: the historic and contemporary intersection
of Jewish, Christian, and Muslim exegetical and theological practices.
He is the co-founder of the Society of Scriptural Reasoning, comparative
theology groups, and steering committee member of the Theology With
out Walls group in the American Academy of Religion. His recent col
laborative projects include studies in comparative messianism, concepts
of divine being, and open-field theology. Richardson’s ongoing fieldwork
in the Middle East and Asia explore fruitful venues for theological rea
soning and encounter through emerging interdisciplinary approaches of
anthropology.
Peter Savastano is Associate Professor of Anthropology and Religious Stud
ies at Seton Hall University in South Orange, New Jersey. An anthropolo
gist of religion, consciousness, sexuality, and gender, Peter Savastano is
also a theologian and a scholar of mysticism, most especially in the Abra
hamic traditions. He teaches courses on Religions of the World, Thomas
Merton, Catholic Mystics and Mysticism, Folklore and Mythology, and
xviii Contributors
Consciousness. He is also an ordained Episcopal Clergyperson with a
deep attraction to Judaism and Islam, most especially Kabbalah and
Sufism, the mystical traditions of these two Abrahamic religions. Peter
Savastano is the editor of the forthcoming volume in the Thomas Mer
ton Series published by FonsVitae Press, entitled Merton and Indigenous
World Wisdom (anticipated fall 2019).
John J. Thatamanil is Associate Professor of Theology and World Religions
at Union Theological Seminary in the City of New York. He is the author
of The Immanent Divine: God, Creation, and the Human Predicament
(Fortress Press, 2006) and the forthcoming Circling the Elephant: A Com
parative Theology of Religious Diversity (Fordham University Press).
Thatamanil works at the intersection of theologies of religious diversity
and comparative theology with special interest in Christian, Hindu, and
Buddhist traditions.
Jonathan Weidenbaum teaches courses in philosophy, ethics, and world
religions at Berkeley College, New York City. With a PhD in Philoso
phy (University at Buffalo), Jon concentrates on topics in the philosophy
of religion. He draws upon figures and themes from the Continental,
Eastern, and classical American philosophical traditions. The cultural
diversity of Jon’s students, along with his regular travels through Asia,
nurtures both his thinking and writing. His essays may be found in The
Journal of Liberal Religion, Transcendent Philosophy, The Journal of
Speculative Philosophy, Open Theology, and in a number of other jour
nals and several books.
Wesley J. Wildman is Professor of Philosophy, Theology, and Ethics at Bos
ton University. He is a philosopher of religion specializing in the scien
tific study of complex human phenomena. His research and publications
pursue a multidisciplinary, comparative, trans-religious approach to top
ics within religious and theological studies, a venture whose underlying
theory of rationality is systematically presented in Religious Philosophy
as Multidisciplinary Comparative Inquiry: Envisioning a Future for the
Philosophy of Religion (State University of New York Press, 2010). For
further information, see www.WesleyWildman.com.
Introduction
Jerry L. Martin
The coming wave of thinking about ultimate reality is transreligious. The

transreligious turn follows ineluctably from the discovery, profound in its
depth and implications, of divine or ultimate truth in multiple traditions.
At the forefront of this turn are scholars associated with Theology With
out Walls. This approach is based on the following syllogism: If the aim of
theology is to know and articulate all we can about the divine or ultimate
reality, and if revelations, enlightenments, and insights into that reality are
not limited to a single tradition, then what is called for is a theology without
confessional restrictions, a Theology Without Walls (TWW). Any approach
that omits the insights of traditions other than one’s own falls short of being
adequate to the ultimate reality. Any approach that insists on translating
those insights into the terms of one’s own tradition risks narrowness, distor
tion, and misappropriation.
It is a question of subject matter. The subject matter of theology is ulti
mate reality, not one’s own tradition. One way to put it is that, in addition
to Christian theology, Hindu theology, Islamic theology, etc., there is just
Theology, the logos of theos, of ultimacy. It is not that we do not stand
somewhere, but our sense of our goal is not limited to where we stand at
the outset. All available terms, including “divine or ultimate reality” and
“theology” itself, must be provisional, giving a sense of direction to thought
without precluding surprising advances and revisions. In TWW, works of
literature, philosophy, psychology, anthropology, and the natural and social
sciences, as well as personal experience, may become important sources of
theological insight. A major achievement of the past half-century has been
the development of increasingly adequate concepts and methods for com
parison and dialogue conducive to theologizing across traditions.
Is TWW a form of religious pluralism? No, pluralism is a concept within
confessional theology of religions. It is a thesis about the religions, not
about ultimate reality. It is an answer to the question that arises within a
tradition about the status – particularly the soteriological effectiveness – of
other traditions, about whether they can deliver what “our” religion does.
TWW poses questions more radically: What should our soteriological aim
DOI: 10.4324/9780429000973-1
2 Jerry L. Martin
be? What is the fundamental human predicament that soteriology should
address? Indeed, is soteriology even the central concept in our relationship
with ultimacy?
Is TWW a form of comparative theology? Yes, if it is understood as
a Comparative Theology Without Walls. But it is an alternative to those
forms of comparative theology that are essentially confessional, seeking
to enhance one’s own theology by studying another tradition. The most
natural mode of TWW may not involve comparison or side-by-side read
ing. Whereas comparative theology tends to anchor studies in the religions,
TWW is open to taking evidences wherever they are found, including
sources quite outside religion as historically defined. Its theologians can
look to literature or to psychology or to evolutionary biology for insight
into the human condition and, from there, into the soteriological solution
to that condition. The familiar metaphor for comparative theology in a
confessional mode is “passing over” and “returning home.” For TWW,
“returning home” is a possibility, not a necessity. Any place truth can be
found is home.
Is the aim to find what is common among all the major religions? No,
noting commonalities may make a useful contribution, but the aim is to
understand what is truly ultimate and, hence, in the end, to be selective.
There is no guarantee that every religion dubbed as “major” is, even in
essential aspects, right on target with regard to ultimate reality. Or that
those religions not identified as major lack evidential value. We have to
use spiritual discernment, philosophical reflection, personal experience, and
transreligious insight to sort that out.
Is it possible to sort out or evaluate insights from traditions not our own?
In fact, we do this already. When we seriously study other traditions, we
frequently find deep insights there. We do not find them in every aspect
of every tradition, but in certain texts, practices, spiritual disciplines, and
iconic figures that strike us as revelatory or evidential. However accounted
for, this is a human spiritual capability, without which religion itself would
hardly be possible.
Is the aim of TWW to arrive at a single, encompassing theological world-
view? No more than any other field of inquiry. Disagreement is fruitful.
Is engaging in TWW compatible with a commitment to one’s own confes
sion? Yes, just as a Jungian psychotherapist can take in insight from other
thinkers and acknowledge that psychology itself is a wider field of inquiry,
one can, like Huston Smith, be a participating Presbyterian while holding a
much wider religious worldview. Some essays in this volume discuss how the
spiritual life might be lived in a transreligious context.
TWW might, however, have an impact on religious traditions. They might
come to regard themselves as offering truth, but not the only truth. Partici
pants may become willing and interested to learn from other traditions. The
religions themselves could evolve toward greater spiritual openness.
Introduction 3
That Theology Without Walls is necessary – if theology is to live up to
its goal of explicating ultimate reality as fully as possible – does not ensure
that it is achievable. Theology as we know it has been, almost by definition,
the articulation of religious truths as held by a particular tradition. It is that
tradition that provides the canonical texts, hermeneutical strategies, theo
logical questions, proffered answers, methods for assessing and modifying
them, and even institutional authorities for ruling certain answers in or out.
In addition, such traditions provide the full-bodied religious life that their
theologies serve.
What are, for TWW, the theological issues, debates, and methods of inter
pretation and of resolution? These issues are already being sorted out in
interreligious scholarship and discussion of such matters as the role of mys
tical and other religious experience, the role of religious authorities, which
spiritual practices are effective and what they achieve, alternative ontolo
gies, and rival hermeneutical strategies. More fundamentally, theologies
must address the enduring questions of human life and death, felicity and
suffering, love and compassion, justice and mercy, and so on.
This volume explains and argues for this new approach to theology. It
includes scholars from a range of religions and spiritual orientations and
of disciplines whose research clarifies the scope and conditions of valid reli
gious theorizing. Some contributors make the case for transreligious theolo
gizing or for their own approaches to it. Some discuss particular issues, such
as dual religious belonging or the relation of TWW to confessional commit
ment. The volume includes sympathetic critics whose serious concerns indi
cate challenges TWW must face. Finally, to ground the project in examples,
the volume includes emerging models of transreligious inquiry.
TWW presents an obvious challenge to traditional theology, but its
importance is not limited to scholars, or even to religious professionals.
The wider public is involved. We no longer live in villages or neighborhoods
where everybody has the same religion. There are ashrams and mosques in
the same towns as churches and synagogues. Global communications bring
the full range of religious ideas and practices into our homes and offices.
Moreover, the growth of the “nones” and those who describe themselves as
“spiritual but not religious” creates a pressing need for theological think
ing not bounded by prescribed doctrines and fixed rituals, yet subject to the
rigor of a search for truth. TWW responds to this vital need.
At the outset, transreligious theology should be considered an exploratory
program, at best a “research programme” in Imre Lakatos’s sense. “One
must treat budding programmes leniently,” he writes, since, early on, the
obstacles will be more obvious than their fruitfulness. Meanwhile, we must
exercise “methodological tolerance.” We cannot allow procedural worries
to block the path of inquiry. Models are beginning to emerge. Concepts for
transreligious discourse are increasingly well-developed. We will learn the
best methods by engaging in the process.
4 Jerry L. Martin
TWW calls upon each theologian to seek truth, wherever it can be found,
and to articulate it even when methods and concepts are still in the process
of being developed and are not, or not yet, ready at hand. Consider these
essays forays into ultimacy. Gandhi named his autobiography, The Story of
My Experiments with Truth. That is what all our lives are, including our
theological lives. They are experiments with truth.
Part I
Why Theology Without Walls?
Introduction
Jerry L. Martin
The most comprehensive systematic transreligious theology is presented in

Robert Cummings Neville’s three-volume Philosophical Theology. The first
volume is called Ultimates and contains a précis of the whole. Neville estab
lishes a metaphysical structure within which the various “ultimates” rep
resented by or symbolized through various traditions find their place. His
accomplishment, requiring a philosophical sophistication and cross-cultural
erudition few possess, can be daunting, rather than empowering, for emerg
ing theologians. For that reason, he was asked to reflect on “how to become
the next Robert Neville.” He does that by telling his own story, which goes
back to the age of four and is still ongoing.
Why Theology Without Walls (TWW)? Because, says Neville, there are
inescapable questions about “what is ultimate and how it is ultimate” with
respect to the “problematic” aspects of life and the universe. “No one really
trusts walled-in answers to them.” In fact, “theologies with walls reduce
to sociological claims” – this is what my tradition “believes.” In spite of
his own metaphysical grounding and comprehensive interreligious scope,
Neville reminds us that “theologians need to make their own decisions.” He
recognizes that, in spite of powerful arguments on its behalf, his way is not
the only way to engage in Theology Without Walls. Other ways, some quite
different, are also represented in this volume.
For theologians to make thoughtful choices based on years of study is
one thing; for everyone to shop casually among religious and nonreligious
offerings is quite another. Scholars from Robert Bellah to Christopher Smith
have lamented the rise of the loosely affiliated “Sheila” as a cultural type.
For Christopher Denny, teaching Catholic theology in a Catholic university,
it came as a shock to realize to what extent we live in an age of casual shop
pers in the spiritual supermarket. But the shock prompted an insight that,
contrary to the concerns of Bellah and Smith, in religious as well as secular
life, “there is a human agent making the choice.” The great religions them
selves resulted from human choices and, in our more democratic and egali
tarian times, these choices are open to a larger population. He concludes
that “the recognition of preferences provides theology with a new starting
point from which to engage the bewildering array of religious options.” The
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6 Jerry L. Martin
phenomenon of choice does not imply relativism. He quotes Kurt Richard
son: “The self as the locus of truth does not mean the self as the source of
truth.” Not every choice, Denny says, will be “intellectually coherent, mor
ally defensible, or spiritually attractive to others.” This is true whether we
choose a traditional path or a personal one. “Whatever mistakes we make,
they will be our own,” he concludes. “In that sense, we are all Sheilas.”
As radical as Denny’s argument may seem, Richard Oxenberg argues that
a transreligious thrust is implied by the theological project itself and, sur
prisingly, “forecast by Jesus himself.” He begins by exploring the reasons
for theology within walls. He answers that “faith requires understanding in
order simply to fulfill itself as faith.” He quotes Jesus’s warning about hear
ing the message but failing to understand it. Oxenberg argues that TWW
“also has its basis in revelatory experience; a revelatory experience more
and more of us are having in the context of the global encounter of the
world religions with one another.” We are seeing “divine truth” outside
our home traditions. Dogmatic faith gives way to “Socratic faith,” which
requires humility rather than claims of infallibility. It involves the dialectical
examination of the revelations themselves. He goes further: TWW “itself
betokens a new revelation of the divine,” one that has its own soteriological
power, namely, to overcome tribalistic rivalries and “thereby bring us closer
to a recognition of the divine as One.”
In place of a world of fixed religions, maintaining their own stable doc
trines and devotions, we face a world of contending, unpredictable individ
ual choices. In such a world, Kurt Anders Richardson argues, TWW creates
a hermeneutical space for “open-field” theology, a meta-discourse about
theological practices and their contexts in relation. It seeks to “coordinate
discursive spaces with no theological limitations” while respecting “the
inviolate mind, conscience and body of every human being.” Thus “any
discursive handling of divine or ultimate topics . . . qualify as kinds of the
ology.” TWW as a hermeneutic open-field theology creates a “community
field of discourse where multiple rationalities and theological priorities can
find concourse” without having to agree to “common ground” or “common
problems.” Put simply, it provides the “working space” for theology suit
able to our times.
1 Paideias and programs for
Robert Cummings Neville
Editor Jerry L. Martin asked me to explain how I became the kind of theo
logian without walls that I am. The first thing to say about that is that there
are many kinds of theologians without walls, not just mine. Many differ
ent starting points exist, and there are many different kinds of theological
problems in which to be interested. I myself am a systematic philosophical
theologian, and I take myself to be accountable to any thinker in any tradi
tion, religious or secular, who has an interest in the outcome of my inquiry.
My inquiry has a number of parts, and at the beginning of my career I could
not develop any of them very well. But I kept working on them all together
and gradually became more sophisticated. It would be great to be deeply
and evenly sophisticated, although I do not expect that! Here are some of
the parts of my systematic philosophical inquiry. Note that this is the first
time I have been asked to write in an avuncular voice: if I wobble between
braggadocio and patronizing, remember it is a first attempt.
Knowledge of religion
I was born in 1939 in St. Louis, Missouri, and raised there through public
schools until I left for college in 1956.1 My family was active in a rather
liberal Methodist church. Most of our neighbors and my classmates were
Roman Catholic; the more established German and Irish Catholics were
resentful of the newly arrived Italians. When I was about 14, I edited our
congregation’s weekly newsletter and decided to write a series of 500-word
columns about world religions. Based on encyclopedia articles, my columns
dealt sequentially with Buddhism, Confucianism, Christianity, Daoism,
Judaism, Hinduism, and Islam (in alphabetical order). This was not high
scholarship and certainly had no peer review. Notice that Christianity was
presented as one religion among many. No one gave me any grief for that.
I’m proud that my first “publications” were about world religions.
In college I roomed with a Greek Orthodox and a Jew, never having met
representatives of those religions before (my St. Louis neighborhood was
rather homogeneous). I majored in philosophy, but we studied only West
ern philosophy, no Indian, Chinese, or Islamic. Not until I was teaching
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8 Robert Cummings Neville

at Fordham University did I begin to study non-Western philosophies and
religions, under the prodding of Thomas Berry. He taught me Sanskrit and
arranged for me to learn a little Chinese; moreover he arranged for me to
teach both Indian and Chinese philosophy, which I have done ever since
until I retired in the spring of 2018. Although I cannot keep up with a
well-trained historian of any religion, I am literate in frontline research in
those fields and can talk with scholars from most religious traditions. I’m
recognized as a contemporary progressive Confucian philosopher (Neville
2000). I think it is possible for a theologian without walls to grow slowly
from a position of naiveté and bias about religions to enough erudition to
be conversant with thinkers from most traditions and to be relatively expert
in those of personal interest.
Systematic thinking
In college I was taught that system in philosophy means the development
of a group of connected categories in terms of which everything can be
represented as a specification. Hegel, Peirce, and Whitehead were the model
systematic thinkers, and I thought a lot about Whitehead’s criteria for a
philosophical system: consistency, coherence, adequacy, and applicability
(Whitehead 1978). At my college, Yale, systematic thinking was encour
aged, not discouraged, as would have happened at nearly any other college
in those days. My senior thesis on interpretation and nature was my first
attempt at a system.
Nevertheless, systems are based on core ideas, and my first core
philosophical-theological idea came when I was in kindergarten. One of
my classmates told me that God is a person. I checked with my father who
said that, although Jesus was a person, God is more like light or electric
ity. I understood that idea at a five-year-old level and began working on it.
My current theological naturalism is a more sophisticated version of my
father’s hypothesis. I never had a serious commitment to a personal God
that I would have to get over in order to deal with Brahman or the Dao.
About the time I was editing the church newsletter, one of my high school
teachers said to me, “You know, Bob, that God is not in space or time.”
I understood immediately what he meant and agreed with it. I also immedi
ately knew that understanding that idea was an unusual kind of thinking, to
which I decided to dedicate my life. So my systematic theology of creation
ex nihilo began in high school and became the topic of my PhD disserta
tion (1963), which was revised and published in 1968 as God the Creator
(Neville 1968, 1992). That is a real systematic book, although not half as
sophisticated as my recent systematic statement, Ultimates: Philosophical
Theology Volume One (Neville 2013).2
The moral I draw about this part of my inquiry is that it is important to
begin as soon as possible with systematic thinking and grow from naïve
and brash to more sophisticated and intelligent. Do not wait until you have
Paideias and programs for TWW 9
mastered everything that systems need and then try to put them together.
People I’ve known who waited until old age to put things together in a sys
tematic way simply did not develop the tastes and skill of system making.
Good systems have multiple layers, and really good ones allow you to see
through many layers and interconnections at once. So I think you have to
start young, duck your head when critics cry “juvenile,” and just make your
system more complex and transparently simple.
Comparative theology
It is one thing to learn a lot about many religions and another to be able to
compare them. Comparison usually begins by noting some at least surface
similarities between the religious positions and then inquiring into just how
similar and different they are. Progress in comparison, however, requires
hard work identifying exactly the respects in which the comparison is being
made. Comparison is always “with respect to something.” The respects in
which things can be compared are comparative categories, and they are
astonishingly hard to develop. Often what looks like a similarity between
two positions turns out to be thinking at cross purposes. Some years ago,
for instance, some comparativists got excited about the similarities between
sunyata in Buddhism and kenosis in Christianity. But upon examination,
the similarities boiled down to the fact that both translate as “emptiness”
in English: Buddhist sunyata is a metaphysical characteristic of things as
experienced by enlightened people, and Christian kenosis is Christ’s or a
person’s taking on a humble station. There was no respect in which they
can be compared except the accident of translation into English. The ques
tion of gods is an interesting comparative one. But in what respects is it
important to compare them? Whether religions believe in one, several, or
thousands? How many are male, female, both, ungendered? Do the gods
squabble in ways that affect humans? Are there divine hierarchies? What
is at stake in these comparisons, all of which can be made? I suspect that
continued reflection on gods gives rise to the comparative category of what
is ultimate and how is it ultimate. Monotheisms identify the ultimate with
one God, however differently that God might be understood among and
within monotheisms. Polytheisms, even those with a top God in a hierarchy,
do not consider the ultimate to be a god with intentional agency, but some
deeper principle. Some religions like Buddhism, many forms of Hinduism,
Confucianism, and Daoism in their early forms believed that the world is
populated with many kinds of supernatural beings but that they were not
ultimate at all. Confucianism and Daoism do not use many personalistic
metaphors for ultimacy, but rather look to metaphors of spontaneous emer
gence. The important categories for comparing theological positions emerge
only slowly with the process of learning and systematizing.
In my own experience, the categories that emerge as important for theo
logical comparison, the respects in which it is important to compare religious
positions, turn out to be the categories that are important for the system in
philosophical theology. I think that there are five problematics that any seri
ously developed theological tradition must address: why there is something
rather than nothing; how human choice determines not only what happens
sometimes but also the character of the chooser; how to have a good self;
how to relate to other people, institutions, and nature on their own terms;
and what the meaning of life and existence is. These are extremely compli
cated problematics, and religions say many different things about them. But
the problematics can be sorted through to develop important categories for
comparative theology. Of course, the religious positions are often in wild
disagreement.3 Theologians without walls need to make their own decisions
about how to evaluate the positions compared.
The moral here is that the development of important comparative catego
ries for theology is a long, evolving, and critical process. It is not that the
theologian can first get categories for comparison and then work for years
filling in how the theological positions compare. Rather, every comparative
category is itself an hypothesis about the important respects in which to
compare theological positions and should be kept vulnerable to correction
throughout a comparative theologian’s continuing inquiry. Start young and
correct yourself.
Programs of teaching
I assume that most theologians without walls are teachers at the high school,
undergraduate, or perhaps graduate levels. Some of us are retired from all
that, and it is possible to be a serious theologian without walls without an
academic career at all. Nevertheless, teaching helps one become a better
theologian without walls. We all know that trying to explain something to
students who do not know it makes you figure out just what you understand
and what you do not.
I recommend that, to as great an extent as circumstances allow, we should
teach courses about the three topics I have already mentioned, namely
courses on different religions, courses on systematic theology aiming to say
what you think is true, and courses in comparison where you lead students
to understand both the nature of religion and what should be said about the
most important theological topics. I have been fortunate that in my 57 years
of teaching I have taught all three kinds of courses. Some people, of course,
teach in religious schools where discussion of other religions is discouraged
or forbidden. Some teach in schools where it is forbidden to say what you
think is true on theological topics or admit to having a theological system.
Some teach in places where there is no leisure for complicated discussions
about the nature of comparison. But we should hope to teach the elements
of theology without walls to as great an extent as possible.
Furthermore, we should teach these courses again and again, revising
and improving them. Some changes in evolving curricula come from the
changing nature of the students. Here I am advocating repetitive improve
ments based on what can be learned from teaching. In my 31 years at Bos
ton University, I have been fortunate to teach a sequence of three advanced
systematic courses nine times. Each sequence is a little different from the one
before, and sometimes there are radical changes in the readings. Teaching
this sequence again and again has led me to the publication of my three-
volume philosophical theology based on some comparative erudition and
aimed at an audience of anyone interested in the outcome of the inquiry.
Teaching for many years is a great good fortune. I personally could have
stopped grading papers 15 or 20 years ago, but the classroom is always fresh.
Professional colleagues
Another crucial part of the ongoing paideia for a theologian without walls
is the cultivation of professional contacts. This is not likely to be done by
having a whole department of theologians without walls, although Wesley
Wildman advocates “academic theology” in colleges and universities as the
ology without walls (Wildman 2010). More likely is the possibility of devel
oping collaborative friendships and close involvements with professional
societies that are relevant to the many parts of theology without walls.
The professional societies can be of many sorts. For the sake of developing
a philosophical system, I have been fortunate to be part of the Metaphysi
cal Society of America from my graduate school days. It was founded by
Paul Weiss, who was on my dissertation committee and who published my
first professional philosophy paper in The Review of Metaphysics, which he
founded and edited for many years. My own kind of philosophical herit
age owes very much to American pragmatism, and I have long belonged
to the Institute for American Religious and Philosophical Thought. More
recently I have been involved with the Charles S. Peirce Society. For com
parative work, my main interest has been in Confucianism, and I have been
a multidecade member of the International Society for Chinese Philosophy.
Theology without walls has flourished mainly in the American Academy of
Religion to which I have belonged for most of my career. I have frequently
given papers at these groups and have commented on others. They pro
vide long-term communities of critics and encouragers. I have been involved
with their administrations and have served as the president of each of them,
engaging as a Confucian scholar-official.
Friends are perhaps the most important collaborators in developing a rich
theology without walls over the long haul. Some friends come from special
projects with which we can become involved. Others become the special
friends that grow with you over the years. I myself have been greatly fortu
nate in friendships and am convinced that philosophical friendships, rather
than the philosophical rush to refutation in which I was raised by analytic
philosophers, are the proper venues for cultivating the openings into the
depths of the soul.
Publication
As Boston’s Mayor Curley said about voting, publish early and often. Do
not wait until you have a perfectly polished piece of theology before you
submit it for publication. Do not be afraid to grow in the press, publishing
improved renditions of your ideas as they come to you. Find the publishing
venues amenable to your work and pursue them. If the peer-review process
elicits good criticisms, figure out where they are coming from and accept
them selectively.
The more original your work, the less likely it is to be understood by
reviewers and editors. When I first started out, my first book was rejected by
a number of publishers before it was finally accepted after three years by the
University of Chicago Press. During that dry period all of my articles were
rejected as well. In frustration, I sent the rejected articles to Wilfrid Sellars,
one of my graduate professors, and asked what to do. He wrote back that
the philosophy I was doing was different from what was recognized in the
assorted philosophical Balkans and that when my book was finally pub
lished, it would establish an audience for my work. That is pretty much
what happened.
Theology without walls will not be recognized as legitimate theology by
people who think theology is always based within some faith community.
It will also not be recognized by most philosophers who do not like theol
ogy because they think it is always apologetic for some faith community. So
we need to be patient in developing venues for the publication of theology
without walls. Keep up the courage to sustain many rejections.
Two principal reasons exist for hope for the paideia and programs of
theology without walls. First, theologies with walls reduce to sociological
claims: this is what Thomists, Advaita Vedantins, and Confucians “believe”
in their theologies. Most theologians cannot be satisfied with that and want
their claims to be true, not just part of the grammar of a select group. Sec
ond, the world, especially colleges and universities, needs disciplined people
to address the big theological questions: Why is there something rather than
nothing? Why are human beings obligated and how? What is the nature of
an ideal self, and how can that be achieved? How can we relate to others
while respecting their perspectives? What is the meaning of life and exist
ence? Many other first-order questions have rung the bells for centuries.
Those questions cut across all religions and the assorted secularities. No one
really trusts theologically walled-in answers to them. Colleges and universi
ties need to make places for theology without walls, because those are the
most basic and important questions.
I am a philosophical realist and believer that we get feedback from real
ity on ultimate theological questions, particularly, the feedback that says,
“Why aren’t you answering these questions?” Let’s get to it.
Notes
1 You will find an account of my childhood at www.robertcummingsneville.com,
including embellishments of some of the stories I tell here.
2 That is part of the now larger system that includes Neville (2014) and Neville
(2015).
3 See Neville (2014, 2015) to track some of these wild differences.
References
Neville, Robert C. 1968. God the Creator: On the Transcendence and Presence of
God. 1st ed. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Neville, Robert C. 1992. God the Creator: On the Transcendence and Presence of
God. rev. ed. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press.
Neville, Robert C. 2000. Boston Confucianism: Portable Tradition in the Late
Modern World. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press. doi:10.1525/
nr.2004.7.3.105
Neville, Robert C. 2013. Ultimates: Philosophical Theology Volume One. Albany,
NY: State University of New York Press.
Neville, Robert C. 2014. Existence: Philosophical Theology Volume Two. Albany,
Neville, Robert C. 2015. Religion: Philosophical Theology Volume Three. Albany,
Whitehead, Alfred N. 1978. Process and Reality: An Essay in Cosmology, Corrected
Edition, edited by Donald W. Sherburne and David Ray Griffin. New York, NY:
Macmillan/Free Press.
Wildman, Wesley J. 2010. “Afterword: Religious Philosophy in the Modern Univer
sity.” In Religious Philosophy as Multidisciplinary Comparative Inquiry: Envi
sioning a Future for the Philosophy of Religion, edited by Wesley J. Wildman,
307–318. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press.
2 In spirit and truth
Toward a Theology Without
Walls
Richard Oxenberg
Introduction: spirit and truth

In the Gospel of John, we are told the story of a Samaritan woman who
asks Jesus whether the proper place of worship is on the holy mountain of
Samaria or in the Temple of Jerusalem. These were the centers of two rival,
antagonistic religious institutions. Jesus responds:
Woman, believe Me, an hour is coming when neither in this mountain

nor in Jerusalem will you worship the Father . . . an hour is coming, and
now is, when the true worshippers will worship in spirit and truth; for
such people the Father seeks to be His worshippers. God is spirit, and
those who worship Him must worship in spirit and truth.
(Jn 4:21–24)
“Spirit and truth,” of course, are neither places nor institutions. “Spirit” –
pneuma in New Testament Greek – refers to that which animates life and
gives it meaning. “Truth” – aletheia in Greek – might better be rendered as
“truthfulness.” It refers here not to the correctness of abstract propositions,
but to the earnestness that is the mark of the true spiritual aspirant. Jesus is
saying that the true worshiper of God is not one whose primary allegiance
is to one or another religious institution, but one who genuinely seeks the
divine in heart and mind. Whether on the Samaritan mountain or in the
Jerusalem Temple, the one who worships in “spirit and truth” worships
rightly.
Those of us pursuing a “theology without walls” aspire to do theology
in “spirit and truth”; that is, in a manner not confined to any particular
religious institution or tradition, but grounded simply in an earnest search
for the divine. This aspiration constitutes a new and distinctive way of
approaching theological pursuits; one forecast by Jesus in the earlier pas
sage but fully realizable only in our time.
To make this clear, it will be helpful, first of all, to consider why theology
has traditionally been done within walls and then to consider why and how
some of us now feel called upon to pass beyond such walls in pursuit of a
fuller approach to the divine.
DOI: 10.4324/9780429000973-4
In spirit and truth 15

Theology within walls
We might begin by considering the peculiar relationship of theology to reli
gion. Religions do not arise in response to theological reflection; rather, the
ology arises as an attempt to understand and apply religious experience.
Religion as a communal and spiritual practice is prior to theology as an intel
lectual discipline. This priority of religion to theology is reflected in the clas
sical designation of theology as “faith seeking understanding.” If we say that
faith seeks understanding, we imply that faith exists prior to understanding.
Theology is not the basis of faith; rather, faith is the basis of theology.
What, then, is the basis of faith? The religions of the world have emerged
not from theological reflection, but from an encounter or, anyway, a per
ceived encounter, with the divine. I use the word “divine” here to refer to
that which is ultimate in meaning and value – what Paul Tillich calls our
“ultimate concern.” This might be a personal God, as in the Abrahamic
religions, or it might be an exalted or awakened state of being, as in Bud
dhism. Nevertheless, whether we think of divine reality as a highest person
or as a supernal state of awareness, religions have their origin in some direct
encounter, or purported encounter, with this divine reality. Theology, then,
emerges as the endeavor to reflect upon this encounter, to appropriate it cog
nitively and work out its implications for ordinary life. This, indeed, is what
distinguishes theology from philosophy. Philosophy begins with mundane
experience and seeks to arrive at universal truths through rational reflec
tion, extrapolation, and generalization. Theology begins with an experience
of the divine, or reports of such experience, and seeks to make sense of that
experience at the cognitive level.
In this regard, theology is rooted in what John Thatamanil has called
“first-order knowledge” of the divine. First-order knowledge is direct knowl
edge, experiential knowledge; it is “knowledge of” rather than “knowledge
about.” As Thatamanil puts it, a person who never swims can nevertheless
acquire a great deal of information (i.e., “second-order knowledge”) about
swimming, but only the swimmer can have first-order knowledge of what it
is to swim (Thatamanil 2016).
It is such first-order knowledge, reflected in a particular body of revela
tion – as recorded in scripture and/or passed down by tradition – that con
stitutes the primary source material for theology. The theologian who takes
up the task of interpreting a given body of revelation does so, presumably,
because he or she has had a taste of such first-order knowledge with respect
to it. In Tillich’s language, the theologian is “grasped” by an ultimate con
cern and feels called to the task of making cognitive sense of that by which
he or she is grasped. In this respect, theology is “hermeneutical” in the most
basic, etymological sense of the word: Just as the messenger-god Hermes
was charged with the task of communicating divine messages to human
beings, so the theologian seeks to “hear” the divine message and translate it
into conceptual terms for reception by our cognitive faculties.
16 Richard Oxenberg
This makes it clear why theology has traditionally been done “within
walls.” It emerges in response to a particular body of revelation and thus,
quite naturally, confines itself to that body. Theology is done within the
walls of a given revelatory tradition because it is born within those walls
and within those walls has its meaning and function.
But one thing more needs to be added. We might ask why faith seeks
understanding. Why isn’t faith content with itself, sans understanding?
There is, of course, an important practical reason for this. Encounter with
the divine seems never, or rarely, to be an experience whose purpose is fully
consummated in itself. The divine makes demands concerning how we are
to live, what we are to value, and how we are to relate to one another. The
ology is needed to understand the tenor of these demands and to apply them
to the concrete circumstances of life.
But beyond this, faith requires understanding in order simply to fulfill
itself as faith. In the Gospel of John, Jesus says to his disciples, “I no longer
call you servants because a servant does not know his master’s business.
Instead, I have called you friends, for everything I have learned from my
Father I have made known to you” (Jn 15:14–15, my emphasis). Consum
mated relation with the divine – “friendship” with the divine – requires
some understanding of the divine purpose, or telos. Indeed, flawed under
standing can imperil faith itself. Again, in the words of Jesus: “Whenever
someone hears the message about the kingdom and fails to understand it,
the evil one comes and snatches away the word that was sewn in his heart”
(Mt. 13:19).
Faith seeks understanding, then, in order to secure itself and fulfill itself
as faith. Faith sans understanding is half-formed, inchoate, immature, and
subject to distortion and error.
Theology without walls

If this is an accurate account of the roots and purposes of traditional theology –
theology within walls – we might next ask: What are the roots and purposes
of a theology without walls? Does theology without walls also have its roots
in an encounter with the divine, a revelatory experience, or is it more like
philosophy, examining the particular religions as they appear to mundane
experience and, through comparative analysis, extrapolation, and generali
zation, seeking to extract from them something of universal import?
I suggest that theology without walls also has its basis in revelatory expe
rience; a revelatory experience more and more of us are having in the con
text of the global encounter of the world religions with one another. What
many of us are seeing – and I do believe “seeing” is the right word here – is
that divine truth is to be found outside the bounds of our home tradition. In
some cases, we see that the revelations of another tradition shed a light on
our own that allows us to understand our own more fully. In other cases, we
see that the teachings or practices of another tradition speak to, or awaken,
a dimension of ourselves – of our “ultimate concern” – that our home tradi
tion does not touch upon or speak to as profoundly. In still other cases, we
see corrections for the distortions and limitations of our home tradition in
the traditions of others. In all these cases, we see that our encounter with
other traditions helps us to broaden, deepen, and solidify our experience
and understanding of the divine.
I use the word “see” here because I do not believe these recognitions are
the result of a purely intellectual calculus. They do not arise from a simple,
conceptual, contrast and compare. On the contrary, at the strictly conceptual
level many of the world religions seem to have very little in common. Steven
Prothero makes this point in his book God Is Not One. There is nothing, or
very little, that would allow us to conceptually identify the attributes of the
God of Abraham as presented in the Bible, for instance, with the attributes
of the state of Nirvana as presented in Buddhist tradition. When we confine
our thought to this level, we find more differences than commonalities, even
apparently irreconcilable differences.
But many of us – more and more of us – have sensed, or intuited, or
directly experienced that at the level of encounter, at the level of first-order
knowledge, there are similarities, complementarities, and correspondences
between the spiritual state one enters when one feels oneself in touch with
the God of Abraham and the spiritual state of the Hindu bhaktic or the
Buddhist arhat. This is not to say that such states are identical, but rather
that they bear a meaningful correspondence to one another, such that we
are led to believe, or perhaps, stated more cautiously, to suspect, that all
these experiences of the divine have their roots in a common ontological
ground.
This is an exciting thought. The religious pluralist John Hick analogizes it
to the excitement Newton must have felt when he suddenly recognized that
the same force that makes an apple fall to the ground also makes the planets
revolve around the sun. The excitement itself, I would say, has a certain rev
elatory import and power. It calls us forth, it bids us on, it impels us to seek
to make sense of these correspondences and commonalities, not merely for
the sake of promoting religious tolerance, but much more fundamentally, as
a way of more fully apprehending the divine ground from which the diverse
religions spring. In this respect, it is the spiritual drive itself that calls us to
do theology without walls.
Of course, a planet revolving around the sun and an apple falling to the
ground are not the same thing. That they are both manifestations of the
same force, or of the same natural law, does not make them identical, nor
does it imply that apples should “convert” to planets or planets to apples,
nor that both apples and planets should somehow, impossibly, become
gravity. These correspondences, in other words, do not imply that religions
should shed their distinctions and merge into one. But they do give us a new
understanding of the relationship of the religions to one another and to the
divine ground that is their source. We come to see the different religions as
18 Richard Oxenberg
brethren rather than rivals and are able to recognize the commonality of
purpose – of “spirit and truth” – underlying all genuine religious pursuits.
Thus, theology without walls entails a new understanding of the relation
ship of the religions to one another and to the divine ground from which
they spring. We can further explore the nature of this new understanding by
examining what I will call “the three suspicions” of theology without walls.
Three suspicions
Theology Without Walls (or what has also been called “transreligious
theology”) is, as I see it, predicated upon three assumptions, or what we
might better call three “suspicions,” about the nature of the religions to one
another and to the divine.
The first suspicion is that there is indeed a singular divine reality to which
human beings respond and have responded variously throughout their his
tory. As noted earlier, we mean by “divine reality” that which is ultimate
in meaning and value – in Paul Tillich’s terminology, that which presents
itself to us as the object of our “ultimate concern.” This divine reality is
conceived, and indeed experienced, differently in different cultures, different
religions, and different historical epochs. Indeed, as even a superficial review
of the world’s religions makes clear, profound differences are to be found
even within the same religious tradition: Protestant and Catholic Christians,
Mahayanist and Theravadin Buddhists, Sunni and Shia Muslims, each have
distinctive, and often conflicting, views of the meaning and import of their
common religious heritage. It seems to be the very nature of the divine to
become refracted upon entering human experience, somewhat as white light
is refracted when passing through a prism. Some will see the light as blue,
some as red, some as yellow – but all are experiencing aspects of the same
white light.
This observation leads us to our second suspicion: that the divine real
ity expresses itself, for the most part, through human beings, rather than
directly to human beings. Thus, what we see when we look at the scrip
ture, creeds, and practices of any given religious tradition are products of
the divine–human encounter, not the divine as it is in and of itself. If you
pour the ocean into a vial, the ocean will, of necessity, take upon itself the
shape of the vial. Similarly, the religions of the world are manifestations of
the divine as “poured into” a particular people at a particular historical
moment, shaped by the specific concerns and conditions that characterize
that people at that moment. This is what accounts for the great diversity we
see across religious traditions, and, indeed, within them.
The third suspicion, a correlate of the second, is that the various reli
gions of the world are imperfect products of this divine–human encounter –
“imperfect” in the sense that they do not afford us an unmediated and
unmitigated view of the divine as such, but rather contain, in their diverse
and limited ways, what we might call “evidences” of the divine, evidences
that we must tease out, sort through, and make sense of in order to achieve
a fuller understanding.
This way of thinking about religion stands in decided contrast to the view
that some one religion has been directly, and uniquely, revealed by God and
that, therefore, all other religions are, at best, pale reflections, or, at worst,
demonic imposters, of the one and only true religion.1 Our suspicion is that
this exclusivist view is itself but one way of experiencing the divine – a
way shaped by the particular interests and concerns of the people who have
adopted it.
I believe that strong arguments can be made for these three suspicions,
arguments that appeal not only to religious phenomena as they have
appeared throughout the centuries but also to the authoritative writings of
many of the traditional religions themselves when we read them with dis
cernment. Wilfred Cantwell Smith, John Hick, and other religious pluralists
have cogently presented such arguments, and so I won’t rehearse them here.
What we might next consider, however, are the implications that acceptance
of these suspicions has for the practice of theology. How do we engage in a
“theology without walls?”
The practice of theology without walls

The purpose of theology in general is to provide the cognitive framework for
our spiritual pursuits. If, again, we understand spiritual life as the endeavor
to put us in touch with the object of our “ultimate concern,” then we turn
to theology in order to answer three basic questions regarding this endeavor.
First: What is the true character of our “ultimate concern,” that is, what is it
we seek when we seek “the divine?” Second: What is the true nature of the
object of our ultimate concern? What is “the divine?” Third: In what way
(or ways) can genuine communion with the divine be achieved? How can
our ultimate concern be satisfied? Clearly, the purpose of answering the first
two questions is for the sake of answering the third.
As we have discussed, the way these questions have been traditionally
approached is through appeal to the authoritative teachings of whatever
religious tradition one happens to subscribe to. Thus, Theravadin Buddhists,
appealing to the Four Noble Truths, will identify our ultimate concern with
the need to overcome the suffering (dukkha) that arises from clinging to the
ephemeral; they will identify the object of ultimate concern with the nirva
nic state in which such clinging is eradicated; and they will identify the way
to communion with the object of ultimate concern (in this case, the way to
nirvana) as the Eightfold Path.
Likewise, Christians, appealing to Scripture, will identify our ultimate
concern with the desire for eternal life; they will identify the object of ulti
mate concern as the triune God, revealed through Christ; and they will
20 Richard Oxenberg
identify the way to communion with that object as faith in Christ, however
this may be envisioned.
The underlying assumption of these theological approaches is that the
authoritative teachings and writings of one’s particular tradition are,
indeed, legitimately authoritative. This is an assumption that is, for the most
part, accepted on the basis of faith. The theologian’s aim is not so much to
question, or even evaluate, the legitimacy of these authoritative teachings
and writings, but to interpret them cogently and apply them effectively. Of
course, one may also question their legitimacy, but to do so is generally
to step outside the theological circle of one’s own tradition and risk being
labeled a heretic or apostate.
But if the suspicions of theology without walls are correct, this approach,
though appropriate within its limits, will tend to obscure the greater picture
of the divine–human encounter. What is needed, then, is a sea change –
or what John Hick has called a “Copernican revolution” – in the way we
think about religion and approach theology. As Hick expresses it, tradi
tionally each religion has tended to see itself at the center of the religious
universe. The Copernican revolution he calls for involves recognizing that
the divine itself is at the center and that each religion revolves around this
center, receiving what light it does in a manner accordant with its distinctive
orientation to it.
When we take the assumptions, or suspicions, of theology without walls
seriously, we realize that we must change our understanding of both the
locus and the weight of religious authority. These changes entail a shift from
what might be called “dogmatic faith” to what I have come to think of as
“Socratic faith.” Let’s take a closer look at the nature of this shift.
The locus and weight of religious authority:

toward a “Socratic faith”
Let’s first consider the weight of religious authority. If religious scrip
ture is now understood as the imperfect product of the divine–human
encounter, we must abandon doctrines that claim the inerrancy or infal
libility of scripture. A theology without walls must advance a doctrine
of scriptural and doctrinal fallibility. This does not mean that we must
cease to regard scripture as inspired in some sense. But we must recog
nize that inspired scripture will partake of the flaws and limitations of
the inspired human beings who produce it. Such a doctrine would lead
to what might be called a dialectical, as opposed to a dogmatic, engage
ment with scripture.
In a dialectical approach we wrestle with scripture, question scripture,
challenge scripture, and allow what we find in scripture to challenge and
question us. The aim of the dialectic is not to finally reconcile ourselves to
whatever we find in scripture, but to allow the dialectical process itself to
conduct us into a fuller communion with the divine. Perhaps, in the course
of this, we will find passages that we must reject as inadequate, or even
perverse. We may reject such passages after due consideration, understand
ing that our final allegiance is to the divine and not to this or that imperfect
reflection of the divine.
Such an approach naturally opens one to engagement with religious tra
ditions beyond one’s own, through which one can expand and enrich one’s
dialectical practice. Thus, one might consider the relationship between the
Buddhist idea of tanha (craving, clinging) and the Christian idea of concu
piscence, or the relationship between nirvana and eternal life as spiritual
aspirations.
The purpose of such comparisons is not merely to promote understand
ing between religions, but, more fundamentally, to seek the nugget of divine
truth that may be contained in these different traditions and thereby achieve
a more complete apprehension of that truth.
But it may be asked: Where are we to find the locus of authority in
such an approach? How are we to know, what criteria are we to bring to
bear in deciding, whether or not we are moving closer to truth or further
away?
This question, it might be noted, is as salient for traditional theol
ogy as for theology without walls. How does the traditional theologian
know that his or her theological interpretations are apt? Even the dedi
cated dogmatist will have to give an account, if she is at all reflective,
of the grounds upon which she accepts what dogma she does. Such an
account, if it is to avoid tautology, cannot simply appeal to dogma for
its justification. Ultimately, then, it is we who must function as the locus
of authority for the truth claims we accept; that is, our intuitions, our
discernment, our analyses, our honest assessments of what is true and
good – which, ideally, we do not adhere to uncritically, but submit to the
dialectical process through which we hope to make them progressively
better.
But it may be asked: How can we trust to our fallible selves what is of
utmost importance, of ultimate concern?
It is here, I would say, that something like faith comes in. Just as the
ology without walls entails a particular understanding of the locus and
weight of religious authority, so it entails a particular kind of faith. The
faith demanded by a theology without walls is what I have come to think
of as Socratic faith. At his trial, Socrates was accused of denying the
gods of Athens, a charge leveled against him in response to his skeptical
questioning of traditional Athenian beliefs. But he disputes this charge.
He responds, “I do believe that there are gods, and in a far higher sense
than that in which any of my accusers believe in them” (Plato 1973,
464–465). But what can this mean? Are there higher and lower ways to
believe in the gods?
22 Richard Oxenberg
I suggest that the “higher sense of belief” to which Socrates here refers
is not belief as affirmation of this or that propositional claim, but belief as
dedication to what is ultimately true and good; a dedication that entails, at
the same time, the humble admission that one’s apprehension of the true
and the good, at any given moment, is incomplete and fallible and therefore
in constant need of critical evaluation and correction.
At his trial, Socrates tells the famous story of being designated the wisest
man in Athens by the Oracle at Delphi, but only because he is the only one
who “knows that he doesn’t know.” Socrates says, “The truth is, O men of
Athens, that God only is wise; and in this oracle he means to say that the
wisdom of men is little or nothing” (Plato 1973, 452).
But it must be immediately pointed out that this conclusion does not lead
Socrates to a resigned skepticism or nihilism. On the contrary, for Socrates,
the continual pursuit of a wisdom that can never be perfectly seized is itself
a form of worship, a sublime mode of engagement with the divine. And
indeed, he does admit to having what he calls “a certain sort of wisdom . . .
If you ask me what kind of wisdom, I reply, such wisdom as is attainable
by man, for to that extent I am inclined to believe that I am wise” (Plato
1973, 450).
The sort of wisdom attainable by human beings is approximate wisdom,
tentative wisdom, wisdom that must be ever open to review, reevaluation,
supplementation, and correction. For Socrates, this confession of uncer
tainty does not make one less but more open to the divine, for it frees us
from the idolatry of taking our own limited representations of the divine as
sacrosanct.
Socrates thus takes it to be his divinely ordained mission to probe and
question, critique and scrutinize: “For this is the command of God, as
I would have you know, and I believe that to this day no greater good has
happened to the state than my service to the God” (Plato 1973, 459). His
faith is that the divine endorses this (necessarily) error-prone approach
and accepts us in our limitations and fallibilities. Its demand of us is not
that we cling to this or that dogmatic formula in denial of our limita
tions, but that we humbly pursue the true and the good in an honest and
genuine way.
Finally, it might be noted that this mode of faith does not at all exclude
full-fledged involvement and investment in one particular religious path. To
recognize that there are many paths is not at all to imply that one should
abandon the path one is on. But it does entail a new understanding of the
status of one’s path, especially in its relation to others. Should this new
understanding gain acceptance, should the religions of the world come to
see themselves as different movements in response to the same divine real
ity, this itself would have a transformative effect upon religion in general.
It would bring us that much closer to an appreciation of the universality of
truth proclaimed by all the major religious traditions.
Conclusion: in spirit and truth
Let us conclude then by recalling the story of the Samaritan woman who
asks Jesus whether the proper place of worship is in Samaria or Jerusalem.
The Samaritans and the Jews were hostile religious antagonists, each group
claiming exclusive possession of the divine truth bequeathed to the ancient
Israelites at Sinai, each accusing the other of distortion, corruption, error,
and bad faith. Of course, the rivalry between the Samaritans and the Jews is
but one instance of a great legion of such religious rivalries – rivalries that
have plagued humanity over the long course of its religious history.
But if we posit that divine truth is One, at least in in its ultimate
nature, then these antagonistic schisms between (and within) the different
religions – violent antagonisms that have led such critics as Christopher
Hitchens to deem religion itself “poisonous” – must be seen as some indica
tion of revelatory failure, that is, the failure of revelation to communicate
itself effectively to human beings. Such religious rivalries and antagonisms
appear symptomatic of our failure to orient ourselves rightly to the divine.
From this perspective, theology without walls may be seen as inspired by
a new revelatory moment, a moment that calls us to abandon our narrow
parochialism and open ourselves to the wide expanse of the divine–human
encounter. My suggestion, in other words, is that theology without walls
as a practice and, indeed, as a commitment itself betokens a new revelation
of the divine, one that, like all such revelations when they are authentic,
has its own soteriological power: in this case, the power to resolve the
tribalistic rivalries and chauvinistic hostilities that have plagued religious
humanity for so long and thereby bring us closer to a recognition of the
divine as One.
And, as we have seen, we can find the seeds of this new moment already
embedded within the traditional religions themselves: “An hour is com
ing when neither in this mountain nor in Jerusalem will you worship the
Father,” says Jesus, “An hour is coming, and now is, when the true worship
pers will worship in spirit and truth; for such people the Father seeks to be
His worshippers. God is spirit, and those who worship Him must worship
in spirit and truth.”
To worship in spirit and truth is to transcend the boundaries that condi
tion religious hostility. Those who do so, Jesus suggests, will come to see the
contingent nature of such boundaries and will rise above them to a fuller
and more genuine encounter with the God who would be “All in All.”
Note
1 Karl Barth writes, for instance, that only Christianity has the authority “to con
front the world of religions as the one true religion, with absolute self-confidence
to invite and challenge it to abandon its ways and to start on the Christian ways”
from Church Dogmatics, as quoted in Hick (1982, 8).
24 Richard Oxenberg
References
Hick, John. 1982. God Has Many Names. Philadelphia: The Westminster Press.
Plato. 1973. “Apology.” In The Republic and Other Works, trans. Benjamin Jowett,
450, 452, 459, 464–465. Garden City: Anchor Press/Doubleday.
Thatamanil, John. 2016. “ ‘True To and True For’: The Problem and Promise of
Religious Truth for a Theology Without Walls.” Journal of Ecumenical Studies
51 (4): 456. doi:10.1353/ecu.2016.0041
3 Revisiting Bellah’s Sheila in a
religiously pluralist century
Christopher Denny
Scholars of religion only know her by her first name, Sheila, which is
just as well because Sheila is a pseudonym, a cipher, a symbol for a phe
nomenon that has been described in different terms since Sheila came to
the attention of readers over 30 years ago. For scholars influenced by
the work of Philip Rieff (1987), Sheila’s worldview may be judged to
encapsulate “the triumph of the therapeutic” in which psychology sub
verts the older strictures of religiosity. Sheila probably qualifies as one
of the baby-boomer seekers profiled in the writings of Wade Clark Roof
(1993, 1999). Then again, with her fusion of spirituality and individual
ism Sheila would be amenable to being typecast as one of those who are
“spiritual but not religious” analyzed in the work of sociologist Robert
Fuller (2001). Finally, even though she predates the advent of the mil
lennial generation, Sheila certainty seems like one of the “nones,” that
growing cohort of young adults who in the early twenty-first century
self-consciously decline to affiliate themselves with organized religion
(Drescher 2016).
To know Sheila Larson is to judge her, because that is how Robert Bel
lah and his co-authors presented her to readers in their influential 1985
book Habits of the Heart – as a person to be judged and found wanting.
Recounting the presentation in Chapter 9 of the book, readers are given
the following information. Sheila states that she believes in God but can
not remember when she last went to church. She has faith in her own little
voice, an internal guide that tells her to love herself and to be gentle with
herself. Sheila’s little voice urges her to remember that we are supposed to
“take care of each other.” Sheila describes her faith in the most individual
ized and self-centered term possible – Sheilaism. In Bellah’s telling, Sheila is
“sufficiently paradigmatic” to be employed as a composite sketch for the
privatization of religion in the United States in the latter half of the twenti
eth century. Moreover, Bellah asserted that many churchgoing Protestants
and Catholics are “Sheilaists” who do not see either the Christian Bible or
church traditions as normative and authoritative in the way in which they
live their religious lives.
DOI: 10.4324/9780429000973-5
26 Christopher Denny
“How do we, in a pluralist society,” Bellah asked an audience in 1986,
“avoid the radical individualism expressed by Sheila?” For Bellah, individu
alism is a problem, especially for religion:
Just the notion that religious belief ought to be a purely internal thing,
and then you go to the church or synagogue of your choice, shows how
deeply ingrained a kind of religious privatism is, which turns the church
into something like the Kiwanis Club or some other kind of voluntary
association that you go to or not if you feel comfortable with it – but
which has no organic claim upon you.
(Bellah 1986)
What is interesting is that in Habits of the Heart Bellah and his co-authors
came to a mixed appraisal of individualism in American life, recognizing
it as a social force that had shaped American religion since its founding.
For the authors, individualism, with its exaltation of self-reliance and hard
work, had a place in our country so long as it is checked by offsetting social
trajectories that nurture the afflicted while providing civic unity. In this line
of thought, the “biblical tradition” and the religious communities that have
fostered it are tasked with orienting their members towards a transcendent
reality that gives a moral justification for our national experiment in ordered
liberty. The authors of Habits of the Heart, then, prescribed a specific cul
tural role for religion in late twentieth-century American life, and Sheila
did not help religion perform that necessary pedagogical role of counterbal
ancing the rough-and-tumble world of individualistic capitalist acquisition.
Given these expectations for religion, Bellah was correct in sensing a threat
to the biblical tradition’s place in our national social fabric.
Every crisis presents itself simultaneously as a problem and as an oppor
tunity. Rather than joining in the chorus of those who see religious individu
alism and the decline of churches’ social influence primarily as a problem,
I choose to see the Sheilas of the world as providing contemporary societies
with opportunities as well, and the Theology Without Walls (TWW) initia
tive outlined in this present book’s contributions seconds that hope. It does
adherents of traditional religion little good to complain about the rise of
individualism if they hope to change this state of affairs in the future. In
what follows I offer two personal anecdotes and accompanying theological
reflection that illustrate how religious individualism can manifest itself in
ways that point groups to a different type of unity than the “civil religion”
outlined in Bellah’s (1967) work. In each case my encounter with a student
upset cherished scholarly approaches to categorizing religious differences
and enabled me to see pluralism in new ways for which I was unprepared.
First encounter: moving beyond positions to people

Years ago during my first year in graduate studies I worked as a research
assistant and was asked to proofread and review a very long dissertation on
Revisiting Bellah’s Sheila 27
the recent history of ecumenical dialogue in the United States between repre
sentatives of the Roman Catholic Church and a mainline Protestant denom
ination that I will not name now in order to keep the dissertation’s author
anonymous. Over the course of hundreds of pages, the author detailed the
times, places, delegation members, and program titles of successive meetings
between the theologians designated to carry out a particular rapprochement
in the years immediately succeeding the Second Vatican Council’s close in
1965. In workmanlike prose, the dissertation included details about hotel
venues, meeting schedules, and alternating responses to conference prompts.
After reading halfway through the dissertation, I noticed that many of the
Catholic participants in these meetings either left the priesthood or the
Catholic Church over the years during which the dialogue proceeded in
the 1960s and 1970s, to be replaced by other representatives. I began to ask
myself why in this dissertation there was no direct reference to this trend
and no examination of the reasons for the systemic departure of many of the
Catholic participants in this series of ecumenical dialogues.
To fault the student for this omission would be short sighted, for both the
genre of the dissertation itself and the assumptions undergirding most inter-
religious dialogues justified this caesura. The dominant framework of most
formal ecumenical and interreligious dialogues conducted since the start of
the ecumenical era in the early twentieth century posits the stable exist
ence of two or more reified religious communities whose goal is to achieve
at least tolerance, hopefully respect, and maybe – if the dialogue is really
ambitious – intercommunion or an institutional merger. Each side in these
dialogues comes to the table in order to reconcile past traditions and norma
tive doctrines, assumed as a given, with openness to new developments and
the experiences of others outside the home church. The participation of dia
logue partners is sanctioned by authorities within their respective communi
ties. When seen in this manner, interreligious dialogue is basically analogous
to a summit meeting between leaders and ambassadors of two sovereign
nations, with a heavy dollop of public relations and face-saving techniques
required. When one or more of the dialogue groups in such activity is Chris
tian, ecclesiocentric interpretations of religious and theological traditions
are privileged as a matter of course. As an example of this “summit” under
standing of interreligious dialogue, consider Roman Catholic magisterial
documents such as Dialogue and Mission and Dialogue and Promulgation,
published in 1984 and 1991 by the Secretariat for Non-Christians, which
promote interreligious dialogue. These texts, however, are mostly focused
upon developing the Catholic Church’s own self-understanding. When the
Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith published Dominus Jesus: On
the Unicity and Salvific Universality of Jesus Christ and the Church in 2000,
this inward-looking ecclesial trend became even more apparent (Pontifical
Council for Interreligious Dialogue 1984, 1991; Congregation for the Doc
trine of the Faith 2000; Denny 2017).
An examination of dialogue from the standpoints of the existential
experiences of the partners, maybe even a partner like Sheila, however,
would yield a very different account of such dialogues. Granted, such dia
logues would no longer qualify as official ecumenical conversations, given
that the Sheilas of the world generally abjure representing any spiritual
view other than their own. Structuring dialogues instead around the axes
of individual persons’ search for truth and ultimacy, deliberately subordi
nating concerns about institutional boundaries and doctrinal consistency
with the past, removes the need to save face. Or to put the matter in a dif
ferent frame of reference, dialogue in a TWW does not begin by presum
ing the theological stability of competing doctrinal boundary markers as
a priori obstacles that need to be reconciled through logical consistency.
This is not because the TWW initiative shuns logic or the need for clear
thought. Rather, the issue that TWW chooses to begin with is relevance,
not consistency. In a world marked by religious individualism, ensuring
that ecumenical and interreligious dialogue is relevant to the lives of peo
ple today must be the initial issue in learning to converse across religious
boundaries. Not to begin with the concrete existential situations of con
temporary people risks creating more dialogues like the one I encountered
in the dissertation draft decades ago: officially structured formal conversa
tions whose value becomes less compelling, even to those taking part in
the dialogue.
Kurt Richardson has identified the necessity within our current interreli
gious situation very well. He writes:
Heightened by our current deinstitutionalized situation, a central place

is taken by religious experience – the experience of faith disengaging
more than ever from institutional forms and ritual structures in favor
of authenticity – something approaching “first-order” experience of
God . . . This situation of disaffiliation is a hermeneutical condition for
“theology without walls” or “trans-religious” theology.
(Richardson 2016, 508)
Much of the impulse for beginning interreligious dialogue with doctrines

and institutional prerogatives stems from the Enlightenment-era develop
ment, termed confessionalization by historians, by which different Christian
churches distinguished themselves from one another by developing creedal
formulations and competing structures of ecclesial authority. Within the
milieu of early modern Europe, uniform definitions of belief were the intel
lectual currency of the age, and personal religious experience was denigrated
as idiosyncratic, superstitious, and backward. When Gotthold Lessing
(1956, 53; emphasis in original) could levy his famous charge, “accidental
truths of history can never become the proof of necessary truths of reason,”
the unrepeatable singularity of personal experience was discredited as well,
as post-Cartesian Western religion sought to pattern itself after the recur
ring standardized proofs of mathematics and the measurable laws of natural
science.1 Bellah’s Sheila does not expect anyone else to replicate her own
spiritual worldview, but there are others who haven’t given up hope that
religious experience may be something more than a noncognitive realm.
Richardson asserts, “The self as locus of truth is not of necessity relativistic
at all,” and he makes this claim in light of his additional position: “The self
as locus of truth does not mean the self as the source of truth” (Richardson
2016, 511, 512). Perhaps Sheila’s personal credo emanates from a source
outside her? Adjudicating this issue leads me to the next turning point in my
religious conversion.
Second encounter: embracing one’s inner

religious consumer
The second major turning point in my spiritual journey involving an
encounter outside my home tradition was at first glance a very prosaic one
and didn’t involve any famous thinkers or profound world-historical trans
formation. In fact, it did not entail an encounter with another religious tra
dition in the familiar sense, but rather an experience that I think marks a
challenge to all religious traditions as we have known them. The year was
2004, and I was in my first semester teaching at St. John’s University in
New York City. I had been assigned to teach Theology 2210: Perspectives
on the Church before my arrival, and as a freshly minted PhD I came armed
with a detailed lesson plan for the course. Much of our time was devoted
to examining the role of the Church in salvation and ecumenism. Towards
the semester’s end we studied different soteriological typologies along the
lines of the now well-known schema set forth by Alan Race and followed
by many others in the theology of religions – exclusivism, inclusivism, and
pluralism (Race 1983). Those familiar with the Roman Catholic magisterial
approach to these paths since Vatican II know that its overall judgment on
these positions is exclusivism, bad though dominant through most of the
Church’s history; inclusivism, good; pluralism, very, very bad, especially if
you are a Catholic theologian teaching at a Catholic university. Eager to
have students weigh in on this debate in the latter half of the course, I gave
them the following assignment:
Vatican II’s Decree on Ecumenism states that division among Christians

should be a cause for scandal, as it is a contradiction of God’s plan of
salvation. For your final paper I would like you to enunciate what you
yourself identify as the principal causes of religious division, not merely
among Christians, but among all peoples. Do you think that the mul
tiplicity of churches and religions is a good thing? Or do you perceive
it to be a stumbling block that we must overcome? Do you have any
concrete ideas as to how religious divisions can be healed? As a student
in New York City three years after September 11, in what ways do you
think greater cooperation and harmony between peoples of different
religions can be achieved?
There was a student in this course whom I will call Derek (not his real
name). Derek was, by conventional standards, anything but a model
student – his attendance was sporadic, he failed exams, and his essays were
poor. During most classes he sat by himself near a window with his feet
propped up on an adjacent chair. He ended up failing the course. Yet Derek
transformed the trajectory of the class through his participation in our dis
cussions on this assigned topic. Not having applied the insights I gleaned
from my reflections on the very long dissertation on ecumenical dialogue
I’ve already mentioned, I burst onto the teaching scene in my new academic
home expecting students to have a personal stake in arguments pitting inclu
sivism against pluralism. I expected the students to assess the ecumenical
landscape from the well-worn perspective of institutional unity vs. diversity.
Rahner vs. Hick. Robert Bellarmine vs. Paul Knitter (Bellarmine 2016; Rah
ner 1966, 1976, 1979; Hick 1982; Knitter 1985). Derek, and the students
whom he managed to persuade in the course of the semester, torpedoed my
assumptions about ecumenical and interreligious relations and convinced
me that much of the scholarship on the theology of religions from the 1970s
and 1980s was not only dated but also obsolete.
So, what was Derek’s trailblazing contribution to Theology 2210? Derek
didn’t see the unity or diversity of religions or their soteriological efficacy as
an issue. That is not simply to say that he didn’t understand religious unity
or religious pluralism as the primary issue in interreligious dialogue. Rather,
Derek judged that this issue was downright irrelevant; what mattered
instead according to Derek was each individual’s preferences in religious
belief and practice, nothing more. Ecumenical efforts to achieve religious
unity were a waste of time for him and those peers adopting his articulated
stance. If everyone wanted the same religion, so be it. If no one preferred a
religious path, hey, who was to judge anyone else? Prodding the class in our
final few weeks of the semester, I asked them if such a stance reduced reli
gion to the level of a commodity or a consumer good, and I hoped that by
phrasing the issue in this way they might reconsider. But, lo and behold, they
seized upon this analogy, which I had intended to be derogatory, and agreed
enthusiastically with this comparison: yes, professor, that’s it, religion is a
lifestyle choice just like that.
Now for those familiar with the sociological work of Christian Smith,
whose recent work has traced the path by which Protestant Christianity
in the United States has moved from post-Reformation denunciations of
works-righteousness to what Smith calls “moralistic therapeutic deism,”
Derek’s assertion will be familiar. Smith, along with William Cavanaugh
and others, have derided this development over the past two decades
(Miller 2003; Smith and Denton 2005; Cavanaugh 2008). There are
many Dereks now, and the consumerist approach to religion calls into
question basic assumptions about religious unity and diversity that gov
erned academic research in these fields right up until the end of the last
century.
It may be offensive to religious studies scholars and practitioners of religion
to suggest that there is a positive side to the marriage between consumerist
ideology and interreligious dialogue. I understand that, and I emphatically
reject any necessary connections between this recognition – and the near-
inevitable trajectory of this development in secular capitalist postmodern
societies – and prescriptive consequences for political and economic prac
tice. But I ask you, doesn’t Derek have a point? If we are to appreciate
the value of individual autonomy in religious inquiry, shouldn’t we recog
nize that there is a common denominator between choosing a religion and
choosing a brand of cereal – namely, that in both cases there is a human
agent making the choice? This is the point at the heart of the rational-choice
theory of religion offered by scholars such as Rodney Stark, Roger Finke,
and Laurence Iannaccone (Stark and Bainbridge 1985, 1996; Iannaccone
1998; Finke and Stark 2005). And if we acknowledge the inescapable real
ity of agency and transformative constructions of religious worldviews in
light of human choice, might the turn to the consumer in late modernity
prompt us to invert the ordo of much comparative theology? Why do peo
ple who are able to do so choose one spiritual path over another? Why
do they choose to follow one route on their spiritual map and not others
that might lead to the same destination? Sincere guardians of tradition like
Smith and Cavanaugh bemoan this consumerist development, but we must
recognize that all the so-called great religious traditions are in large part the
result of choices made by influential leaders and their followers. Now more
democratic forms of politics and more egalitarian social structures make
these choices less constricted for a wider segment of the human population,
including people like Robert Bellah’s eponymous Sheila.
Unlike relativism, TWW need not concede that all religious preferences
are equal in existential value or, if we choose to introduce this framework,
soteriological efficacy. Participants in a theology without walls can come to
think that certain theological options are dead-ends or meandering one-lane
roads that are unhelpful or inefficient in spiritual journeys. By not preclud
ing the possibility that a participant in religious dialogue can come to the
table without representing any group or institution beyond himself or her
self, however, TWW need not be threatened by the metaphor of the spiritual
marketplace. We can see the marketplace as a place of possibility, not as a
prison governed by ironclad rules of determinism or economic efficacy. In a
1974 address, “Map Is Not Territory,” the late Jonathan Z. Smith called for
a critical reassessment of reified notions of sacred space, claiming that an
earlier generation of scholars in the history of religion had often uncritically
conflated experience and interpretation (Smith 1978). A map may be all we
have to find our way, Smith said, but all maps are necessarily interpretive
documents.
If this is so in the realm of geography, it is all the truer in matters of
religious agency. No religion has ever existed upon earth without religious
adherents constructing its traditions, rituals, and doctrines; appealing to
divine or superhuman origins for such facets of religion does not obviate
this assertion, as whatever origin to which religious practitioners appeal is
inevitably mediated through human interpretation. Adapting Richardson’s
formulation noted earlier, the self is a locus of truth even when the source of
truth may lie elsewhere. To formulate a theology of religions without fore
grounding human choice is to regress to a naïve religious era in which the
role of human subjectivity was often passed over in silence and in which reli
gious traditions were reified without an appreciation of historical conscious
ness and the processes of sociological change. Because one’s “spiritual map”
is not composed from a God’s-eye perspective surveying the whole of reality,
the recognition of preferences provides theology with a new starting place
from which to engage the bewildering array of religious options available to
us as we push our existential shopping carts through the aisles of reality. We
can even, to extend the metaphor, push our carts through the walls of exist
ing traditions. In doing so, there is no guarantee our spiritual choices will be
intellectually coherent, morally defensible, or spiritually attractive to others.
My metaphor of the shopping cart is not designed to defend the content of
our spiritual choices, but rather to acknowledge that the spiritualities we
carry forth in our lives are there because we placed them in our carts. This
is true whether we choose to adopt a classic religious tradition or forge a
new idiosyncratic path. Whatever mistakes we make, they will be our own.
In that sense, we are all Sheilas.
Note
1 For an argument that identifies diminishing theological returns on the strategy of
confessionalization, see Buckley (2004).
References
Bellah, Robert N. 1967. “Civil Religion in America.” Daedalus, Journal of the
American Academy of Arts and Sciences 96 (1): 1–21.
Bellah, Robert N. 1986. “Habits of the Heart: Implications for Religion,” lecture at
St. Mark’s Catholic Church, Isla Vista, California, February 21. www.robertbel
lah.com/lectures_5.htm (accessed September 4, 2019).
Bellarmine, Robert. 2016. On the Church Militant. Trans. Ryan Grant. Post Falls,
ID: Mediatrix Press.
Buckley, Michael J. 2004. Denying and Disclosing God: The Ambiguous Progress of
Modern Atheism. New Haven: Yale University Press.
Cavanaugh, William T. 2008. Being Consumed: Economics and Christian Desire.
Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans University press.
Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith. 2000. “Declaration ‘Dominus Iesus’: On
the Unicity and Salvific Universality of Jesus Christ and the Church.” www.vatican.
va/roman_curia/congregations/cfaith/documents/rc_con_cfaith_doc_20000806_
dominus-iesus_en.html.
Denny, Christopher. 2017. “Religiones Antiquae: Reviving Nostra Aetate to Expand
the Scope of Salvation ‘History’.” The Journal of Interreligious Studies 20: 29–37.
Drescher, Elizabeth. 2016. Choosing Our Religion: The Spiritual Lives of Ameri
ca’s Nones. New York: Oxford University Press. doi:10.1093/acprof:oso/97801
99341221.003.0001
Finke, Roger, and Rodney Stark. 2005. The Churching of America, 1776–2005:
Winners and Losers in Our Religious Economy. rev. ed. New Brunswick, NJ:
Rutgers University Press. doi:10.1086/ahr/99.1.288
Fuller, Robert C. 2001. Spiritual, but Not Religious: Understanding Unchurched
America. New York: Oxford University Press. doi:10.1086/427015
Hick, John. 1982. God Has Many Names. Philadelphia: Westminster.
Iannaccone, Laurence. 1998. “Introduction to the Economics of Religion.” Journal
of Economic Literature 36 (3): 1465–1495.
Knitter, Paul. 1985. No Other Name? A Critical Survey of Christian Attitudes
toward the World Religions. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis.
Lessing, Gotthold. 1956. “On the Proof of the Spirit and Power.” In Lessing’s Theologi
cal Writings, edited by Henry Chadwick, 53. Stanford: Stanford University Press.
Miller, Vincent J. 2003. Consuming Religion: Christian Faith and Practice in a Con
sumer Culture. New York: Continuum.
Pontifical Council for Interreligious Dialogue. 1984. “Dialogue and Mission.” www.
pcinterreligious.org/search?str=dialogue+and+mission.
Pontifical Council for Interreligious Dialogue. 1991. “Dialogue and Proclamation.”
www.vatican.va/roman_curia/pontifical_councils/interelg/documents/rc_pc_inte
relg_doc_19051991_dialogue-and-proclamatio_en.html.
Race, Alan. 1983. Christians and Religious Pluralism: Patterns in the Christian The
ology of Religions. London: SCM Press. doi:10.1017/s0034412500016474
Rahner, Karl. 1966. “Christianity and the Non-Christian Religions.” In Theological
Investigations, vol. 6, Later Writings, trans. Karl H. Kruger, 115–134. Baltimore:
Helicon.
Rahner, Karl. 1976. “Observations on the Problem of the ‘Anonymous Christian’.”
In Theological Investigations, vol. 14, Theology, Anthropology, Christology,
trans. David Bourke, 280–294. New York: Seabury.
Rahner, Karl. 1979. “The One Christ and the Universality of Salvation.” In Theo
logical Investigations, vol. 16, Experience of the Spirit: Source of Theology, trans.
David Morland, 199–224. New York: Seabury.
Richardson, Kurt. 2016. “Theology Without Walls: Toward a Hermeneutics With
out Boundaries?” Journal of Ecumenical Studies 51 (4): 506–516. doi:10.1353/
ecu.2016.0046
Rieff, Philip. 1987. The Triumph of the Therapeutic: Uses of Faith After Freud. 2nd
ed. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Roof, Wade Clark. 1993. A Generation of Seekers: Spiritual Journeys of the Baby
Boom Generation. San Francisco: Harper San Francisco.
Roof, Wade Clark. 1999. Spiritual Marketplace: Baby Boomers and the Remak
ing of American Religion. Princeton: Princeton University Press. doi:10.11
77/004057360205900131
Smith, Christian, and Melinda Lundquist Denton. 2005. Soul Searching: The Reli
gious and Spiritual Lives of American Teenagers. New York: Oxford University
Press. doi:10.1080/00344080701657931
Smith, Jonathan Z. 1978. “Map Is Not Territory.” In Map Is Not Territory: Stud
ies in the History of Religions, edited by Jonathan Z. Smith, 289–310. Chicago:
University of Chicago Press.
Stark, Rodney, and William Sims Bainbridge. 1985. The Future of Religion: Seculari
zation, Revival, and Cult Formation. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press.
doi:10.2307/3165483
Stark, Rodney, and William Sims Bainbridge. 1996. A Theory of Religion. New
Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press.
4 Theology Without Walls as
open-field theology1
Kurt Anders Richardson
Although all theologies are perspectival, “hermeneutical theology” intends

a meta-discourse about theological practices and their contexts in rela
tion. Theology Without Walls (TWW) seeks simultaneously to coordinate
discursive spaces with no theological limitations while at the same time
tolerating no intrusions upon the natural “walls” of the inviolate mind,
conscience, and body of every human being, of every theologian. I regard
TWW as a hermeneutical space or field of discourse that explores twenty
first-century conditions of doing theology where Christian “religion” and
particularly “denomination” (of institutions, creeds, and canons) was his
torically enlisted to define and to implement theological sovereignty over
other connected institutions as government, particularly over the fields of
law and science. This hermeneutical space “without walls” makes possi
ble something like open-field theology (OFT) to indicate the constructive
hermeneutical project of “theology” as a comprehensive, nonprescriptive
association of theologians. TWW/OFT, in contrast to theological programs
of “openness,” “process,” “naturalistic” or “traditional,” etc., presupposes
only that theologians might find “theology as an open field” a helpful and
ultimately fruitful way to do any kind of theology: apophatic or cataphatic,
theist or atheist, exclusivist or pluralist. By contrast, historic theologies
imagine, through cultural memory, nostalgia, and various “traditionalisms”
and “fundamentalisms” a recovery of such sovereignty as best for faith
and religious life. TWW would come to the aid of many theologians from
such backgrounds (there are many parallels of sovereign theology through
out the “world religions”) who wish either to be free of such ambitions or
at least wish to develop strategies of constructive theological engagement
with contemporary theological conditions and trajectories. For some time
TWW/OFT has been explored as a descriptive title, along with others such
as “transreligious theology.” Here, OFT is offered as a way that respects the
very problem of “religion” as an increasingly inadequate term for all the
ways that humans devote themselves to the divine or to the ultimate and to
one another, often expressed through rational and systematic constructions
as “theology” in the broadest possible terms. In this context, any discur
sive handling of divine or ultimate topics – across spectra of affirmations
DOI: 10.4324/9780429000973-6
36 Kurt Anders Richardson

and denials – qualify as kinds of theology. The theological commitments of
the present author include TWW/OFT as an advantageous way of pursuing
those commitments, confessional and otherwise.
One impetus to TWW/OFT is that many theological traditionalists argue
for some fundamental reestablishment of these historic sovereignties and
theologically reimagined “historic norms.” This sovereign role of theology
was, and for some still is, the canonically controlled mediation of divine rev
elation in the world. But such perspectives discount the long development of
the principle of reform for theological flourishing that respects the irreduc
ible diversity communities (denominations) of each of the religions. The rea
sons for hankering for sovereignty seem to be obvious, because government,
law, and science are such powerful regulatory institutions that once included
concepts of authority that included infallibility and absolute certitude of
religious knowledge. But what happens when meta-discourses of science
and law are forced to incorporate fallibility as essential to cognitive develop
ment and applied success? How are all theological practices to incorporate
fallibility in their hermeneutical and conceptual models? TWW/OFT would
propose theologies find their best environment in something like an open
field of reflective anthropology where human perceptions and traditions of
divinity and ultimacy can advance the work of those within traditions, as
well as those who claim no religion.
The present author approaches its subject from the standpoint of a “lived
theology” that is “ecumenically evangelical,” “comparative,” “Abrahamic,”
“postcolonial,” and global in the pluralistic sense. TWW/OFT is open-
ended and amenable to the challenge of rival interests and contrary opinions
on the way to realizing benefits to any individual or collective theological
endeavor. The very eclectic theological practices indicated in TWW/OFT are
areas of serious exploration and learning for me. Each point of engagement
in some way enriches the other and the “theological-self-in-community”:
interactive exposure, rational interchange, and imaginative engagement can
take place with one’s own tradition and in conversation with theologians of
other or no traditions. I would add that the historical-theological frame of
reference in this chapter is one aspect that TWW/OFT practitioners need to
heed. Realizations as to the creative and influential futures of theology come
by means of noticing how ancient TWW/OFT is. Trajectories in earlier theo
logical movements provide us with plotlines that continue to contemporary
construction.2 Lived theology is more and more a matter of incorporating a
spectrum of theological sources and goals. Hence, the hermeneutical desir
ability for a community field of discourse where multiple rationalities and
theological priorities can find concourse, with no prescription for identify
ing “common ground,” let alone solving “common problems.” Within the
religious liberty environments of the world, theology no longer provides a
sovereign or regulative function for sociopolitical majorities through state-
sponsored, privileged religions. Instead, the plural reality that began with the
irreducible internal diversity of Christian theologies in the sixteenth century
Theology Without Walls as open-field theology 37
is now giving way to the irreducible external diversity of religions, each with
its own internal theological diversity. TWW/OFT proposes that “external”
theological learning is incumbent upon all theologians who would speak
intelligibly about their own theological practices but also those of proxi
mate others. TWW/OFT provides the working space for that proximity.
One helpful starting point for TWW/OFT is the nearly undefinable word
“religion,” from its Latin root “religio” (“to bind together”) and the conse
quent boundaries constructed by religious belief, practice, identity, and state
sponsorship. Theology is a form of discourse that specializes in discern
ing complex conceptualities that would “bind together” the divine and the
human, the human and the human, the human and the nonhuman. Whereas
theologies’ deities are the transcendent, infinite being or real [p]3resence, all
theology is human, from first to last a human enterprise. The very human
ness of religions and their theologies subjects the history of human discourse
on the divine with the problematic charge of anthropomorphizing and
hypostatizing the infinite [m]ystery or being or existence.
Most of the participants currently in TWW/OFT are Western, mostly
“Christian” in terms of theological traditions and their institutions of learn
ing, quite “Western” in terms of sociopolitical models of human and com
munal ethics – insofar as the latter reflect theological reasoning. One of the
most interesting and earliest of the boundary crossings of ancient Christian
and Jewish theologies consisted of assertions against classical theologies of
being and “supreme Being” and raises the issue of the divine as capable of
novelty, rejecting the rejection of novelty according to its absolutely immu
table “perfections.”4 Another boundary to be deconstructed in late antiq
uity (ca. fifth century BCE to the eighth century CE) was the Aristotelian
categorization of the human female as ontologically inferior to the human
male. Yet another dimension, still contested,5 is the reality of divine and
human volition – human decision making and the reality of choice as over
and against any model of determinism. Finally, the eschatological assertion
that the cosmos is on a pathway of amelioration rather than sheer annihila
tion is afforded helpful space by TWW/OFT.
The history of sovereign theologies for the regulation of legal and scien
tific reasoning is a massive legacy of the Christianized Roman Empire that
exercises continuous, if much diminished, influence in theology. This was
the original context for “political theology” – a theology for the polity and
often mirroring the polity of religious majorities. Similar trends are visible in
many different religious contexts. Certainly, one of the most seriously limit
ing walls in the history of Christian theology was its polemical theologies
aimed at bringing the highly diversified Christian, Jewish, and other religious
theological movements of late antiquity into “catholic order” of “ortho
dox” insiders and heterodox outsiders. By the sixth century, very intentional
boundaries barred “interrituality” in order to separate Christians from all
Jewish ritual observances as asserted on pain of excommunication. Creat
ing and attaching to every Jewish person and community the theologically
defined charge of “deicide” was certainly the nadir of the entire theological
heritage of so-called “religious crimes” defined by Roman law on behalf
of its religio licita (“legal religion”). What began with antiheretical (con
tra haereticos) literature for the early construction of anti-Jewish theology
(tractates known as “Contra Iudaios”) was part of and yet distinct from the
larger branch of polemical theology known as “Contra Gentes (/Gentiles)” –
which included multiple tractates opposed to and condemning the religion
of Islam. The religious monotheism adopted by Rome, as well as other poli
ties, that constitutionally established Christianity endures into the twenty-
first century.6 This heritage of sovereign theology (Yelle 2018), along with
many other dimensions of the “world’s largest religion,” presents multiple
ongoing barriers to critical and constructive theological practices.
Political, legal, and scientific boundaries not only define but also plague
most theologies, internally and externally. Although the deities, anthropolo
gies, and cosmologies of the religions betray striking differences, many of
their hermeneutical moves, especially as each interacts with other religions
and theologies, are quite similar, as comparative theology has shown. As
a Hindu or Jewish scripture scholar works with a constellation of beliefs
about the divine origin of a sacred text, the humanity of the reader/listener,
and the relation between human cognition and its “divine” or “ultimate”
referent, one must ask about the critical and constructive purpose of theol
ogy. Crucial to this assessment is the recognition of the radical resources
that the history of theology can hint at. But these efforts are moot if the
expansive and varied potentialities of theology are curtailed through the
imposition of constrictive, even destructive, boundaries preventing genu
inely liberative and life-enhancing theological construction.
“Revelation,” legal and scientific walls, and OFT

The history of every theology begins with a revelation claim of some sort –
the deity has conveyed its presence through some natural mediation, usu
ally oracular or prophetic, the presence of the divine, and the divine word
and image. Conveying “divine revelation” and epistemologies that included
“revelation claims” correlates very closely with transcendent philosophi
cal claims of illumination and higher-order perceptions and knowledges.
Plato’s “Allegory of the Cave”7 is a kind of narrative theology of revelation
and revelatory experience. In Scripture, “prophets” narratives, via multiple
genres but all metaphorically and stylistically rich, have become “inscriptur
ated” forms of the immediately revealed word and image. Revealed word
and image, regarded as captured in sacred scriptures and ritual objects,
required constant interpretation in reinterpretation in successive genera
tions of believing communities. The history of “modern theology” of the
last five centuries globally displays hermeneutical and even substantive
learning and borrowing across religious and cultural boundaries. One of
the attractions of comparative theology is to trace whatever can be detected
of these commonalities, however they have made themselves apparent – in
my case, particularly in monotheisms and messianisms in the Abrahamic
and non-Abrahamic religions and their theologies. Time and again, how
ever, the larger and more complex theological systems are found to have
reified claims of a complete and perfect revelation, a revelatory “deposit”
in sacred histories inseparable from the sacred texts and objects themselves,
preserved by a perfect community. In Western Christian traditions, these
sacred histories come most often by means of an “originalist” hermeneutic:
reconstructions of the original revelatory events and first-generation com
munity, or “medievalist” or other authoritative “scholastic” hermeneutic –
reconstructions of a golden age of religious achievement in every aspect
of communal life. Each of these traditions is distinguished by strategies of
“repristination”: theology as an exercise in recovery of a “pristine” religious
condition of communication and practice. Theology becomes an exercise as
much in historical imagination as one of engaging theologically one’s own
audience in real time.
In many ways, theology as a “science” (scientia as in “way of knowl
edge”) reflects an ancient oracular or mystical dimension as well as the
knowledge of law. Whether theorizing based upon experimental insight
regarding “natural law” or “human law” on the way toward the “rule of
law,” the penchant for believing in the authoritative perception of an idea or
argument for some exclusive claim stems from the ancient monotheism that
refuses to relativize truth claims that regulate nature or human beings. With
scriptures, especially in view of earlier predictions and later “fulfillments”
often relayed through obscure texts, every word of the text could poten
tially contain truths to be distilled into authoritative propositions, whether
legal or scientific. The stakes became exceedingly high early on. Internally,
the texts and their adherents established bodies of knowledge and tests for
“good law” and “good science.” As early as Origen in the third and Augus
tine in the fourth to fifth centuries, appeal against naïve interpretations of,
say, the creation narratives of Genesis were already rather well argued.
Ancient scriptures are sui generis – they are neither law nor science nor
a broad range of literary conventions. Although their genres were very
familiar to their original audiences, their purposive and traditional recep
tions were always distinct. Often, the scriptures are sui generis in relation to
one another. The conception of Christianity as a sect of Judaism and Islam
as inseparable from both unites their scriptures in a unique fashion and
gives much credence to the Abrahamic studies projects that have emerged
in recent years, tapping into centuries of “Abrahamic” reasoning among
the three. When we consider non-Abrahamic scriptures and their traditions,
particularly in ethics, there is much commonality and probably cross-
fertilization. There is much overlap in the way in which they reason theo
logically, liturgically, ethically, scientifically, and juridically – particularly
through the massive migration of scriptures and methods of interpretation
since the eighteenth century. But their status as revelation, and therefore
sacred, bridges the immanent and transcendent worlds and brings their
audiences into binding relationships that they would not otherwise express.
Their texts and their genius are such that they produce an unabated history
of interpretation and application. Theological literature in the last 50 years
has burgeoned in forms and complexity. This is reason enough to suggest
that theology might best be done according to an “open field” principle.
Their potential has proven to be almost unlimited, and although they pro
vide no more detail than fundamental distinctions for law (protecting per
sons but not defining virtue) and science (the intelligibility of the cosmos),
their greater aid is narrating the mixed bag that is human life and behavior.
Externally, however, once an ecclesial ruling in law or science had become
“incorrigible” according to institutional claims of historical authority and
unreformability, rejecting extra-theological criteria resulted in retrograde
“science” or no science at all. In this and other ways, the problem of an
account of revelation as supplying the purest distillation of truth about God
and the world, and the resulting history of interpretation and its errors,
sometimes of the worst sort, plague the history of theology. Even worse is
the conceit of correcting, if not eliminating, other revelation claims and the
ologies. In virtually all the major Christian traditions, the commitments to
compatibility between the Graeco-Roman and biblical cosmologies always
leaves the neutral reader with a sense that the exercise is more one of apolo
getics than a theological reasoning that follows an unbiased path.
One of the greatest points of reference for Christian theologians in general
is undoubtedly the theology of Vatican II and constructive engagement with
it. The council adopted of the doctrine of religious liberty8 – that without
freedom from all religious sovereignties, the necessary exercise of the liberty
of conscience and deep persuasion in faith is undermined and the necessary
condition of religious decision making by each human being is blocked.
These ideas were rooted in the ideas of the early American theologian,
Roger Williams, and updated by the Jesuit theologian, John Courtney Mur
ray. The historic shock over precisely this canon from Vatican II, qualifying
definitively as “development of doctrine” (Newman 1845), becomes a fasci
nating movement of theological aggiornamento – a theological “opening,”
a key trajectory toward TWW/OFT. Parallel to this opening were a series
of papal addresses to the United Nations at least once during the papacy
of each pope since 1948. The speeches have reflected a theology opening a
field of learning beyond the confines of tradition and institution, seeking to
embrace new insights without contradicting tradition and institution. John
Paul II, Benedict XVI, and Francis I have each in their own way kept Vatican
II as their frame of reference (United Nations Headquarters 2015). Most
importantly, all the Christian denominations were regarded as “instruments
of salvation,” despite the claim to being “the one true church,” an inclusive
statement long in coming but definitive (Congregation for the Doctrine of
the Faith, 2007).9 The multiple religious “ends” of the theologies among the
many human communities make impossible any conflating or reducing of
the diversity of necessary or ultimate doctrines among the religions. What
we see from the Roman Catholic example of theological development is its
own gradual moving to a place where boundaries and open spaces are quite
compatible, even “normative.”
The earliest expressions of theological openness within communal bound
aries is quite ancient. The fascinating history of the Hellenization of Judaism
through the first translation of any scripture signaled an intentional engage
ment with Greek culture and cosmology after the sixth century BCE –
something which had already happened in Babylon and the Jewish Persian
academies that would develop there. Due largely to Christian persecution,
Medieval (Masoretic) Judaism attempted to consign Hellenistic Judaism
and its traditions to heresy, apostasy, and oblivion. Indeed, it will require
the first critical edition of the Tanakh (Hebrew Bible), which is currently
in production, to reveal crucial knowledge about its textual traditions in
times where, even among the strictest Jewish communities such as Qumran,
Tanakh and Septuagint were read side by side. Although the Athenian Acad
emy had long abandoned the theologies of Plato and Aristotle, their argu
ments are revived by Hellenistic Judaism and Christianity in marshalling
precedents for their perceived monotheisms considered entirely compatible
with the biblical accounts of the divine being – especially the locus classicus
of the Bible, Exodus 3:14, the self-determining, noncontingent deity, the
“I am that I am.” The great advancement and problem is that the mean
ings captured in the Greek translation are highly constructive extrapolations
of the Hebrew/Aramaic texts. Scripture translation is a constructive and
comparative theological process in itself. One telling example is the radical
extraction of Christological “facts” from highly metaphorical gospel narra
tives. By the end of the seventh century, virtually nothing from the “life of
Jesus” remained in the ontological paradigm of “divine and human” in the
two-natures doctrine. Doctrinal theology is utterly rooted in this tradition
and is difficult to reconcile with narrative gospel interpretation. TWW/OFT
provides an open field that yields new possibilities for reconciling doctrine
with neglected narratives.
TWW/OFT in some ways has been a descriptive rather than a construc
tive hermeneutical exercise. As an American project TWW/OFT begins with
Protestant and Catholic theologians as constructive educators and takes
stock of the ever-expanding diversity of theological schools and approaches.
It then encompasses theological interactions with the historical churches:
Catholic, Orthodox, Oriental, African, and contacts with the quarter bil
lion Christians of new churches and movements with no denominational
connections at all. In all, the salvation history narratives of scripture and the
normative creeds arising from particular theologies of modernity up to our
moment follow traditional patterns but also construct new pathways. Theol
ogy is primarily expositional, responding to “revelation” or “knowledge of
the ultimate,” correcting or rendering more persuasive inherited theological
statements or pioneering new ones and, finally, channeling these insights in
multiple contexts of learning and faith practices. Theology grounds the con
stant pursuit of human and planetary flourishing but ultimately articulates
human hopes and visions of redemption, even when cosmology is under
stood from a religious naturalism perspective, agnostically or even atheisti
cally. TWW can encompass even a theology of religious atheism. “There is
no God” or “The God of religion is nonexistent” can be heard theologically
according to the personal confession of God as unknown, unknowable, or
unexperienced, or critically as inescapably tied to violence – although one
wonders if “religious entanglements” were somehow genetically removed,
any appreciable decrease in human violence would result.
Theology when it fully flowers is a divine or ultimate cosmological narra
tive or model: Creator–creation; God–world–-humanity; continuum (with
or without a beginning). Communication in such forms, even the natural
istic with no deity, is theological and speculative, following, for example,
apophatic or cataphatic hermeneutical trajectories: one is characteristic of
the unknowability of God and the other of the divinity of all things. What is
important is the comprehensibility of all theological discourses (even athe
istic theologies) in OFT. In the apophatic direction, by the end of the first
millennium of Christian theology, the best theologians had concluded that
the being of God and its infinite attributes, “God of God,” were unknow
able, because what can be known is entirely determined by the character
istics of human cognition. From the apophatic angle, the unknowability of
God could cover the widest possible range of agnostic or atheistic modeling.
Indeed, there is little difference between the speculative knowledge claim
of God’s nonexistence and the apophatic cognitive impossibility of know
ing the being of the God that is known by revelation. From the cataphatic
angle, however, theology follows the affirmations of its diverse traditions
and trajectories, but in common context where the diversity that was once,
at most, intrareligious is now interreligious, due to the global nearness of
every theologian to every other.
We can now see “perfect being theology” from a new hermeneutical
perspective. Based in part upon mathematical ideals, the perfect being was
subjected to “infinity modelling” with regard to divine (fore)knowledge (as
“exhaustive”), eternal existence, ultimacy as “source” of all things, “perfec
tion” as a moral quality, and desperate strategies for grounding ethics and
law, as well as the coherence and intelligibility of the universe – explanatory
of the derivation of all things. These ideals are also reflected in naturalistic
models as “grand unified theory” agendas – some kind of “system” that
gives integration or unity to everything. Perfect Being Theology in any sys
tem begins with a certain perfection of either the law of noncontradiction
or even tautology (the most “perfect” formulation) and extrapolates from
there. Historically, various “perfect” forms, numbers, or proportionalities
become nodes of reasoning about the [p]erfect “exhaustively,” as in divine
foreknowledge. The implied qualifier “at least” is constantly begging the
question of the models of divinity – even the Platonic or Hindu originals.
Either the systems of perfection beg questions as to the narratives of revela
tion where such models are not offered or the patent inappropriateness of
the models to begin with, trying to generate a model that is implied by near-
infinite multiplications of physical conditions in some cosmologies founded
upon replicating behaviors in the quantum world. Given the complexity of
the quantum world, even the catchphrase, “infinite in all directions” doesn’t
catch, doesn’t capture a set of coordinates by which a satisfactory model
of the infinite perfections of divinity can be represented. Atheism protests
the models of the divine being – none even approach being satisfactory
from their starting points, let alone their teloi, or “ends.” Perfect being as
infinite being becomes “optative” – an “if–only” plea for the knowledge
of infinite being identical to the models of revelation. Acknowledging the
inadequacy of models of the divine being does not remove the warrant for
affirming the infinite reality of Anselm’s “that than which nothing greater
can be thought,” but it reminds us this concept is a contentless placeholder
for the infinite existent and real ultimacy, yet unknowable as such by finite
knowers, however reflective of the divine being of revelation they may be,
yet always not reflective of [the] being that is nothing other than infinite.
“Open-field” and theological trajectories

Hermeneutical theology that would foster the open field of theological
practice asks no questions of pluralism, inclusivism, or exclusivism, because
technically, it would only provide warrant for their coexistence within
the same field. TWW/OFT places theological communities in some kind
of coexistence in theological space. Theological commitments other than
hermeneutical privilege some particular religious aspect, even purported
general or pluralistic ones: traditional, confessional, ecumenical, mystical,
“religious belonging,” naturalist, “the Real,” etc. Each is better pursued
in something of a “democratic,” “universal,” “level playing field”–based
hermeneutical theological community than being performed on separated
(“separatist”) bases. Even exclusivist theologies are better formulated under
the conditions of TWW/OFT.
What is the range or register of “open field” in terms of theology? There
are perspectives that offer something that are similar: “open and relational
theology” or “open theology”; “process” and “naturalistic” models of [g]
od or the [r]eal or naturalist/materialist models. The point about “field”
is that it pursues a kind of “level playing field” approach to what are his
torically rival exclusivisms in religious doctrine and practice. But such a
“field” approach, while not only removing the possibility of privilege and
ranking among the theologies and a-theologies, is much more about discur
sive and hermeneutical conditions of the freedom of inquiry, reconstructing
and reframing theologies through encounter, inclusive of the “postcon
fessional,” “postreligious,” “postsecular” world. By orienting theology
according to field of inquiry rather than a particular tradition that has
opened its boundaries or a model of God in relation, TWW can do its work
theologically as an anthropological exercise of many related disciplines and
perspectives.
Post-Constantinian, postdenominational and postconfessional trends
in theology already present in the nineteenth century were represented by
some of the greatest modern theological minds: Soren Kierkegaard and
Franz Overbeck can be seen as on the way to Bonhoeffer’s “religion-less
Christianity.” The institutional dominance of theology, let alone institu
tions of government, law, or science, are replaced by theological engage
ment and dimensionality for a “lived theology” in the context of multiple
voices and irreducible diversity. Most moderate to liberal academic thinking
has been gesturing toward TWW for some time. The student is free to pur
sue relatively unbounded inquiry apart from those courses of study leading
to ordination. Theologies in the developing world are especially needful of
TWW/OFT because so many new movements do not have any connections
to creedal denominations. Missional theology must respond more and more
to “insider movements” which syncretically absorb Christian orientations
within non-Christian communities, often with highly expressive forms of
spirituality. Indeed, “spirituality” has become part of the taxonomy of
human wellness and flourishing, no matter how secular or postreligious the
context.
At the same time, hyper-politicization can be detected in branches of Jew
ish, Christian, Muslim, Hindu, and Buddhist communities. The already
massively stressed “ultra-orthodox” subgroups vie in their claims for infal
libility in knowledge and perfection in practice. It is sometimes difficult to
locate the boundary between a zealotry that begets religious violence and
a zealotry that foreswears it. Examples include American evangelical theo
logians with no theological critique of the new nationalism and racism in
its midst, Al Azhar University of Cairo refusing to condemn the teaching
of ISIS, Modi of India refusing to condemn Hindutva ideology, Aung San
Suu Kyi refusing to condemn her government’s genocide of the Muslim
Rohingya in Rakhine, and even China’s absolutist president Xi refusing to
acknowledge the massive internment camps for Muslims. These and many
similar examples reflect the aggressive and often violent instrumentalization
of religion.
Through the previous century, theological schools moved toward shed
ding strict denominational boundaries (although in Germany, Catholic and
Protestant PhD students are not allowed cross-denominational supervisors).
These predominantly Christian institutions have accommodated different
kinds of Christian identity and constructed new forms centered on ethics
and critical biblical studies decoupled from creedal controls in the interest
of contextual understanding and innovative applications.
One of the highest levels of literacy is religious, for example, being able
to perceive theological meanings across the range of literatures and the
arts – scripture or commentary, classic or contemporary theology; ethics;
liturgy; music, visual and other performative arts. Theologizing is a capacity
among readers and writers to communicate about the divine/human ref
erents in religious discourse and to discern assertions and arguments with
focused religious intention and advocacy. Indeed, to be a theologian without
walls implies a capacity to make informed theological judgements outside,
although not necessarily antithetical to, any particular religion or denomi
nation. TWW grapples with the best of the heritage through comparative
practice and multiple religious interactions, involving dialogue, composi
tion, and literacy. Student and faculty expectations and formulations are
already reflecting this postconfessional reality.
If we look closely at the twenty-first-century developments and those just
prior, we see the final retreat of a dogmatic world where the common prop
erty of the Abrahamic tradition’s best legacies can be accessed, weighed, and
applied in new forms and venues, such as comparative scripture/theological
study across the interreligious frontiers. A crucial development is the “postmet
aphysical” trend in modern theology – but this must be understood in a precise
way. Theological texts are also texts of metaphysics. But the characteristic of
“objective science” going back to the axial age (fifth century BCE) of proph
ets, scriptures, and sages are the constructions of cosmology based political
systems. The origins of the meta-narrative are both humanistic and scientific.
Indeed, the best way to read natural theology and speculations of “natural
religion” (from Spinoza to Hick) is as some primal religion – an ancient idea.
We need to take seriously postdenominational yet postsecular trends to
recognize how new expressions of theology are arising through nontradi
tional avenues of scripture study and spirituality. Why this deference to
scriptures? They represent the inspired sources of sources. Theologically,
there are many “sources,” and one can certainly begin from the history of
a tradition or a critical or reductionistic, even atheistic response, because
a-theology is still dealing with the transcendent/ultimate category of reflec
tion. What is characteristic across the board is the distancing from “reli
gious authority” as institutionalized through fellow human mediation. The
“without walls” of this theology is the resistance to any connection between
spiritual truths and any appropriation by political, historical, and cultural
authorities to justify privilege or exclusion. In their place, an unbounded/
un-walled theological conversation has broken upon us and our world of
many human and nonhuman lives.
Although early twenty-first-century developments in Western religious
ness are marked by a “postsecular” trend, this is matched by a “postreli
gious” trend as well. Both terms require vagueness and wide applicability
to be serviceable as well as linked together. Indeed, in a postdogmatic age –
dogma meaning the religious bases in legal reasoning that once sustained
the protection of religious institutions through the legislation and execution
of religious laws and the punishment of religious crimes – this world of reli
gious law no longer exists among Christians and Jews and many Muslims;
persons of many other large religions are moving in this direction.
The import of “confession-less” Christian theology as a key trajectory
behind TWW/OFT correlates with the “subjective turn” in the history of
theology. Earlier models of God in many, if not all, of these traditions had
to be replaced, for example, divine presence with divine “design,” divine
subjectivity and activity in some form of “relational” model of [g]od. The
by-product has been personal individuation and identity formation.
TWW/OFT responds to the gradual abandonment of sovereign religion
and the recognition of irreducible multiplicity. Boundaries there always will
be, but these are, more than ever, the boundaries of voluntary association
(e.g., denominations of religions, local communities, often connected but
not wholly defining any “religion”) and ultimately the inviolability of the
individual person, religious or not. Indeed, in the radical period of the Ref
ormation and ever after, a particular gospel verse and its interpretation as
“church” was programmatically condemned by the traditionalists: “wher
ever two or more are gathered in my name” (Mt 18:20). Today, two or more
in community is a “church” or spiritual community of any religion and yet
not at all. Such community is not discounted by a wide variety of theologi
cal reasoners. There is a sense in which the multiplication of communities
is finally a diversification down to the individual theologian, hopefully in
conversation and constructive productivity, if nowhere else than in a TWW/
OFT hermeneutical space.
Notes
1 TWW/OFT.
2 One immensely helpful comparative historical treatment: Stroumsa (2016).
3 The use of [] (e.g., [B]eing) in this chapter is meant to convey the alternating
capital/lowercase letter depending upon use: the varying registers in theological

discourse for such terms.
4 Otherwise known as “eternity of the world” cosmology and its consistent rejec
tion by the vast majority of Abrahamic theologians; e.g., Philoponus, Maimon
ides, Avicenna, Bonaventure, and Aquinas.
5 Brilliantly debated by Hannah Arendt in her posthumously published Willing
(1978).
6 Some 16 countries have constitutionally established national Christian churches,
or “Christianity”: Argentina, Armenia, Tuvalu, Tonga, Costa Rica, Kingdom of
Denmark, England, Greece, Georgia, Iceland, Liechtenstein, Malta, Monaco, Vat
ican City, Papua New Guinea, and Zambia.
7 Republic, 514a – 520a.
8 Not to mention its theology of religions.
9 It includes a very clear affirmation of Vatican II as normative.
References
Arendt, Hannah. Willing. The Life of the Mind. New York: Harcourt, 1978.
Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith. 2007. “Responses to Some Questions
Regarding Certain Aspects of the Doctrine on the Church.” www.vatican.va/roman_
curia/congregations/cfaith/documents/rc_con_cfaith_doc_20070629_responsa
quaestiones_en.html (accessed February 23, 2019).
Newman, John Henry. An Essay on the Development of Christian Doctrine. Notre
Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1989.
Stroumsa, Guy. 2016. The Scriptural Universe of Ancient Christianity. Cambridge:
Harvard University Press. doi:10.1017/s000964071800015x
United Nations Headquarters. 2015. “Address of the Holy Father.” http://
w2.vatican.va/content/francesco/en/speeches/2015/september/documents/papa
francesco_20150925_onu-visita.html (accessed January 6, 2019).
Yelle, Robert A. 2018. Sovereignty and the Sacred: Secularism and the Political
Economy of Religion. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Part II
Experience and transformation
Introduction
Jerry L. Martin
Theology Without Walls encourages a greater emphasis on religious expe

riences and the transformations they engender. “Ultimate reality,” John
Thatamanil argues, “cannot be corralled or confined within the bounda
ries of . . . ‘the religions.’ ” In Christian terms, “if God is the God of the
whole world, traces of divinity will surely be found anywhere one thinks
to look.” The goal is interreligious wisdom, engaging not only the claims
of other traditions but their ends and their means as well. This engagement
requires “the pursuit of truth gained through the theologian’s own transfor
mation.” The goal is to know God, not merely about God. “This knowledge
of rather than knowledge about is driven by soteriological desire.” “To be
religious . . . is to search for comprehensive qualitative orientation.” It seeks
to order human desiring in ways true to the nature of reality. Interreligous
wisdom requires “embodied knowing of reality as understood by means of
the therapeutic regimes of more than one tradition.” If the ultimate reality
is “a multiplicity not an undifferentiated simplicity,” then interreligious wis
dom reveals “more than one dimension of ultimate reality.”
Paul Knitter’s book, Without Buddha I Couldn’t Be a Christian, created
something of a sensation. Here was a learned Catholic theologian immers
ing himself in Buddhism so much that he became rather equally committed
to both traditions. If theology is, as he says, “spiritual experience trying to
make sense of itself,” how was he to make sense of his dual belonging? He
starts with the difficult question, “Just how does Jesus save me?” Finding
atonement theory unsatisfactory, he looked to a “functional analogy” in the
Buddhist tradition: the saving role of Jesus is that of Guru Yoga, or “spir
itual benefactor.” The participant must “visualize and truly feel the presence
of the Benefactor. The final phase is to let the images dissolve and merge
non-conceptually into, in Buddhist language, the Essence Love. Or, as St.
Paul puts it, ‘It is now no longer I who lives; it is Christ living in/as me.’ ”
This, Knitter says, is salvation – “not as an atoning process that takes place
outside of oneself but as a transformative unitive experience.” In another
functional analogy, “both Buddha and Jesus can be considered ‘liberators.’ ”
Knitter explores what Buddhists can teach Christians and what Christians
DOI: 10.4324/9780429000973-7
50 Jerry L. Martin
can teach Buddhists about efforts at liberation and social justice. He con
cludes, “by realizing my Buddha-nature, I have been able to understand and
to live my Christ-nature.”
Questioning a “smorgasbord” approach to religion, Huston Smith once
quoted a teacher in India, “If you are drilling for water, it’s better to drill
one 60-foot well than ten 6-foot wells.” Peter Savastano reports from his
own life a deep involvement with multiple traditions, reaching the level of
a spiritual master in several. He has studied theology but, he says, “theory
eventually hits the wall of personal experience.” Seeking “knowledge of
and through the heart,” he engaged in a wide range of spiritual practices
from multiple traditions. “By engaging these non-Christian practices,” he
says, “I have expanded my understanding and experience of the Abrahamic
God.” Is ultimate reality personal or impersonal? Sometimes one, some
times the other, sometimes both at the same time, in his experience. “I con
tinue to immerse myself more deeply in Christ-oriented experience although
I do so ‘interspiritually.’ ” There is a further movement “when my experi
ence of the Divine surpasses all concepts and metaphors . . . an experience
of the apophatic nature of The Great Mystery which I describe as ‘the scaf
folding falling away.’ ” The experience is “both elating and troubling.” It
is perhaps, he concludes, the prelude to what a Sufi psychologist calls the
“final integration.”
Rory McEntee begins with his experiences with Fr. Thomas Keating and
the Snowmass Dialogues, which provided remarkably rich opportunities to
study interspirituality. McEntee was influenced by Wayne Teasdale’s belief
that interspirituality could create “a continuing community among the reli
gions that is substantial, vital, and creative.” It would “make available to
everyone all the forms the spiritual journey assumes.” In the Snowmass dis
cussions, theological disagreements would arise. “At the level of doctrine we
find (perhaps) incommensurable ‘accounts of reality.’ However, in ‘the reli
gious quest as transformative journey,’ we have found what Raimon Panik
kar called ‘homeomorphic equivalence.’ ” The interspiritual approach might
be particularly valuable for the spiritual but not religious. Though coming
from a particular tradition, he now finds that the interspiritual community
is his home.
No philosopher has paid more nuanced attention to religious experience
than William James. Jonathan Weidenbaum explores doing theology, to use
James’s phrase, “with open doors and windows,” open to the full range of
human experience. “Intuitions that are pathological, paranormal, and even
drug-induced join religious experiences in possessing revelatory value for
James.” The encounter with another person that shatters our “prejudices
and assumptions,” can, James said, cause a “complete re-ordering of our
inner lives.” Reflection is important but should not erase “the freshness
and immediacy of concrete experience.” He finds mystical experiences to
have a seemingly noetic quality as “states of insight into the depths of truth
Experience and Transformation 51
unplumbed by the discursive intellect.” Indeed, the “overcoming of all the
usual barriers between the individual and the Absolute is the great mystic
achievement.” At the same time, James celebrates diversity. If all religions
were seen as, at some level, saying the same thing, “the total human con
sciousness of the divine would suffer.”
5 Theology Without Walls as
the quest for interreligious
wisdom
John J. Thatamanil
Theology Without Walls (TWW) is not a single, highly integrated, and uni
form research program but rather a family of kindred research projects.
As TWW gains greater traction and more voices join in, the methodologi
cal diversity within TWW will only continue to expand. What binds these
diverse projects together is the core conviction that theological truth is avail
able, and therefore must be pursued, beyond the walls of any single religion.
If there is (at least one) ultimate reality, there is no reason to suspect –
confessional claims notwithstanding – that ultimate reality is accessible
through a single tradition alone. Indeed, even exclusivist confessional thinkers
typically insist that knowledge of God, even if to an inferior degree, is avail
able to those outside the tradition, for example, in the book of nature and not
just in the book of scripture. If such truth is, indeed, available, and if what is
so available does not replicate what is already known within a single tradition,
then theologians must commend investment in transreligious learning.
TWW investigators may seek knowledge of ultimate reality in literature,
in the work of scientific cosmologists and evolutionary biologists, in com
parative theology, or by way of experimentation with mind-altering psilo
cybin. Ultimate reality cannot be corralled within the boundaries of those
domains of cultural life that some modern communities have taken to call
ing “the religions.” What sort of self-respecting ultimate reality would that
be? Speaking in traditional Christian theological terms, as God is the God
of the whole world, traces of divinity will be found anywhere one thinks to
look. Hence, a diversity of approaches and methods is inevitable for TWW.
In this chapter, I propose one particular conception of TWW that has for
its goal interreligious wisdom gained by means of engagement with not just
the claims of other traditions but also their ends and the means to those
ends. I hold that at least some who engage in TWW will do so by way of
multiple religious participation, that is by taking up practices drawn from
the repertoire of more than one religious tradition, practices that provide
access to the spiritual ends prized by the traditions in question. In what
follows, I offer a rudimentary sketch of this version of TWW, commend its
desirability and importance, and describe some of the unique conceptual and
practical challenges that come with it. I have no intention of commending
DOI: 10.4324/9780429000973-8
54 John J. Thatamanil
its superiority to other modes of TWW. Not all will be drawn to the appeals
and demands of this style of theological engagement. Nonetheless, I com
mend this account of TWW because it affords access to what I call interre
ligious wisdom, first-order knowledge of ultimate reality gained by drawing
from the resources of more than one religious tradition.
Theology is more than making claims: on theological

ends and means
Theological reflection within many contemporary forms of Christianity
remains a resolutely cognitivist enterprise wedded to the labor of making
and assessing claims about God and God’s relation to the world and human
beings.1 There is nothing misguided about such a project. Theological work
quite naturally seeks to think about how best to construe ultimacy. Is God
a being among beings or rather the ground of being? Is ultimate reality
personal, transpersonal, or perhaps even both in different respects? Is the
relation between ultimacy and the world best understood within a pan
theist, panentheistic, nondualist, or dualist metaphysics? Of course, these
questions might also be taken up within the framework of philosophy of
religion. What customarily renders these questions distinctively theological
is the constraint that they are taken up with reference to the sources and
norms of a particular tradition, a constraint that TWW rejects.
Might we entertain another conception of what makes thinking theologi
cal, a conception that hinges not on exclusivity – “Work within the param
eters of this tradition alone!” – but instead understands theology as marked
by existential commitment to the pursuit of religious truth gained through
the theologian’s own transformation, a transformation brought about by
taking up the spiritual disciplines that serve as the means for reaching the
distinctive spiritual ends of the tradition in question? True, Pierre Hadot
has shown that within the history of the West, philosophy, too, was once
understood to require spiritual discipline, but this particular conception of
philosophy has largely fallen by the wayside (Hadot 1995). In this histori
cal moment, theology seems better suited as the rubric for committed truth
seeking gained through spiritual transformation.
Such theology would be attentive to far more than theological claim
assessment but would instead seek to understand claims within the broader
spiritual matrix from which they are often isolated for the sake of delibera
tion. Even within Christian circles, theology has not always been focused
on claims to the exclusion of religious ends and the means by which those
ends were reached. Recall one of the tradition’s earliest definitions of the
theologian by the fourth-century desert father, Evagrius: “The one who
prays truly is the theologian; the theologian is one who prays truly” (Ponti
cus 1972, 65). For Evagrius, prayer makes the theologian, not the proposal
and defense of this or that set of theological claims. The theologian is one
who comes to intimate knowledge of the divine by means of the spiritual
Theology Without Walls as the quest 55
discipline of prayer, which is itself a gift of God. The theologian is the one
who knows God, not merely knows about God. This knowledge of rather
than knowledge about is driven by soteriological desire. The end of Chris
tian life is knowledge, and love of God that sets human beings free from sin,
death, and the devil, and that knowledge is to be gained by means of the
spiritual discipline of prayer.
In the kind of TWW I am proposing herein, the theologian rejects denom
inational or traditional exclusivity but embraces Evagrius’s insistence on the
centrality of the religious means that aim at transformative truth. Evagrius’s
maxim reminds us that ancient Christian traditions affirmed an intimate
and inseparable bond between religious ends and the means by which those
ends are attained. The theologian’s vocation and identity are secured, within
such a framework, by commitment to spiritual disciplines and not by way of
conceptual assessment alone.
What if, borrowing from and riffing on Evagrius, we proposed the fol
lowing contemporary maxim: the interreligious theologian is one who prays
and meditates truly; the one who prays and meditates truly is the interreli
gious theologian. Here, of course, “meditation” is a placeholder, a token for
some specific set of disciplines for religious knowing commended by a non-
Christian tradition. Theologians without walls, in my account, are those
who seek to know ultimate reality not by rejecting the spiritual disciplines
of their home tradition but by supplementing those disciplines with oth
ers responsibly borrowed from another tradition. Actually, this provisional
definition needs further nuance because there is no reason to assume, from
the first, that the theologian without walls has a single home tradition, let
alone the Christian one. Religious affiliations, in our time, defy any predict
able pattern. A theologian without walls or the transrreligious theologian is
one who seeks to know the truth of ultimate reality by faithfully engaging in
the spiritual disciplines of more than one religious tradition.
Some key terms, definitions, and operative assumptions

What are the fundamental assumptions that render such a definition of trans-
religious theology meaningful and desirable? I would like to lay out here a
number of central terms, definitions, and operative assumptions that I bring
to the work of transreligious theology. To begin with the basics, just what
do we mean by the terms “religious” and “religions?” How can care with
definitions correct for the doctrinal preoccupations of much contemporary
theology? How can we strive to ensure that our definitions of religion do not
build into themselves expectations that render singular religious belonging
normative and multiple religious participation aberrant?
To be religious, in my account, is to search for comprehensive qualitative
orientation. Religious persons and communities seek to take their place with
respect to the whole of things, the nature of reality as such, in an affective
key. Religious orientation, as opposed to, say, scientific orientation, seeks
to order human desiring such that human desires are rendered true to the
nature of reality. How should human desiring be ordered if reality is marked
by impermanence and insubstantiality? What if, beyond all the finite goods
given in experience, there is an infinite good upon whom all finite things
depend? What would that entail for how desire is ordered? If reality is
marked by radical interdependence, such that my well-being is inseparable
from yours, then what should I do about deeply entrenched habits of self-
seeking that presently mar my life with others? What are we to do about
market-based regimes of shaping desire that teach that the collective good
spontaneously emerges by maximizing individualistic acquisitive impulses?
All of these questions about what to do with our desiring, when desires are
situated within some account of the way things are, count as religious.
Nothing about this project to render human desiring true to the real
implies an understanding of the religious as passive rather than activist in
character. In order to render human desiring true to the nature of the real as
such, one might well have to undo social orders that are marked by falsity,
triviality, and destructivity. Religious comportment can and routinely does
take on the work of world transformation.
The religious work of orienting desire within a cosmic frame has histori
cally taken place within local and translocal communities whose lives have
been shaped by a variety of traditions that we have taken recently to calling
“religions” or “world religions.” In much of the globe for much of human
history, any given local community was informed by a variety of religious
traditions. That such religious diversity marked East Asian and South Asian
life is well known. Less well known is the presence of enduring multiplicity
in “Christian lands.” The presence of various indigenous and pagan cus
toms and practices has diversely colored the Christianities of Ireland, Brazil,
and even Italy. That is why even European Christianities have distinctive
local flavors, flavors as distinctive as their respective cuisines. The work of
comprehensive qualitative orientation thus routinely draws upon the reper
toires of more than one religious tradition.
Religious traditions are historically deep repertoires of myths, rituals,
practices, symbols, sacred objects, sacred sites, scriptures, institutions,
norms, experiences, and intuitions. More precisely, traditions are arguments
about what ought to be in a given tradition’s repertoire and how that reper
toire ought to be employed in the work of generating interpretive schemes
and therapeutic regimes. Interpretive schemes are the means by which reli
gious thinkers and their communities give an account of the nature of real
ity. Therapeutic regimes are the means by which personal and communal
desiring is attuned to the nature of the real as depicted by an interpretive
scheme. Therapeutic regimes include rituals, practices of worship, spiritual
exercises, pilgrimages, and the like by which personal and communal lives
are tutored and shaped so as to be rendered true to and true for the real.
Religious traditions are not interpretive schemes; they contain a pleth
ora of interpretive schemes, and theologians, both elite and lay, continue
to generate and debate a host of interpretive schemes. There is neither a
single Christian nor Buddhist take on reality. There are historically fluid
and geographically diverse Christian and Buddhist repertoires, which are
then deployed in contested fashion by religious intellectuals and their
communities.
The ingredients contained within a given religious repertoire are malle
able and constantly subject to growth and subtraction, but not infinitely so.
Certain items have historic staying power and come to be seen as essential
to that repertoire because of symbolic power, entrenched habit, the backing
of institutional elites, sheer antiquity, and a host of other reasons. It is just as
difficult to imagine a Christian interpretive scheme that does not make use
of the cross, baptism, or some account of the resurrection as it would be to
imagine South Indian cuisine without cumin, coriander, turmeric, mustard
seeds, or coconut milk. Not every ingredient is found in all curries, but there
are recognizable continuities. Likewise, not every ingredient from the Chris
tian repertoire is found in any particular Christian theological vision, but
there are recognizable continuities that mark a Christian dish as Christian
or a Buddhist dish as Buddhist. It is difficult to imagine a Christian thera
peutic regime that takes leave altogether of prayer of some kind (interces
sory, contemplative, etc.), although even so “central” an ingredient as the
Eucharist is relatively marginal in some ecclesial families.
Not every Buddhist meditates or chants mantras – there is a vast differ
ence between monastic and lay practice, for example – but, again, one rec
ognizes important material historical continuities. A theory of the religious
traditions must strike the right balance between continuity and creativity, a
task well beyond the scope of this chapter. Emphasize continuity alone, and
agency is stripped from religious actors; emphasize creativity alone, and the
historical depth, heft, and binding power of traditions might be forgotten.
The appeal to the example of cooking in this context is not random. No
two Kerala fish curries are identical, even when prepared by members of a
single family. But you do generally know when you are having a Kerala fish
curry. If the dish doesn’t have some combination of tamarind, coconut milk,
mustard seeds, curry leaves, turmeric, garlic, and a good many chilies, what
you’ve concocted may taste good, but it is unlikely to be a Kerala fish curry.
Tradition imposes constraints, but those constraints can themselves serve as
the material basis for improvisational creativity.
For the purposes of this chapter, what must be reemphasized is that the
work of comprehensive qualitative orientation cannot be accomplished by
appeal to an interpretive scheme alone, no more than reading the ingredients
from a recipe will satisfy hunger. Desires are configured in healing and life-
giving fashion when they are shaped by means of the specific spiritual disci
plines that enable human beings to accomplish the religious ends celebrated
by the tradition in question. Human flourishing requires truing oneself to
the nature of the real; religious orientation is, hence, a matter of comport
ment, when desires are in right accord with the reality rightly interpreted.
For most religious traditions, right comportment requires that human
beings are rightly attuned to certain feature or features of reality that are
taken to be ultimate. I speak of “features” in this context rather than a sin
gular ultimate reality because it is not clear that all religious traditions main
tain that a single ultimate reality exists. A given tradition might celebrate
a plurality of Orishas or instead point to the fact that everything in reality
whatsoever is empty (sunya) of self-existence (svabhava). The former is not
a singular ultimate, and the latter is not easily characterized as an ultimate
reality in the way that either God or Brahman might be.
Comportment requires that human beings are in right accord with ulti
macy rather than merely know about ultimacy. Here, one might speak about
first-order knowledge, knowledge of, rather than second-order knowledge,
knowledge about. Consider, for example, the knowledge that Michael
Phelps has of water as opposed to the nonswimmer who happens to be
expert in fluid mechanics. The latter knows a very great deal about water,
far more than Phelps, in fact, but as a nonswimmer, she would not be long
for the world if she should happen to fall into the deep end of a pool.
First-order religious knowing, the kind that Evagrius commends, is
acquired only by means of spiritual disciplines such as prayer and medita
tion. Without proper comportment, there is no true knowledge of the real.
This is why generations of students in the nation’s “Introduction to Bud
dhism” classes have not spontaneously awakened to wisdom upon a first
hearing or reading of the Four Noble Truths. Enlightenment experiences are
not recurring features of collegiate lecture halls even when staffed by bril
liant lecturers. Reading the recipe is not cooking, let alone eating the dish.
Buddhist traditions customarily insist on the priority of spiritual disci
plines. Zen students do not receive lectures on Dogen but are instead com
pelled to sit in Zazen. What there is to know about Zen is learned, first and
foremost, by taking on a particular therapeutic regime that tutors the body
to see as Zen what teachers want the student to see. Even dharma talks are
not so much about the transmission of doctrinal or propositional informa
tion but are instead meant to elicit and evoke transformation. The upshot: if
you want to know as Buddhists know, you must do as Buddhists do. There
are no shortcuts.
Multiple religious participation as the precondition

for interreligious wisdom
With these preliminary terms and definitions in place, we are now able to
say just why multiple religious participation is necessary for one modality
of TWW, namely that which strives at interreligious wisdom. But first, one
additional definition is necessary, that of interreligious wisdom. Religious
traditions account persons to be wise when they have, by means of right
comportment, arrived at embodied knowing of ultimate reality as under
stood by the tradition in question. Persons are recognized to be wise when
they have arrived at intimate first-order knowledge of ultimate reality by
means of spiritual disciplines that have rightly attuned human desiring. It
would follow that interreligious wisdom arises when human beings come
into an embodied knowing of reality as understood by means of the thera
peutic regimes of more than one tradition. In so doing, these persons will
have inscribed into their bodies first-order knowledge of ultimate reality or
ultimate features of reality as articulated by the interpretative schemes of
traditions whose therapeutic regimes they have taken up. I have elsewhere
spoken of such wisdom as a kind of binocular vision – the capacity to see
the world through more than one set of religious lenses and to integrate
what is seen thereby. I wish to argue that at least some theologians without
walls must set themselves to the pursuit of such binocular vision by way of
multiple religious participation.
But is such interreligious wisdom possible? What are the conditions for
the possibility of such wisdom? And, if possible, is it desirable? What obsta
cles, if any, stand in the way of such wisdom? Who might interreligious
wisdom be for? What communities might it serve? These are the questions
that I take up in the remainder of this chapter. Let’s address these questions
in turn.
Proof of actuality is, of course, proof of possibility. We know that inter-
religious wisdom is possible precisely because we know of a host of religious
luminaries who have successfully committed themselves to the cultivation
of such wisdom. Consider, for example, Buddhist-Christian figures such as
Ruben Habito, Maria Reis Habito, Sallie King, and Paul Knitter.2 These
thinkers are, in each case, not merely speculative students of Buddhist and
Christian interpretive schemes considered in isolation from Buddhist thera
peutic regimes. Each is grounded in years, even decades, of multiple religious
participation, with recognized teachers in Buddhist traditions. In the case of
Ruben Habito, his immersion in Buddhist practice is so thoroughgoing that
he has received dharma transmission and is now a Buddhist teacher within
a Zen lineage while remaining a Christian. These figures are Christians who
have remained Christian even as they came to be deeply steeped in Buddhist
traditions.
On the Hindu-Christian front, one can readily think of figures such as
Raimon Panikkar, Swami Abhishiktananda, and Bede Griffiths, among oth
ers.3 Particularly in the case of Abhishiktananada and Bede Griffiths, we have
figures who immersed themselves in contemplative practice in the Advaitic
strand of Hindu traditions. Their theological writings followed only after tak
ing up the contemplative therapeutic regimen of Advaita Vedanta. The goal
of such writing is to integrate, so far as possible, nondual wisdom with Chris
tian devotional practice and wisdom, a meeting between wisdoms that takes
place in “the cave of the heart.” Questions about the Christian trinity and
nonduality are taken up as they are illumined by the interspiritual experiences
generated by practice and are not driven solely by a penchant for speculative
theological ontology. The quest for such integration has to it an experiential
intensity and rigor that, at least in the case of Abhishiktananda, proved to be
soul-wrenching. It is no simple matter to integrate into one’s life experience
the competing appeals of nondualism and devotionalism when both have had
an integral place within one’s own spiritual life and orientation.4
No treatment of what these figures have come to know about ultimacy is
possible herein, but a careful study of them would be an integral component
in a research program that sought to think through the nature and possibili
ties for interreligious wisdom. What have such figures learned? What chal
lenges have they faced? What is the relationship between their interreligious
wisdom and wisdom as conventionally understood by each of the single tra
ditions to which these figures made appeal? Such research would, I suspect,
not just show that interreligious wisdom is a meaningful notion but also go
a considerable way toward elucidating what interreligious wisdom is.
Let us turn now to the question, “What are the conditions for the possi
bility of interreligious wisdom, and why might such wisdom be desirable?”
To answer that question, I posit the following propositions:
1 What we know of ultimate reality is intimately tied to how we come to

know ultimate reality. The knower must become transformed so as to
come into a knowing of ultimate reality in the respect that the seeker
seeks to know it.
2 Ultimate reality is a multiplicity, not an undifferentiated simplicity.
3 Therefore, it follows that if different dimensions of the ultimate reality
are to be known, they must be accessed by means of the specific spiritual
disciplines that afford such access.
4 The bearer of interreligious wisdom, therefore, is one who has come to
know more than one dimension of ultimate reality and has begun to
integrate what has been so learned.
Interreligious wisdom is possible if these propositions hold.

First, we have already argued that first-order knowing of ultimate reality
can be gained by means of the specific disciplines, the therapeutic regimes
that make just such knowledge possible. Just as Michael Phelps undertakes
the specific training regimens that create in his body the complex habitus
that makes possible excellence in swimming, so, too, those who seek to
know ultimate reality – not merely know about ultimate reality – must
undertake specific disciplines. If no such disciplines exist, then there is no
comportment to ultimate reality.
With that basic first presupposition in place, the possibility of interre
ligious wisdom requires the second supposition: that ultimate reality is
a multiplicity and not just an undifferentiated simplicity.5 Without that
hypothesis, there is no reason to suppose that the various distinct disciplines
of our religious traditions can augment and enrich knowledge gained by
some primary practice. There must be more dimensions to the divine life
that can be diversely accessed through diverse disciplines.
One other logical counterpossibility must be broached, namely that our
various spiritual disciplines may be reduplicative. Remaining with the anal
ogy of the swimmer, one might argue that nothing new is learned about
water when a swimmer masters, in turn, the backstroke, the butterfly, and
the breaststroke. What gain there is rests in the swimmer’s fitness as differ
ent muscle groups are mobilized by way of these different strokes, but no
new knowledge of water is gained. Water just is water. By extension, one
might suggest that Zen practice grants no new knowledge of ultimacy that
the Eucharist does not. The practitioner is spiritually fitter but has learned
nothing more by spiritual cross-training.
This possibility must be entertained as a hypothesis, but if it holds without
exception for all spiritual disciplines, then I do not see how a robust con
ception of interreligious wisdom can be defended. The different therapeutic
regimes of our traditions would open no new vistas of vision, and the con
nection between religious means and the noetic ends that those means strive
to access would be severed. In this account, the various spiritual disciplines
would all be reduplicative, all paths up the same mountain but affording no
new knowledge of it. The variety of disciplines may just be attributed to the
contingent cultural-linguistic matrices from which the disciplines arise and
yield no distinctive truth-bearing power.
Now, although it is certainly true that spiritual cross-training may well
generate in practitioners a variety of spiritual excellences that are not
directly tied to distinct dimensions of the divine life, there is every reason
to believe that at least some disciplines are so connected. Some so shape
persons and communities that distinctive insights are gained by means of
diverse practices. We have reason to believe this because the traditions
themselves tell us so. Christian life requires becoming the Kingdom-bringing
egalitarian social body of the Christ. If you seek to become that body, you
must eat that body’s food; you must participate in the egalitarian sharing of
the one bread and one cup, where Christians, in all their differences, come
together and become one community of reconciled love-in-difference. In so
doing, Christians become the Love that they are called to be. The discipline
of Dzogchen, by contrast, is meant and employed for other purposes. The
practice calls practitioners into recognition of the nature of mind itself as
nondual, marked by spacelike clarity, unbounded, and intrinsically com
passionate. Practice stabilizes in the practitioner this truth about their own
nature; moreover, there is an inseparable connection between path and goal.
What one practices is what one comes to know.
Those who seek interreligious wisdom need not posit that the practice of
Eucharist and its goal are identical with the practice and goal of Dzogchen.
Such assertions seem both implausible and unnecessary. Dzogchen practice
operates within another ontological imaginary, one grounded in affirma
tion of the Buddha-nature of all beings and so operates within a different
horizon of intelligibility. And it is precisely that difference which lends it
desirability for some Christian practitioners. Indeed, one can only affirm the
possibility of complementarity if one refuses to posit sameness – one must if
interreligious wisdom is to be a cherished goal.
Christian Eucharistic practice, by contrast, is not rooted in nondual met
aphysical commitments. Difference matters. The uniqueness of the many
gathered is affirmed in the singularity of each one, a singularity that is
drawn without reduction or elimination into relation and community. And,
of course and most obviously, the Eucharist is an act of worship of One
who is not in every sense identical to those who worship. Here, of course,
it is all too easy to become ontologically reductive. Christian theologies of
God are all, without exception, aware that God is not a finite and countable
object. To affirm that God is infinite is immediately to complicate every con
ventional depiction of the God–world relation as flatly akin to the relation
between finite objects.
One need only remember, for example, Nicholas of Cusa’s insistence that
God is best understood as non-aliud, Not-Other, to realize that Christian the
ological imagination cannot be narrowly confined to a dialogical frame that
is taken precisely to mirror dialogue as it takes place between two human
interlocutors. Beginning with St. Paul, Christians have affirmed that the “dia-
logical structure” of prayer is most peculiar. “Likewise the Spirit helps us in
our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very
Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words” (Rom 8:26: NRSV). God
prays to God in and through us; this is surely not dialogue as usual. Still,
devotional life is marked by a longing for One who is not just or simply me,
even if my longing for God is always already God’s longing in me.
With these differences between Eucharist and Dzogchen sketched, albeit
hastily, we are able to posit that the transreligious theologian might take up
both practices with faithfulness, integrity, and some enduring continuity so
as to be formed in depth by both practices and the matrices within which
those practices are embedded. The wager is that differences matter, that
there is an intimate noetic relation between the practices and what they seek
to illuminate, and that each grants access to dimensions of ultimate reality
that the other does not. The questions guiding the transreligious theolo
gian might include these: 1) Might there be dimensions of ultimate reality
that correlate to the nondualism of Dzogchen and the complicated logic
of singularity and relation present in Eucharist? 2) Might ultimate reality
contain dimensions that are, on the one hand, nondually related to world
and self and also dimensions that cannot be characterized as nondual and
might even be meaningfully encountered as personal? 3) If so, how might
one become maximally attuned, insofar as possible, to both dimensions and
features of ultimate reality? 4) What kind of theological living and writing
might follow from such transreligious living?
These questions, when taken together, point to the novelty and promise of
transreligious theology as a quest for interreligious wisdom. What is sought
is a practical braiding of spiritual disciplines, first, in the life of the practi
tioner and only then in the writing and teaching that might flow from such a
life. Textual writing follows only after a writing into a flesh of the therapeu
tic regimes of specific traditions, which creates in the practitioner the long
training that opens angles of vision that cannot be opened otherwise. The
practitioner’s primary goal is to arrive at a “sense and taste” for dimensions
of ultimate reality by means of just these practices and then just this second
set of practices. First-order intimacy is the cherished goal. The transformed
theologian is the first product of transreligious theology imagined in this
practical key; textual production follows next as an expression of what has
been so learned.
Notes
1 The charge against a narrowly cognitivist-propositional account of theology was
perhaps most famously made in contemporary theology by George Lindbeck in
his brilliantly argued, The Nature of Doctrine: Religion and Theology in a Post-
liberal Age (1984). My project is unlikely to be mistaken for his, but we do share
a conviction that theological life is embedded within larger cultural-linguistic
milieus. But there agreement ends. With other thinkers, most especially Kathryn
Tanner in Theories of Culture, I reject the notion that religious traditions are uni
tary, tightly integrated, cultural-linguistic schemes with transhistorically enduring
deep grammars. There are no nonporous boundaries between Christian meta-
narratives and non-Christian language games anywhere to be found because they
do not exist. Human beings, Christians being no exception, live at the intersection
of and navigate between multiple porous traditions, sacred and secular. We are,
all of us, always already multiple; the question is only whether we are intention
ally or accidentally so. On all these matters, it is impossible to exceed Tanner’s
work. See Tanner (1997).
2 For a discussion of these exemplary dual belongers, see Drew (2011).
3 For more about these figures, see Ulrich (2011) and (2004)
4 For a brief but illuminating account of the intensity of Swamiji’s struggle, see
Amaladoss (2016).
5 There is, of course, also the possibility that there may be more than one ulti
mate reality. This option has been proposed by a variety of thinkers, including,
most prominently, David Ray Griffin and John Cobb. Griffin also points to Mark
Heim as a kindred spirit and ally. For Griffin and Cobb, there are at least three:
God, a personal ultimate; creativity, a transpersonal ultimate; and the world itself.
Together, these three can account for personal religious experience, the transper
sonal experiences of Hindu and Buddhist traditions, and the cosmic/naturalistic
religiosities. See Griffin (2005).
References
Amaladoss, Michael. 2016. “Being Hindu-Christian: A Play of Interpretations – The
Experience of Swami Abhishiktananda,” pp. 89–98, in Many Yet One? Multiple
Religious Belonging, edited by Peniel Jesudason, Rufus Rajkumar, and Joseph
Prabhakar Dayam. Geneva: World Council of Churches.
Drew, Rose. 2011. Buddhist and Christian? An Exploration of Dual Belonging.
New York: Routledge.
Griffin, David R., ed. 2005. Deep Religious Pluralism. Louisville: Westminster John
Knox.
Hadot, Pierre. 1995. Philosophy as a Way of Life: Philosophical Exercises from
Socrates to Foucault. Malden, MA: Blackwell.
Lindbeck, George. 1984. The Nature of Doctrine: Religion and Theology in a Post-
liberal Age. Louisville: Westminster John Knox.
Ponticus, Evagrius. 1972. Evagrius Ponticus: The Praktikos. Chapters on Prayer.
Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications.
Tanner, Kathryn. 1997. Theories of Culture: A New Agenda for Theology. Minne
apolis: Fortress Press.
Ulrich, Edward T. 2004. “Swami Abhishiktananda and Comparative Theology.”
Horizons 31 (1): 40–63. doi:10.1017/s0360966900001067
Ulrich, Edward T. 2011. “Convergences and Divergences: The Lives of Swami
Abhishiktananda and Raimundo Panikkar.” Journal of Hindu-Christian Studies
24: 36–45. doi:10.7825/2164–6279.1486
6 My Buddha-nature and my
Christ-nature
Paul Knitter
Although any statement that is supposed to apply to all religions is risky,

I do believe that a case can be made that all wisdom traditions recognize, in
one form or another, that religions really don’t know what they are talking
about! All of them insist that what they are seeking or what they believe
they have come to experience, what many of them call ultimate reality, is
beyond all human comprehension. No human being, and no human com
munity of spiritual seekers, can grasp the fullness of God, or Tao, or Brah
man, or Wakan Tanka. As a tee-shirt that someone gave me – and which
would make an ideal gift for all theologians – puts it: “God is too big to fit
into any one religion.”
In my theology classes, I have used the image of ultimate reality or Truth
as a universe surrounding us that, in its vastness and richness, is beyond all
human sight. To see it, we need telescopes. But all such telescopes – in their
varying power and specializations – do two things: they enable us to see
more of the Truth that otherwise would be beyond our visual capacity; but
they also limit what we can see, for focusing on one part of the universe of
truth leaves out others. So in order to see more of the universe than what my
telescope allows me to see, I need to look through other telescopes that are
different in their abilities and specificities than mine.
The analogy is clear. If followers of the different wisdom traditions are
convinced that they have encountered and come to know a Truth that has
given meaning to their lives, they also know that there is more to the Truth
than what they know. They know, but they also know that they don’t know.
What more and more followers of the religions are coming to realize in our
interconnected, intercommunicating contemporary world is that they can
discover and come to know more of the Sacred by using, as it were, the
telescopes of other religions. In order to learn more of the Sacred, in order
to overcome the limitations of one’s own religion, one must engage the
teachings and practices of other religious paths. As Raimon Panikkar put
it with his typical edgy insightfulness: “To answer the question ‘Who/what
is my God,’ I have to ask the question ‘Who/what is your God’ ” (Panikkar
1979, 203).
DOI: 10.4324/9780429000973-9
66 Paul Knitter
That is a question posed in interreligious dialogue. To be authentic, dia
logue requires much more than “tolerant conversation” in which partici
pants are “nice” to each other. It is also more than a sincere conversation
in which all parties seek to learn more about each other. Anyone who truly
commits herself to real dialogue commits herself to the possibility and to the
expectation of learning from the other. And insofar as one learns something
new or different from another, one is also learning something new about
oneself. The goal is not just information but also transformation. One might
have to change not only one’s ideas but also one’s religious identity, one’s
way of being religious.
I’m going to write out of my own personal search for a spirituality that
can be experientially meaningful, intellectually coherent, and ethically
responsible. My reflections as a theologian will, in other words, be based on
my spiritual practices and experience. I hope that these reflections will be
an example of theology as “fides quaerens intellectum” – spiritual experi
ence trying to make sense of itself. I will be following the age-old Christian
directive that the “lex credendi” (how we believe) should flow from the
“lex orandi” (how we pray). Doctrine should be grounded in and tested by
spirituality.
I will begin with some of the difficulties or stumbling blocks that I and –
from my experience as a teacher and a preacher – many Christians have
with what they have been told to believe about Jesus the Christ. If Christians
no longer believe that “outside the church there is no salvation,” many now
struggle with the related claim “outside of Jesus there is no salvation.”
Many Christians sense a discomforting ambiguity when they ask them
selves: “Just how does Jesus save me? How is he my savior?” There is
increasing dissatisfaction with the atonement theory – that Jesus’s death
somehow paid the price that satisfied God’s wrath or demand for justice
after the “original sin.”
But what is to take the place of atonement? I want to suggest that our
conversation with Buddhism can provide some very welcome help.
I will be using the notion of “functional analogy” as it is developed by my
co-author, Roger Haight, in our recent book Jesus and Buddha: Friends in
Conversation (Haight and Knitter 2015). Functional analogies between two
differing traditions would be those teachings or symbols that, despite their
profound differences, serve similar purposes or respond to similar concerns
and thus can offer possibilities of comparison that illumine and enrich each
other.
The Tibetan Buddhist practice from which I would like to suggest some
functional analogies with the saving role of Jesus is that of Guru Yoga,
particularly as taught by my teacher, Lama John Makransky, as “benefactor
practice.”1 Tibetan teachers recognize the need for embodiments or visual
representations of the ultimate reality that is beyond conceptual comprehen
sion. These are our “spiritual benefactors,” who have embodied and so can
reveal the nature of mind. For Buddhists, of course, the primary spiritual
My Buddha-nature and my Christ-nature 67
benefactor will be Buddha, or Tara, or one of the vast team of bodhisattvas.
Makransky encourages Christians to welcome Jesus, as well as Mary, as
their spiritual benefactors.
Crucial for this practice is to visualize and truly feel the presence of the
spiritual benefactor. Visualizations of the benefactor are intense, particular,
contextual, and set in the vivid colors of what St. Ignatius in the Jesuit Spir
itual Exercises might call the “compositio loci.” The practitioner is encour
aged to feel the energy of the benefactor’s love that embraces and holds her
fully and penetrates, as Makransky puts it, into every cell of one’s body.
After having received the love of the benefactor into one’s total being, the
practitioner, in the second step of this practice, extends the love to all sen
tient beings.
The final phase is to let the images of the benefactor dissolve and allow
oneself to merge nonconceptually into the Essence Love that was manifest
and communicated through the benefactor. This is the “nonconceptual”
goal of the practice. We grow in awareness that there is a nondual oneness
between the spiritual benefactor and ourselves and also between the teacher
and student, between benefactor and recipient, between savior and saved,
within the vast cognizant, compassionate space that contains and animates
us all.
When Christians visualize Jesus as their spiritual benefactor, they can dis
cover deeper ways of understanding and experiencing Jesus. Seventy times
St. Paul uses the phrase “en Christo einei” – to be in Christ Jesus. The Bud
dhist benefactor practice functions analogously for the Christian as a way
of waking up to what it means or how it feels “to be in Christ Jesus,” or to
“put on the mind of Christ” (Phil 2:5), or to be the body of Christ (I Cor
12:27). Having gone through the visualization of Christ, having received of
the love of Christ, having extended that love to all the others that make up
his body, and finally having let the image go in order to fuse into the mystery
of the risen Christ-Spirit, the Christian can pronounce, with clarity, “It is
now no longer I who lives; it is Christ living in/as me” (Gal 2:20).
This is salvation – not as an atoning process that takes place outside of
oneself but as a transformative unitive experience. Jesus saves in essentially
the same way that the transcendent Buddha saves: not by constituting the
nature of mind or God’s saving love, but by revealing and so making it effec
tively present. With Christ, one is a recipient and a conduit of the Essence
Love that Jesus called Abba. To be saved, therefore, is the nondual experi
ence of being in Christ Jesus. In this experience, Jesus certainly plays a very
unique role. But it is a uniqueness that is, by its very nature, larger than
Jesus and so shareable with other unique embodiments of Essence Love or
Spirit.
In another functional analogy, both Buddha and Jesus can be considered
“liberators” – as bearers of a message that can enable humans to achieve
the well-being of what Buddha called enlightenment and of what Jesus
called the Reign of God. They shared a common starting point for their
68 Paul Knitter
preaching: the sufferings that all humans (though some more than oth
ers) have to face: the inadequacies, the perplexities, the insufficiencies, the
diminishments, the pains and disappointments that darken human exist
ence. Both teachers began their missions out of a concern for the sufferings
of their fellow human beings.
As indicated in the Second of the Four Noble Truths, for Buddhists, the
fundamental cause of suffering is found in the tanha, or self-centered greed,
that all humans have to deal with. This selfishness is caused by the ignorance
that human beings are born into. Hence, the importance of enlightening,
or transforming our sense of who and what we are. What we really are,
according to the teachings of the Dharma, is anatta – not-selves – beings
who exist as interbeings with others. Our own well-being consists in foster
ing the well-being of others. Enlightenment is to wake up to that truth, that
reality.
At this point, liberationist Christians will remind Buddhists that the
results of ignorance go beyond the individual. The actions that follow
upon my lack of awareness of my nature as anatta/not-self are not only
my actions; they become, slowly but inevitably, society’s actions. My own
ego-centered attitudes and acts become embodied in social forms; they
incarnate themselves, as it were, in the way society works. If Buddhists
understand karma to be the unavoidable results that follow every action or
choice we make, Christians will point out that individual karma becomes
social karma.
Sinful or greedy structures remain even after individuals have been
enlightened. Liberationist Christians insist on the reality of social sin, which
can remain even after individual sin has been removed. To transform the
structures of one’s awareness and thinking does not necessarily change the
structures of society. One can be enlightened and full of compassion for all
sentient beings without realizing that one remains a part of an economic
system that continues to cause suffering to others.
So Christians remind Buddhists that transforming oneself is different
from – and should not become a substitute for – transforming society. This
implies that compassion, though necessary, is insufficient. Justice is also nec
essary. If compassion calls us to feed the hungry, justice urges us to ask why
they are hungry. Mindfulness is necessary for living a life of inner peace, but
we also need social mindfulness of how our reified, ego-centric thoughts and
fears become reified social or political systems.
If Buddhists are to effectively extend their practice of personal mindfulness
to include social mindfulness, they will also have to take seriously the Chris
tian liberationists’ call for a “preferential option for the oppressed.” This
preference calls upon all spiritual seekers to be sure that their quest includes,
as an integral element, the effort to become aware of the experience of those
who have been pushed aside, those who don’t have a meaningful voice in the
decisions of state or school or neighborhood. Our “mindfulness” must also
include them, their experience, their reality.
This is what the liberation theologians mean by the “hermeneutical privi
lege of the poor.” From their position of suffering and exploitation, the
oppressed can see the world in ways that the powerful or the comfortable
cannot. The mindfulness we practice on our cushions or in our pews must
be balanced and expanded by the mindfulness gained on the streets.
If Christians remind Buddhists that personal transformation is incomplete
without social transformation, Buddhists in turn will remind Christians that
social transformation is impossible without personal transformation. For
Buddhists, I believe, inner transformation of consciousness has a certain
priority over social transformation.
One can carry out the task of being a bodhisattva only if one has expe
rienced the wisdom that produces compassion. Prajna, or wisdom, is what
one knows when one begins to wake up to the interconnectedness or the
interbeing of all reality. Realizing that one’s very being or self is not one’s
own but the being of all other selves, one will necessarily feel compassion
for all sentient beings.
Buddhists are calling Christians to recognize (or reaffirm) the subtle, but
real, primacy of contemplation over action and of compassion over justice.
The primacy of contemplation over action

There is a Buddhist conviction that we must undergo a profound personal
transformation before we can “wisely” interact with the world around us.
We are born into a fundamental ignorance that we must deal with before
we can begin to truly know who and what we and the world really are.
If we don’t overcome this ignorance before fixing the world’s problems,
we’re probably only going to cause more problems. Although Buddhists
have much to learn from Christians about what kind of action must arise
out of contemplation (that is, socially transformative action), Christians
need to learn from Buddhists why action without contemplation is unsus
tainable and dangerous.
Buddhist contemplation aims at a nondual experience of our interbeing
or reciprocal interdependence with what is ultimate (the nature of mind/
spirit). This is what establishes in us an inner peace; it is also what sustains
us in working for the Reign of God. No matter what happens, no matter
how much failure or opposition, if we are peace, we will continue to try to
make peace (Hanh 1992). Such inner peace and groundedness is a protector
or an antidote to the danger of burnout that threatens all social and peace
activists. Working for peace and justice is hard, often frustrating, work.
The primacy of compassion over justice

But contemplation manifests its priority not only by sustaining action but
also by guiding it. Thich Nhat Hanh challenges the Christian insistence on
the “preferential option for the oppressed.” God, he declares, doesn’t have
70 Paul Knitter
preferences. God – or Essence Love – embraces all beings – poor and rich,
oppressed and oppressor – equally (Hanh 1995).
Christians remind Buddhists that compassion without justice – that is,
without reform of structural injustice – is not enough to relieve suffering;
Buddhists remind Christians that, just as there can be no peace without jus
tice, there can also be no justice without compassion.
This Buddhist challenge reminds us of what Jesus himself taught. People
will know who Jesus’s disciples are not by their work for justice, but by
their love for each other. Jesus’s “first commandment” is love, not justice (Jn
13: 35). And Jesus called on us to love our enemies as much as we love our
friends, which means loving the oppressor as much as we love the oppressed.
This doesn’t mean we will not confront our enemies and oppressors. But our
primary motivation for doing so will not be the demand of justice, but the
demand of love. We will confront oppressors with what Makransky calls “a
fierce compassion” (Makransky 2014).
Thich Nhat Hanh, in his little book on Living Buddha, Living Christ,
informs Christians that, for a Buddhist, God doesn’t have favorites. He is
thus reminding Christians that just as there is a relationship of nonduality
between emptiness and form, or between Abba-Mystery and us, so there
is a nonduality between oppressed and oppressor. Both are expressions of
interbeing and Abba-Mystery. The actions of oppressor or oppressed are
clearly different. But their identities are the same. And that means that my
own identity is linked to both oppressed and oppressors.
Therefore, we do not respond to the oppressed out of compassion and
to the oppressor out of justice. No, we respond to both out of compassion!
Compassion for both the oppressed and the oppressor. So, yes, we want to
liberate the oppressed. But just as much, we want to liberate the oppressors.
Compassion for the oppressor will be expressed differently than compassion
for the oppressed. But just as much, we want to free the oppressors from the
illusions that drive them to greed and to the exploitation of others. Such a
nonpreferential option for compassion that extends equally and clearly to
both oppressed and oppressors will be the foundation on which justice can
be built, on which structures can be changed.
Some kind of a spiritual practice that will foster and sustain our inner
transformation and resources is imperative. To have begun the process of
awakening to oneness with Christ and to what Jesus experienced as the
unconditional love of the Abba-Mystery can assure us that our efforts are
not just our own efforts. Once we begin to wake up to the wisdom that
reveals to us that all our efforts are grounded in and expressions of the
Abba-Mystery that is active in and as us, once we begin to realize that in
working for peace and justice we are doing what our Christ-nature neces
sarily calls us to do – then we will also realize that, as the Bhagavad Gita
tells us, the value of our actions are not determined by their fruits. The value
of our actions is in our actions themselves, for they are also the actions of
Abba.
This deeper experience of the nonduality between the Abba-Mystery and
the world, or between the future and the present Reign of God, assures
Christians that even though their efforts to bring the world closer to the
Reign of God fail, Abba and the Reign are still present and available. In
both success and failure, the Reign of God is both already/not yet.
The Buddhist experience of “enlightenment,” of waking up to what
Mahayana Buddhists term our “Buddha-nature,” is, I believe, a prompt for
Christians to enter more profoundly into the unitive experience signaled in
John’s description of Jesus as “one with the Father” and “one with us” (Jn 14),
or in Paul’s description (I would dare say “definition”) of a Christian as
someone who exists “in Christ.” I am suggesting that the nondual unity
that Mahayana Buddhists affirm between emptiness and form, or between
Nirvana and Samsara, or (in Thich Nhat Hanh’s terminology) between
interbeing and all finite beings, is analogous to, if not the same as, the unity
between Jesus and Abba or between Christ and us. The divine and the finite,
the creator and the created are, like emptiness and form, distinct but insepa
rable. They co-inhere. They “inter-are.”
When we begin to “awaken” to our oneness with Christ in the Father,
when we begin to feel that “it is no longer I who live but Christ who lives
in me” (Gal 3: 21), we are awakening to what Buddhists call prajna, or
wisdom – the awareness of the fundamental, all pervasive interconnected
ness of all reality. We are all truly “one in the Spirit.” And this realization
that we are interlinked in the Divine Mystery will naturally bring forth in us
what Buddhists call karuna, compassion, for all our fellow human beings –
indeed, for all sentient beings. To love our neighbor is not a commandment;
it is a natural necessity.
Here Buddhists are offering us Christians an opportunity to clarify, per
haps reform, our soteriology – our doctrine on how Jesus brings about “sal
vation.” The cross can save a world wracked by the sufferings caused by
greed and hatred and violence by embodying and making clear the power of
nonviolent love. Jesus died on the cross not because the Father willed it, but
because he refused, as the Dhammapada counsels, to answer hatred with
hatred. Rather than answering the violence of the colonizing Romans and
their local collaborators with his own violence, rather than abandoning his
mission of proclaiming the Reign of God, he responded with love and trust,
and, as the Latin American martyrs express it, he was “disappeared.”
And the power of this embodiment of nonviolent love was such that,
after he died, his followers, gathered around the table to break bread and
remember him, realized that he was still with them. His example of love
confronting hatred, of nonviolence responding to violence, transformed
their lives with the power to go and do likewise. To be so transformed is to
be redeemed and saved. His followers share in his “Christ-nature,” just as
the followers of Buddha continue to realize their “Buddha-nature.” And by
realizing my Buddha-nature, I have been able to understand and to live my
Christ-nature.
72 Paul Knitter
Note
1 This benefactor practice is laid out clearly and practically in Makransky’s Awak
ening through Love (2007).
References
Haight, Roger, and Paul Knitter. 2015. Jesus and Buddha: Friends in Conversation.
Maryknoll: Orbis Books. doi:10.1086/696274
Hanh, Thich N. 1992. Peace Is Every Step: The Path of Mindfulness in Everyday
Life. New York: Bantam.
Hanh, Thich N. 1995. Living Buddha, Living Christ. New York: Riverhead Books.
Makransky, John. 2007. Awakening Through Love. Somerville, MA: Wisdom
Publications.
Makransky, John. 2014. “A Buddhist Critique of, and Learning from, Chris
tian Liberation Theology.” Theological Studies 75 (3): 635–657. doi:10.1177
/0040563914541028
Panikkar, Raimundo. 1979. “The Myth of Pluralism: The Tower of Babel – A Medi
tation on Non-Violence.” CrossCurrents 29 (2): 197–230.
7 “Why not ten 60-foot
wells?”1
Peter Savastano
Religious book knowledge and the heart’s

religious experiences
William C. Chittick, the scholar of Islamic philosophy and Sufism, dis
tinguishes between two kinds of spiritual knowledge: “transmitted” and
“intellectual.” We acquire transmitted knowledge by studying theories
about religion constructed by acknowledged experts such as theologi
ans, religious scholars and the custodians of orthodoxy (Chittick 2007).2
Transmitted knowledge, therefore, is that which we take for granted
based on the claims of authority and expertise. Such received knowl
edge, religion based on theories, doctrines, and dogmas, has a venerable
history, because the transmission of ancient traditions from master to
student and from past communities to new generations is paramount in
educating human beings. We learn the rules so as to conform our experi
ences to align with our received traditions that socialize us into the reli
gious communities into which we are born. But this book knowledge and
accumulation of theories is not enough. Inevitably, theories are never
enough: theory eventually hits the wall of personal experiences. For
those whose religious knowledge limits a genuine spiritual journey or
quest, a breaking out of traditional and received forms, Chittick claims
the acquisition of “intellectual knowledge” becomes crucial, although
his term is counter to what Westerners would understand by this term as
knowledge gained by reasoning and processes of abstraction. However,
in the Islamic mystical tradition and in its particular emphases employed
by the Sufis (Muslim mystics), intelligence is not acquired solely by the
ratiocinative functions of the mind alone. “Intellectual knowledge” is
learning by and through the heart (qalb), a knowledge formed in the
crucible of one’s experiences “on the ground” as opposed to the nontur
bulent flights of personally untested theories. Grounding spiritual expe
riences are attained (hopefully) by practices through which we write our
own books. In Islamic mysticism, the intellect is the “heart,” the core of
a person’s religious and spiritual self where experiences override theories
to produce deeper truths.
DOI: 10.4324/9780429000973-10
74 Peter Savastano
I am an academic, an anthropologist of religion and consciousness by
training, forced by my guild to teach my students traditional concepts and
theories rather than to transmit what I have learned about being human
and religious through my life’s actual experiences. I know how to write and
speak about the Great Mystery (God) conventionally in ways all scholars
in my field would approve. It has taken me years to realize that I teach my
students best as I learned best. I help them to trust their own experiences so
that they can confidently test for themselves the theories we discuss in class.
They must not regurgitate for me what has been written and said. Instead,
they learn best when they are free to explore the viability of theories within
the context of their own lives and experiences. As the Quaker saying goes:
“Jesus said this, Paul said that, George Fox says this, but what do you say?”
In the light of these received traditions, who are you? Let your “heart” be
critical. What’s your perspective on these theories from where you actually
stand? My students must learn, as I have struggled to learn, that in the face
of religious traditions I must “hold my ground” and realize that, in the end,
as Thomas Merton wrote, “only experience counts.”
A foremost scholar of world religious traditions, Huston Smith, during
an interview in the 1990s with NPR’s Terry Gross, referred to the personal
path he found and made through his encounter with various religious tradi
tions. He learned he knew these traditions best when he practiced what they
preached:
Mine has been a rather peculiar history, and I don’t want to leave the
impression that one is in any way spiritually ahead because of this kind
of incorporation. I liked what a teacher in India once said to me. If you
are drilling for water, it’s better to drill one 60-foot well than ten 6-foot
wells. And generally speaking, I think a kind of smorgasbord cafeteria,
choosing from here and there is not productive. So I would not at all put
what’s happened, I feel, to be feasible for me in any way ahead of where
I might be if I had devoted my entire spiritual exercises to Christianity.
The authenticity of Smith’s scholarship, however, is that he did dig ten

6-foot wells, metaphorically speaking, rather than one 60-foot well. The
map he charted through his own spiritual journey was uniquely informa
tive. We would not hold his career in such esteem had he not explored and
been transformed by the many practices he utilized from religious traditions
other than his received Christianity.
Over the course of my own 49-year spiritual journey, I, too, have heard
exhortations similar to the one given to Smith by the Indian teacher. In my
case the warnings to me that I should stick with one religious tradition only
and not “dig ten 6-foot wells instead of one 60-foot well” has been sug
gested to me by a number of spiritual teachers from whom I have sought
enlightenment. Over the course of my life, I have sat at the feet of teachers of
my received traditions, Catholic and Eastern Orthodox, but I have also sat
“Why not ten 60-foot wells?” 75
with the Quakers, with a Qalandar Sufi Shaykh from Kashmir, with a Zen
Buddhist teacher, with a Tibetan Buddhist Lama, and with a Tibetan Bon
Lama. At first, I tried to follow their instructions but, ultimately, another
deeper urge took over. Their exhortations often contradicted my life’s expe
riences. At the same time, I have always been aware that relying on per
sonal experience risks delusion, so for over 20 years I have maintained a
relationship with a spiritual director. My spiritual guide has helped me to
discern and adhere to a personal spiritual path that can ground and critique
all my “inner promptings.” But like Huston Smith, my spiritual journey
has plumbed heights and depths. My heart knowledge has been expanded
through my immersion in religious traditions other than the Christian tradi
tion into which I was baptized and first nurtured.
I self-identify as an Episcopalian Christian who is also an ordained Epis
copal Clergyperson. But I acknowledge that my being grounded in my Epis
copalian tradition has been given more solid ground by my practices in
various religious traditions that include the Tibetan, Zen and Bon-Buddhist,
the universal Sufi tradition, strands of Native American sacred healing tradi
tions, and diverse forms of Western Esotericism.3
In choosing to follow my inner guide, I have found it beneficial to dig
many 6-foot wells rather than only one 60-foot shaft. I have allowed “the
Spirit” through my experiences with other religious traditions to disclose its
presence to and within me. I have engaged “the Spirit” and have become
more in touch with the Divine Presence within by going outside the circle of
Christian concepts, symbols, and narratives that I still must acknowledge as
my native tongue, religiously speaking.
The importance of practice

In my experience, spiritual exercises have been the agents of my spiritual
transformation and growth. More than my studies of doctrine and dogmas,
it is practice that facilitates actual spiritual experience. Yet I am also an aca
demic, an anthropologist, and a scholar of religious studies. As an anthro
pologist I conduct research by doing fieldwork, learning a society’s culture
by participating in it as comprehensively as possible rather than observing
it from afar. I consider spiritual exercises drawn from various religious tra
ditions as a form of doing inner fieldwork. I have learned less about “the
Spirit” alive in religious traditions by hearing and so much more by tasting
and feeling.
I cannot name every practice from every spiritual tradition I have engaged
in and found fruitful, but it might be illustrative to list at least a few.
Christian exercises
I have practiced Centering Prayer as developed by Fr. Thomas Keating, Cyn
thia Bourgeault, and others.4 Within Eastern Orthodoxy, I pray with holy
76 Peter Savastano
icons and practice “prayer of the heart” as inspired by the collection of texts
from the early fourth century CE to the eighteenth century known as the
Philokalia. The English translation of this Greek and Slavic compendium
exposes the hesychastic practice of continually reciting “the Jesus prayer,”
its most complete form being “Jesus, Son of God, have mercy on me a sin
ner.” The recitation of this prayer involves bodily postures, often in the form
of prostrations that accompany the recitation of the prayer. One of the aims
of this practice is to redirect one’s consciousness away from its traditional
Western orientation in the head and place one’s awareness into the heart.
The prayer is usually synchronized with the inhalation and exhalation of
the breath while using a prayer rope to count the number of repetitions
of the prayer (and also as a way of engaging the body). The greatest propo
nent of the hesychastic method of prayer is Gregory Palamas (1296–1359)
in his classic The Triads (Palamas 1983).
From the Quaker tradition, I have incorporated the practice of sitting in
silent, expectant waiting on The Inner Light of Christ, or The Light Within,
as more universalist Quakers refer to the divine presence immanent in
human beings.
Sufism
From the Sufi tradition, I have participated in the Dances of Universal Peace
and by the “turning” of the Mevlevi lineage of Sufis, popularly known as
“whirling dervishes.” The Mevlevi regard Rumi as their primary sheikh
(master) and founder. I have practiced the Zikr (Remembrance) of the
Divine Names, of which there are traditionally 99, identified in the Qur’an.
I have prayed the formula La ill Allah illallahu recited in synchronization
with the breath, both in a group and individually.5
Buddhism
From the Vajrayana Buddhist tradition, I have practiced the Tersar Ngondro,
translated as “Preliminary Practices.” These meditations involve the body
(postures), speech (recitation of mantras), and mind (visualizations), all of
which are done simultaneously and draw on the various yogas (stages of
development toward enlightenment) of the rich tantric repertoire of sadha
nas (meditation practices).6
My involvement with Bon-Buddhism7 also required the practice of a
Ngondro. However, since my engagement with Bon-Buddhism was approx
imately five years, I did not do as much practice in that tradition as I did
in Vajrayana Buddhism. In both lineages of Bon-Buddhism and Vajrayana
Buddhism, I received many empowerments (Wongs), which are direct trans
missions of the Buddha-mind of Enlightenment from the teacher to the stu
dent, and initiations (Lungs), which authorized me to engage in various
meditation sadhanas beyond the preliminaries of the Ngondro.
My encounters with Zen Buddhism included sitting practice (shikan taza,
which means “just sitting” in English) under the guidance of a Zen teacher.
I received instructions during sessiens (intensive sitting and walking medita
tion retreats) and koan study, that is, meditation upon a series of paradoxi
cal sayings and their commentaries, of which the most famous is “What is
the sound of one hand clapping?” (Yuasa 1981).
Shamanism
I have engaged with “shamanism,” a troubled term from the perspective
of the many Indigenous peoples whose sacred ritual and healing traditions
have been so labeled by Western scholars. I have taken workshops and vari
ous trainings in what I would term “neo-shamanic” techniques and rituals.
From neo-shamanism I have similarly employed journeying techniques as
I had been taught them to engage Jesus, the Virgin Mary, and many of
the saints to whom I am devoted. In as much as Tibetan Buddhism has
shamanistic components, I have used Vajrayana Buddhist “visualization”
techniques to visualize Christian holy personages, like Jesus, the angels, or
particular Christian saints to whom I am devoted.
There are also times when my experience of the divine surpasses all con
cepts and metaphors. This is an experience of the apophatic nature of The
Great Mystery which I describe as “the scaffolding falling away.”
To realize the divine in nonanthropomorphic terms and more as dynamic,
verb-like qualities or attributes, such as “The Real” (al-Haqq) or as Mercy
or Compassion (ar-Rahman or ar-Rahim), liberates me from thinking of God
as a white male with long hair and a beard. This practice of visualizing the
divine or ultimate reality as energies or qualities facilitates an experience of
The Great Mystery that is vibrant and active rather than as static or noun-
like. To switch modes of perception in this way facilitates an encounter with
ultimate reality (holy wisdom) as a way of being that is greater than one
limited by human characteristics. I am also able to plummet the depths of
my being where I can encounter such divine attributes or qualities as bub
bling up from deep within the recesses of my consciousness. These qualities
are reflections to me of what Thomas Merton referred to as Le Point Vierge,
that place in our consciousness which intimately unites us to the Divine
Presence, making it difficult to make distinctions between the divine and
the human.8
In describing the divine as the real, as ultimate reality, and as my personal
favorite, The Great Mystery,9 I am describing the personal, relational God
of the Abrahamic traditions, but not anthropomorphically. It might seem
that I am describing some impersonal force or entity much more in align
ment with the nontheistic traditions such as Taoism or Buddhism, but that is
not at all what I am doing. But by engaging in these non-Christian practices,
I have expanded my understanding and experience of the Abrahamic God.
On other levels, my engagement with Taoism and Buddhism has allowed
78 Peter Savastano
a personal encounter with the Great Mystery informed by contemporary
physics.10
Some years ago, I had a conversation with my spiritual director about
whether or not God, ultimate reality, or The Great Mystery is personal or
impersonal. We agreed that ultimate reality or God manifests in both per
sonal and impersonal modes (or sometimes simultaneously as both), analo
gous to particle and wave theory in contemporary physics. We agreed that
we humans do not control the mode in which the “divine” is disclosed to us;
nor can we control how and when such disclosure happens. Manifesting in
personal mode is analogous to particle mode in physics, while manifesting
in impersonal mode is akin to wave mode. It is difficult to measure or prove
a subjective experience of the Great Mystery, but at various times in my life
I have experienced the divine both as a deeply personal and relational pres
ence (I/Thou) and/or as an impersonal ground or force (I/It) that is animat
ing my own consciousness and that of all of creation simultaneously.
The downward spiral

No doubt I leave the impression that I have engaged in a rather meander
ing assortment of traditions in one lifetime (the very cafeteria or smorgas
bord experiences Huston Smith describes and cautions against). However,
my practice of the contemplative traditions of many religions has not been
superficial or casual. I have studied and practiced in these various traditions
over extended periods, sometimes up to 15 or 20 years consecutively. Tak
ing this approach has prepared me for doing Theology Without Walls.
The pattern that best illustrates my inclusive religious experiences and
spiritual exercises is that of a downward spiral initiated in my life as a youth
of 15. Each time I have engaged with one of these traditions, I have practiced
their exercises for several years at a time before moving on to another tra
dition. However, re-engagement does not occur with a previously engaged
tradition until I have received inner instructions to do so. Each time I have
engaged in another spiritual practice, I have gone deeper into it, thus mak
ing the pattern downward spiral–like. As I have spiraled down through vari
ous practices from other traditions, I have also maintained my engagement
with my original Christian tradition simultaneously and interspiritually.
My engagements with various spiritual exercises have always included the
study of sacred texts by drawing on many different academic disciplines; an
encounter with living teachers of these traditions with whom I have studied;
and an adopting of the ritual, devotional, and meditative practices that each
tradition offers to the spiritual seeker.
My interspiritual approach has allowed me to learn not only the trans
mitted knowledge of these religious traditions but also their devotional and
ethical practices that are their beating heart. Interspirituality has provided
the field site by which I test a religious tradition’s transmitted knowledge
through my personal experiences. I theorize and practice interspiritually so
as to taste the intellectual knowledge that is rooted in my heart and not only
in my books. I have touched the kernel beyond the shell of each tradition.
Aided by my spiritual director, I have discerned what spiritual practices have
worked for me by years of testing and experimentation.
The scaffolding falls away

I now explore one of the most important features of this downward spiral
pattern of living interspiritually. It can be identified as the experience of hav
ing “the scaffolding fall away,” where all structure momentarily disappears
as one realizes one knows nothing of the divine. It is an utterly apophatic
moment when one enters a “cloud of unknowing.” This consciousness of
a void surpasses and defies all symbols, concepts, and sacred narratives, all
of the predetermined givens of any particular religious tradition.11 Living
under this “cloud of unknowing” is basically an inexpressible experience as
one “free-falls” when all the structures fall away.
In Participation in the Mystery, Transpersonal Essays in Psychology,
Education and Religion, Jorge N. Ferrer writes that “Participatory enac
tion entails a model of spiritual engagement that does not simply reproduce
certain tropes according to a given historical a priori, but rather embarks
upon the adventure of openness to the novelty and creativity of nature or
the mystery” (Ferrer 2017, 15). By participatory enaction, I understand Fer
rer to mean that the mystery is capable of unfolding in unpredictable ways.
There are no predetermined maps for navigating the experience. One enters
a seemingly vast wilderness of thick trees. As Sarah Coakley so astutely
points out,
A love affair with a blank, such as contemplation is, is a strange subver

sion of all certainties, a stripping, often painful, of what one previously
took for granted [. . .] The act of contemplation involves a willed sus
pension of one’s rational agendas, a silent waiting.
(Coakley 2013, 342, emphasis added)
One becomes a co-creator (through participatory enaction) in the novelty

of the mystery’s unfolding. To be a co-creator, as I read Ferrer, means that
I am not separate from The Great Mystery or the cosmos, but rather, I have
participatory agency in the process of novel, revelatory unfoldings. As such,
I bring to the process of this novel cosmic unfoldment my bodily, instinc
tive, sexual, emotional, intellectual, and intuitive intelligence, all of which
become the media for the manifestation (and embodiment) of The Great
Mystery in ways unique and particular to me.
Ferrer goes on to write:
Hence, the participatory perspective does not contend that there are
two, three, or any limited quantity of pre-given spiritual ultimates, but
80 Peter Savastano
rather that the radical openness, interrelatedness, and creativity of the
mystery or the cosmos allows for the participatory co-creation of an
indefinite number of ultimate self-disclosures of reality and correspond
ing religious worlds.
(Coakley 2013, 16–17)
Reading Ferrer helps me to name this experience of “the scaffolding fall

ing away.” I am momentarily lost in The Great Mystery. I am an active
participant in the radiance of the Mystery’s disclosure. I realize that I am a
part of the unfolding, multiple possibilities of reality. I experience a world of
possibilities in which I am, simultaneously, a co-creator and a total stranger.
My task or “fate” is to explore the novelty of this experience in the hope
that, as I assimilate it, I might be able to articulate it by making this “void”
visible to myself and possibly for others.
When the epiphany of The Great Mystery within my consciousness
reveals itself, I am stripped of all points of reference. In my experience, these
periods of “the scaffolding falling away” coincides with the moment when
my immersion in a particular religious tradition exhausts itself, when all ele
ments of a tradition lose agency to help one’s searching. As much as I might
cling to it, warning myself that I must remain faithful to the tradition engag
ing me, the reality is that I have no agency that mediates my relationship
with ultimate reality or the divine.
In trying to make sense of this experience on a theoretical level, John
Caputo’s exposition of Jacque Derrida’s work has been most helpful: “The
point of view of Derrida’s work as an author is religious – but without reli
gion and without religion’s God – and no one understands a thing about
this alliance,” Caputo writes (Caputo 1997, xviii). I have been in the place
Caputo describes here, especially in the last 15 to 20 years. I make no claims
of being finished with this process. I am not in control when it happens.
This space/place/state with no scaffolding is both elating and troubling.
I am elated because it is a life-enhancing adventure to lose the path of each
religious tradition regarding prayer and meditation, with nothing to rely on
or to guide me in the process. It is troubling because this loss of something
to rely on leaves me having to face The Great Mystery alone and uncertain
of the novelty which may emerge. In dealing with this uncertainty, not only
have Caputo and Derrida provided guideposts along the way, but so have
some Sufi traditions which acknowledge that there is a station in the spir
itual quest when one transcends (or descends from) any religious structure
as every crutch falls away.
Lessons from Thomas Merton and Sufism

The twentieth-century Catholic monk, mystic, poet, and social justice activ
ist Thomas Merton, knew this too. Being very much aware of this part
of the process by which the constructs of a religious tradition no longer
provide support or succor, one must come face to face with The Great Mys
tery on its terms. Here, Merton presciently anticipated thinkers such as Der
rida, Caputo, and Ferrer. He did not have the opportunity to do very much
subsequent writing about his own experience of what I name as having the
scaffolding fall away, due to his sudden death on December 10, 1968. He
was, however, able to recognize his own experience when he read a book
that matched his own experience, Final Integration of the Adult Personality
by A. Reza Arasteh (1965a).
Arasteh was an Iranian American psychologist who explored, through a
Sufi lens, the process by which certain human beings undergo final spiritual
integration. As the penultimate step in this final stage of adult integration,
Arasteh emphasizes a phase by which a person is stripped of all cultural
references and constructs, but most specifically those cultural references and
constructs that are provided by her or his religion. He presents his case
studies of ordinary twentieth-century persons experiencing this process.
He also names well-known historical figures whom he identifies as having
experienced final integration, among whom are the twelfth-century Persian
Sufi Rumi and the eighteenth-century German poet, naturalist, and mystic
Goethe.
In Final Integration of the Adult Personality and his subsequent books
(Arasteh 1965b, 1980), Arasteh proposes a series of necessary steps or “sta
tions” in final integration by which one is stripped of one’s religious con
ditioning and traditions. This results in what he calls an “anxious search.”
The result of this anxious searching is the ultimate experience of returning
to the religious tradition of one’s cultural heritage,12 free of its doctrinal
and dogmatic constraints. Now integrated, according to Arasteh, one’s own
inner guide engages with the divine. But in light of Ferrer’s ideas briefly
outlined earlier, there may, in fact, be no need to return to one’s religious
tradition, given the novel and pluralistic ways that “The Great Mystery”
may choose to disclose itself. “The future of religion,” writes Ferrer, “will
be shaped by spiritually individuated persons engaged in processes of cos
mological hybridization in the context of a common spiritual family that
honors a global order of respect and civility” (Ferrer 2017, 37, original
emphasis). Thomas Merton, quoting Arasteh, sums up this state of final
integration:
The man (sic) who has final integration is no longer limited by the cul
ture in which he has grown up. “He has embraced all of life. . . . He
has experienced qualities of every type of life”: ordinary human exist
ence, intellectual life, artistic creation, human love, religious life. He
passes beyond all these limiting forms while retaining all that is best
and most universal in them, “finally giving birth to a fully comprehen
sive self.” He accepts not only his own society, his own community, his
own friends, his own culture but all mankind (sic). He does not remain
bound to one limited set of values in such a way that he opposes them
82 Peter Savastano
aggressively or defensively to others. He is fully “Catholic” in the best
sense of the word. He has a unified vision and experience of the one
truth shining out in all its various manifestations, some clearer than oth
ers. He does not set these partial views up in opposition to each other
but unifies them in a dialectic or an insight of complementarity. With
this view of life he is able to bring perspective, liberty and spontaneity
into the lives of others. The finally integrated man (sic) is a peacemaker.
That is why there is such a desperate need for our leaders to become
such men of insight.
(Merton 1998, 207)13
Arasteh believed that such a final integration of the adult personality was
achieved by only an exemplary few because of the suffering and anxiety
required to attain this state. “Many are called, few chosen.” I do not claim
that my experiences of “the scaffolding falling away” is a prelude to my
attaining final integration. About such possibilities, it is best to remain
speechless. If the end all spiritual exercises is the revelation of one’s igno
rance, perhaps this is the only outcome to which I can authentically aspire.
I realize I am no longer the teacher, only a novice always needing to begin
again and again.
Notes
1 I am deeply grateful to my friend and colleague, Jonathan Montaldo, Thomas
Merton scholar and of all things mystical extraordinaire, for his helpful sugges
tions in improving this chapter.
2 See especially Chapter 2.
3 About Native American sacred traditions, I have just finished editing a collection
of essays on the Roman Catholic monk, mystic, social activist, and poet Thomas
Merton’s engagement with such traditions entitled Merton & Indigenous Wis
dom (2019).
4 See especially, Keating (2012), Bourgeault (2016), and Frenette (2012).
5 See especially, Helminski (2000). La illaha illallahu is usually translated as
“There is no God but God” with the addition of the Hu. Sufis often interpret
La illaha illallahu as “There is nothing but God,” and the Hu on the end of the
formula suggests the vibratory or energetic nature of God’s presence much in the
same way that Om does in Hinduism.
6 Unfortunately, time and space constraints do not permit me to go into any
greater detail about the nature of Tibetan Buddhist practices, nor does the prom
ises one makes when being initiated into these practices to not reveal their details
any more than I have. For those who are curious or would like to explore these
practices for themselves, the internet offers a rich resource of possible connec
tions to teachers and Dharma Centers.
7 The Bon tradition of Buddhism in Tibet claims to be an older, more ancient form
of Buddhism than that brought from Nepal to Tibet by Padmasambhava in the
eighth century CE. In fact, the lore is that the founder of Bon was a Buddha
who lived at least 2,000 to 8,000 years before the historical Buddha that most
of us are familiar with. It is also believed that Bon embodies much more the pre-
Buddhist indigenous shamanism of Tibet.
8 For more on Le Point Vierge, see Shannon (2002, 363–364).
9 As previously noted, to refer to the sacred as The Great Mystery is the way that
seems to best approximate my own first-hand personal experience. I should also
note that I am indebted to the First Nation Indigenous peoples of the Americas
sacred ritual and healing traditions for this way of addressing the sacred.
10 There is a vast literature on the intersection of religion, science, and physics –
too much to elaborate on here. However, one deeply personal source by one
of the leading thinkers of contemporary physics is Heisenberg (1971). Another
much more current is Lightman (2018). For ways in which the Abrahamic tradi
tions are enriched and expanded through engagement with the sacred ritual and
healing traditions of the First Nation Indigenous peoples of the Americas, see
Charleston (2015). Charleston is a citizen of the Choctaw Nation of Oklahoma
and also a retired Bishop of the Episcopal Church.
11 Although there is a wealth of writings on the apophatic dimension of mystical
experience, among the best, though not easy reading, is Sells (1994). One of the
interesting aspects of Sells’s book is that it addresses apophatic experience from
within the context of many religious traditions rather than only the Christian
tradition. Another is Keller (2015).
12 And, by extension I would add, to any religious tradition in which one has
immersed oneself.
13 See especially Essay XIII.
References
Arasteh, Reza A. 1965a. Final Integration of the Adult Personality. Netherlands: E.
J. Brill.
Arasteh, Reza A. 1965b. Rumi the Persian. New York and London: Routledge &
Kegan Paul.
Arasteh, Reza A. 1980. Growth to Selfhood. New York and London: Routledge &
Kegan Paul.
Bourgeault, Cynthia. 2016. The Heart of Centering Prayer, Nondual Christianity in
Theory and Practice. Boulder, CO: Shambhala.
Caputo, John D. 1997. The Prayers and Tear of Jacques Derrida, Religion
Without Religion. Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press.
doi:10.1177/004057369905600126
Charleston, Steven. 2015. The Four Vision Quests of Jesus. New York: Morehouse
Publishing.
Chittick, William C. 2007. Science of the Cosmos, Science of the Soul: The Persistence
of Islamic Cosmology in the Modern World. London: Oneworld Publications.
Coakley, Sarah. 2013. God, Sexuality and the Self, An Essay ‘On the Trinity.’ Cam
bridge, England: Cambridge University Press. doi:10.1017/s003181911300079x
Ferrer, Jorge N. 2017. Participation in the Mystery, Transpersonal Essays in Psy
chology, Education, and Religion. Albany: State University of New York.
Frenette, David. 2012. The Path of Centering Prayer, Deepening Your Experience of
God. Boulder, CO: Sounds True.
Heisenberg, Werner. 1971. Physics and Beyond, Encounters and Conversations,
edited by Ruth Nanda Anshen. New York, Evanston and London: Harper & Row.
Helminski, Camille, trans. 2000. The Mevlevi Wird. Soquel, CA: The Threshold Society.
Keating, Thomas. 2012. Invitation to Love, The Way of Christian Contemplation.
Twentieth Anniversary ed. London & New York: Bloomsbury.
84 Peter Savastano
Keller, Catherine. 2015. Cloud of the Impossible, Negative Theology and Planetary
Entanglement. New York: Columbia University Press. doi:10.1111/rsr.12229
Lightman, Alan. 2018. Searching for Stars on an Island in Maine. New York: Pan
theon Books.
Merton, Thomas. 1998. Contemplation in a World of Action. Notre Dame, IN:
University of Notre Dame Press.
Merton, Thomas. 2019. Merton & Indigenous Wisdom. Louisville, KY: FonsVitae
Press.
Palamas, Gregory. 1983. The Triads, the Classics of Western Spirituality. Mahwah,
NJ: Paulist Press.
Sells, Michael A. 1994. Mystical Languages of Unsaying. Chicago and London: The
University of Chicago Press.
Shannon, William, Christine M. Bochen, and Patrick F. O’Connell. 2002. The
Thomas Merton Encyclopedia. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books. doi:10.1017/
s0360966900000876
Yuasa, Nobuyuki. 1981. The Zen Poems of Ryokan. Princeton, NJ: Princeton Uni
versity Press.
8 Theology Without Walls
An interspiritual approach
Rory McEntee
[C]ommunity cannot feed for long on itself; it can only flourish where always
the boundaries are giving way to the coming of others from beyond them –
unknown and undiscovered brothers [and sisters].
– Howard Thurman, The Search for Common
Ground (Thurman 1986)1
Introduction: embodying TWW, the

Snowmass Dialogues
In 1984, Father Thomas Keating, a Roman Catholic monk in the Order of
Cistercians of the Strict Observance (also known as “Trappists”), convened
a group of advanced contemplatives from differing religious traditions,
including Buddhist, Hindu, Jewish, Islamic, Native American, Russian
Orthodox, Protestant, and Roman Catholic participants. The idea was to
engage one another in intimate dialogue over five days in a private retreat
setting. Its primary purpose was not “interreligious” dialogue, in the sense
of learning about the doctrines and practices of religious traditions other
than one’s own. Rather, as Keating describes it, he invited the participants to
“meditate together in silence, and to share our personal spiritual journeys,
especially those elements in our respective traditions that have proved most
helpful to us along the way” (Miles-Yepez 2006, xvii). Participants were
not meant to speak for their tradition – as representatives – but first and
foremost as human beings engaged in spiritually transformative processes,
processes informed and inflected by religious and cultural traditions.
Keating, who has been my most formative spiritual mentor and who
passed away just a few months ago (at the ripe old age of 95), was a pow
erful figure in the renewal of the Christian contemplative tradition. He
helped develop the now widespread silent meditation technique of Center
ing Prayer and pioneered experiments in interreligious exchange as abbot
of St. Joseph’s monastery in Spencer, Massachusetts. Over decades of par
ticipating in interreligious dialogues, Keating began to realize that the most
interesting “dialogue” always seemed to happen at the margins of events, in
private during meals, for instance, or in car rides to and from the airport.
DOI: 10.4324/9780429000973-11
86 Rory McEntee
Once participants found themselves on stage, however, a different dynamic
ensued. They spoke to the audience, not to each other, and often felt they
had to represent their religious tradition, limiting what they felt comfortable
saying. What would happen, Keating wondered, if we simply shared our
spiritual journeys as human beings, learning from one another, and discov
ering together our experiences of ultimacy?
Keating’s insight was an auspicious one. The group he convened in 1984
continued to meet once a year for five-day retreats over the next 30+ years,
ending in 2015. For the first 20 years the group kept no records and pub
lished no reports. They decided on complete privacy so they could speak
freely about their experiences of spiritual transformation – without worry
ing that some “heresy” might get back to their religious communities where
many were leaders. It was not a static group, as members came and went
throughout the years, but a handful also remained for all 31 years. Even
tually, a book was published recounting the first 20 years of their work,
and later a documentary was produced (Miles-Yepez 2006; Olsson 2013).
The group became known as “The Snowmass Interreligious Conference,”
often referred to simply as “The Snowmass Conference,” since they held
the majority of their yearly retreats at Keating’s monastery in Snowmass,
Colorado. During the final ten years, as members began inviting “mentees”
to guide and pass on their accumulated wisdom, the name changed to the
“Snowmass InterSpiritual Dialogue Fellowship” (SISD).
I personally participated in SISD as Keating’s mentee in 2010, and subse
quently became its administrator and a participant for the final five years.
I now carry forward the work they began through a new dialogue series,
known as “The Future of Religion & Interspirituality (1986).”2 I introduce
this because I intend to use it as a fulcrum for a broader exploration of the
Theology Without Walls (TWW) project. The experience of intimate dia
logue among diverse and committed spiritual practitioners yields insights,
as we will see later, that can be difficult to discern through textual analysis
or philosophical reflection. Such “interspiritual” dialogues are imbued with
a humanizing ambience, where TWW is pursued as an embodied, existen
tially potent affair – one with germane consequences for a new generation
of spiritual seekers.
An interspiritual approach to TWW

Wayne Teasdale introduced the term “interspiritual” in his 1999 book The
Mystic Heart (Teasdale 1999). He used the word to denote a new type of spir
itual search emerging from the increasing phenomena of religious traditions
sharing with one another from the depths of their experiences of ultimacy
(Teasdale 1999, 10, 26). Teasdale spoke of a new interspiritual paradigm
for the religious quest, one “that permits people from various traditions,
or from no tradition, to explore the spiritual dimensions of any religion”
(Teasdale 2002, 173). Two elements were essential to his understanding of
Theology Without Walls 87
interspirituality: 1) experiences of ultimacy, especially experiences occurring
within the context of long-term commitments to contemplative practice;
and 2) the sharing of such experiences in collaborative ways, where the rev
elatory experiences of others affect our own religious quest.
Teasdale believed interspirituality could pave the way for an enlightened
global culture by helping to create a “continuing community among the
religions that is substantial, vital, and creative.” Interspirituality was not
meant to subsume or surpass the world’s religious and spiritual traditions
or to form a “homogenous superspirituality,” but rather to “make available
to everyone all the forms the spiritual journey assumes.” What makes inter-
spirituality possible is the “openness of people who have a viable spiritual
life” and who develop a “determination, capacity, and commitment to the
inner search across traditions.” Teasdale envisioned the world’s religious
traditions as spiritually interdependent, “because an essential interconnect
edness in being and reality exists” (Teasdale 1999, 26, 27). Such an interde
pendence of life is often proclaimed by traditions themselves.
The context for an interspiritual approach, then, is one in which ulti
macy is explored from multiple perspectives within a collaborative mode
of inquiry, with an emphasis on potential transformative possibilities of
a spiritual or religious nature. This makes an interspiritual approach an
inherently contemplative endeavor that includes both personal experience
and the teachings of traditions, and highlights a dialogical methodology as
a vital aspect of its repertoire. An interspiritual approach to TWW there
fore embraces “the religious quest as transformative journey” (see later). Of
course, religion is many things and can be studied just as any other human
endeavor might. These include sociological, historical, economic, psycho
logical, and scientific perspectives, to name just a few. TWW, I would argue,
should include these perspectives in its endeavor. However, TWW is first
and foremost theology – the logos of theos, “to know and articulate” what
we can of ultimate reality.
Theology must ultimately be concerned with that which is irreducibly
“religious” in human life. Elsewhere I have argued that this irreducible com
ponent involves “the religious quest as transformative journey” (McEntee
2017, 618). That is, religion, for everything else that it is, is in essence con
cerned with a transformative journey that aligns, transmutes, awakens, and
orients one in various degrees of harmony with God, Buddha-nature, Dao,
Allah, Yahweh, Great Spirit, Heaven, Brahman, “the axiological depths of
nature,” etc.3 I use the term “ultimate reality” for all this as a vague com
parative category of family resemblances, without equating any of them.
My aim here is to show some of the consequences and possibilities of this
trajectory as a locus of reflection.
For instance, from this perspective one might regard sacred texts as only
secondarily concerned with dogmatic or metaphysical formulations of a
confessional nature. The primary context of sacred texts would be inter
preted with respect to the ways in which particular orientations, practices,
88 Rory McEntee
metaphysical frameworks, narrative stories, and commitments function so
as to affect varying textures of transformative possibilities hidden in human
ity’s entanglement with ultimacy.
As an example, consider the Four Noble Truths of Buddhism. John
Thatamanil makes a distinction between understanding the Four Noble
Truths and an experience of satori, or enlightenment. An intellectual
understanding of the Four Noble Truths Thatamanil calls “second-order
knowledge,” while experiencing satori gives “first-order knowledge” of
ultimacy (which Thatamanil also refers to as “practical knowledge of ulti
mate reality”). Without denying the importance of a confessional stance
towards the Four Noble Truths – after all, being Buddhist assumes one
takes “refuge” in the Three Jewels of the Buddha, the Dharma, and the
Sangha, at least until one reaches enlightenment – we may nevertheless
proclaim that the finger pointing to the moon is not the moon. It is an
embodied, existential experience of satori that ultimately brings about the
“comprehensive transformation” hinted at and articulated by the Four
Noble Truths (Thatamanil 2016, 357). Thus, the Four Noble Truths might
be interpreted not only on a dogmatic level of their metaphysical agree
ment or incommensurability with other theological frameworks but also
as a functional means of transformative possibility. That is, one might ask
what underlying orientations are contained within the Four Noble Truths
that serve to prepare and initiate one into transformative processes that are
undergirded by ultimacy.
Incommensurability or homeomorphic equivalent?

Let me offer an example from our aforementioned Snowmass Conference.
In the dialogues, a Tibetan Buddhist posed the following question to a
Christian contemplative (paraphrasing): “If there remains a concept of the
self, how does one deal with the problem of egotism that emerges from pro
gressing along one’s spiritual path?”
The question alludes to an apparent “incommensurability” between the
Buddhist doctrines of anātman (“no-self,” or literally, “no ātman,” ātman
being the “self” or “soul” within various schools of Hinduism) and the
Christian doctrine of a personal soul. The answer, from a Christian perspec
tive, is that all progress happens only through grace. One is never “good,”
only blessed. When someone referred to Jesus as “good,” he admonished
them: “Why do you call me good? No one is good – except God alone.”4
At a level of doctrine we find (perhaps) incommensurable “accounts of
reality.” However, I would suggest that in considering “the religious quest as
transformative journey,” we have found what Raimon Panikkar referred to
as a “homeomorphic equivalence.”5 Viewed from a functional level of con
templative transformation, we might rephrase the question as, “How does
one deal with the problem of human selfishness and ego aggrandizement,
especially concerning so-called ‘progress’ along a contemplative path, which
is meant to transform and transmute, rather than aggregate, this quality
within human beings?”
For Buddhists, an account of (perhaps even “an experience of”) reality
that emphasizes the illusionary nature of any substantial sense of self and
that includes numerous practices that aim to deconstruct such a concretized
notion of self function to combat ego aggrandizement as one progresses on
a path, leaving no foothold whatsoever for an ego (or sense of self) to grasp
onto. For Christians, an account of (and “experiences of”) reality that sees
human nature as utterly and completely dependent upon God for its own
process of sanctification and that ultimately lays all “good” not in the hands
of one’s self but to God alone functions in a similar way.
In terms of how each of these conceptualizations and/or experiences oper
ate at the level of “transformative journey,” within their respective soterio
logical and theological frameworks, one can see that both work to induce
a humble state of mind and to uproot the temptation to attribute to oneself
fruits that may arise from walking a contemplative path. Although this may
not be the only thing (or even the most important thing) that these concepts
work to achieve within their respective frameworks, it can be acknowledged
that, whatever else they do, they serve to accomplish in particular ways cer
tain similar functions in the interiority of practitioners.
What once appeared incommensurable now finds consonance, at least in
certain respects.
A tale of difference
One of the long-term participants in the Snowmass Dialogues was a highly
respected senior monk in the Ramakrishna Order. I’ll call him Swami.
The Ramakrishna Order is a Hindu monastic order established by Swami
Vivekananda, a famous disciple of the Indian sage Sri Ramakrishna (Vive
kananda took the first Parliament of World’s Religions in Chicago in 1893
by storm, leading to an influx of Hindu thought and teachings in the West).
The Ramakrishna Order generally follows the teachings of Vedanta Hindu
ism, and its branches in the West are often known as “Vedanta Societies.”
If you were to walk into Swami’s monastery you would find four pictures
of venerated teachers on the wall (a scene repeated in many Ramakrishna
monasteries throughout the United States), which include Ramakrishna,
Sarada Devi (Ramakrishna’s wife and spiritual counterpart, often referred
to as the “Holy Mother”), Jesus, and the Buddha. According to the teach
ings of the Ramakrishna Order, at various periods throughout cosmic ages
the divine reality appears as a human being in order to guide and teach
others. Such human beings are called “avatars,” which means “descent of
the divine.” Jesus, the Buddha, Ramakrishna, and Sarada Devi are all con
sidered avatars, or divine incarnations, within the Ramakrishna Order. Each
avatar is seen to carry specific messages for humanity appropriate to the
time and place in which they appear, yet each is believed to have “discovered
90 Rory McEntee
the same truth” and have come to “reestablish the one eternal religion”
(Vedanta Society of Southern California 2019). Because Swami accepted
and experienced Jesus as a divine incarnation, and venerated him as such, he
felt that he mostly understood the Christian contemplative path and shared
their experience of Jesus.
Swami brought this outlook with him as he began to participate in the
Snowmass Dialogues. Over the years, however, he began to realize that his
experience of Jesus as a divine avatar from the perspective of Vedanta Hin
duism was not the same experience of Jesus that Christians seemed to be
having in the depths of their contemplative life. This forced Swami to recon
sider his position on both Jesus and Christianity. The differences Swami was
registering were not the obvious ones on a doctrinal level or ones that might
be proposed as the result of immaturity on a spiritual path. Christian prac
titioners who Swami considered very advanced in the spiritual life simply
did not encounter Jesus in the same way as one among many avatars. There
was a type of phenomenological variance in the experience of Jesus that
affected the transformative journeys of those who experienced him in this
way, opening up the possibility that perhaps the revelation of Jesus could
not be circumscribed within a Hindu doctrine of avatars.
This was a joyous discovery for Swami, as he now realized he had much
to learn and discover about the experience of Jesus that was not present in
his own tradition. These kinds of nuanced differences are often better dis
covered in person, dialogically, where one can triangulate around anoth
er’s experience – and others can triangulate around one’s own experience.
A dialogical methodology enhances the ability to home in on both differ
ences and similarities that might be extremely difficult (or even impossible)
to discover through the reading of texts or the lens of theological frame
works abstracted from the religious quest as transformative journey. Dif
ferences such as these speak to the need for a discerning openness to the
experience of others and to a willingness to discover unrealized aspects of
our own journey, as well as undiscovered possibilities in the journeys of
others.
An interspiritual approach to TWW insists that we remain open to these
differences. There are an abundance of reasons for such humble openness,
including to more fully discover aspects of ultimacy; to contextualize our
own spiritual journeys and experiences of ultimacy in ever more nuanced
ways; to discover unknown transformative possibilities for our own reli
gious or spiritual path; to develop reverence for the transformative possibili
ties we discern in others; to know that there exist transformative possibilities
undergirded by ultimacy that are not, and perhaps never will be, part of our
path, and that is okay; and finally to help incarnate an ever-growing soli
darity that thickens through difference. The participants of the Snowmass
Dialogues report they bonded more through discussing their disagreements
than they had in discovering their points of agreement. As differences were
discussed, people became franker about what they believed. Without trying
to convince others, they simply offered their understanding as “a gift to the
group” (Miles-Yepez 2006, xix).
The importance of contemplative traditions

for TWW
What does it mean to “know” or “articulate” ultimate reality? For some,
this may refer to an interpretive meaning of a sacred text. However, for
contemplative traditions, to “know” ultimate reality has always meant in
some sense to embody it. To “articulate” ultimate reality is to live it, to
manifest it in some way, to harmoniously align one’s self with it, or even in
some sense to identify with it. Knowing and articulating ultimate reality, for
these traditions, is always correlated with a transformation of one’s being
in-the-world, a transformative journey of the “head, heart, and hands,” as
Teasdale put it.
From an interspiritual perspective, a transformative journey of the head
includes a sculpting of the intellect through the active shaping of the theo
logical frameworks we construct (“interpretive schemes” in Thatamanil’s
language), as well as a “striving to understand the specific, subtle meanings
of religious concepts and how the traditions relate to each other” (Teasdale
1999, 29). A transformative journey of the heart occurs in the depths of
spiritual practice and the applications of spiritual teachings to daily life (this
is similar to Thatamanil’s “therapeutic regimes”). The journey of the heart
reflects an embodiment of one’s spirituality and serves as both the offspring
of one’s commitments and a reciprocal source of information that informs
them (that is, transformations of the heart do more than “install” interpre
tive schemes into the “body, mind, and heart,” as Thatamanil describes, but
also, from an interspiritual perspective, change and inform such schemes in
a reciprocal manner; Thatamanil 2016, 357). Finally, a transformative jour
ney of the hands involves the collaborative projects we engage in with oth
ers of differing beliefs and practices for the common good, especially with
regard to issues of social and environmental justice (Teasdale 1999, 29).
Louis Komjathy, a leading scholar in the field of contemplative studies,
has taken care to emphasize that contemplative traditions are unique; are
rooted in particular cultures, practices, and soteriological frameworks; and
can appear incommensurable in certain respects (for instance, Komjathy
finds that diverse religious and contemplative traditions offer “mutually
exclusive, equally convincing accounts of ‘reality’ ”; Komjathy 2015, 39).
At the same time, one tends to find “recurring patterns and parallel practices
across traditions” (Komjathy 2018, 137). These include sustained commit
ment to contemplative practices and “recognition of the value of interiority,
presence, seclusion, silence, stillness, and so forth” (Komjathy 2018, 142).
Komjathy goes on to describe contemplative traditions as ultimately about
“transformed existential and ontological modes,” utilizing what he calls
“psychologies of realization” to achieve such transformations (Komjathy
92 Rory McEntee
2018, 108). Of particular interest for TWW is Komjathy’s suggestion that
contemplative traditions are engaged in the mapping of “more ‘advanced’
ontological conditions” through “committed and prolonged contemplative
practice” (Komjathy 2015, 54), which must be distinguished from “medita
tive dilettantism” (Komjathy 2018, 128). From this point of view, we might
come to appreciate advanced contemplatives as “professionals,” in a sense
of religiously inflected ontological exploration. It is important to note that
these transformed modes of being can, and often do, include sociopolitical
concerns, as seen, for instance, in the life and writings of Thomas Merton,
Dorothy Soelle, Abraham Heschel, Mahatma Gandhi, Dorothy Day, Martin
Luther King, Jr., Thich Nhat Hahn, and Howard Thurman.
Advanced contemplatives, thus, can be valued as professionals with
expertise, as it were, of experimentation with the practices and modes of
being-in-the-world that accomplish transformative possibilities undergirded
by ultimacy to varying degrees. A contemplative tradition, then, is a com
munity of inquiry that forms around such experimentation and accomplish
ments, and includes the collected magisteria of the community – the sacred
texts, stories, theologies, practices, and practitioners. Different traditions
define transformative processes in various ways, giving birth to potentials
hidden in the human heart. One experience does not necessarily equate to
another. A Christian experience of mystical union with God or Jesus may
be different from a Buddhist experience of the “fundamental nature of the
mind.” I say “may be” because I do not wish to prejudge these matters and
do not believe that inquiry into them has progressed to a point where we can
be sure of the differences and overlap in experiences of ultimacy. Such ques
tions rather compose an existentially significant and potent field of explora
tion into matters of ultimate importance and should be approached with an
open mind – and an open heart.
Contemplative life, then, can (and should) be seen in some sense as a
professional area of expertise of human encounter with ultimate reality
(not necessarily the professional area). It is not that other forms of encoun
ter with ultimate reality need be circumscribed or considered more or less
important. Rather, it is to note the uniqueness of contemplative experience
and the shared “family resemblances” of contemplative traditions, and
hence their importance for TWW. Another way to think of contemplative
traditions is as communities of inquiry into ultimate reality that tend to
manifest predictable, embodied divine “traits,” to use a term from the aca
demic field of contemplative studies, or what I have called elsewhere “divine
adornments.”6 Such traits, such as bodhichitta in the Buddhist tradition or
caritas in the Christian tradition, need not be equated and can be seen as
uniquely embodied results attained to varying degrees within particular con
templative traditions.
From this perspective, the importance of contemplative life for TWW
becomes radiantly apparent. If TWW wishes to consider all relevant “rev
elations, enlightenments, and insights” into ultimate reality, then seriously
consulting those for whom this is an area of expertise, mainly advanced con
templatives, would seem to be a sine qua non of such an undertaking. Given
the uniqueness of individual contemplative traditions, it becomes equally
important for TWW to consider the particularities of varying contemplative
traditions, including possible differences in resulting “divine adornments”
or “traits,” without a trenchant need for simplification or generalization.
TWW as theological milieu for the “spiritual

but not religious”
The interspiritual approach to TWW explored here would be of benefit to
the growing, but inchoate, spirituality of the “spiritual but not religious”
(SBNR). For instance, TWW can help provide a locus of thought for SBNRs
to consider as they survey an ever-growing, and perhaps confusing, land
scape of potential spiritual practices they might adopt. TWW does this
by engaging a discursive community to reflect upon traditional contem
plative practices, the possible transformative effects of such practices, and
the strengths and weaknesses of various practices. These analyses should
include sociological, religious, and political perspectives, as well as address
what it might mean to extract such practices from their cultural and theo
logical frameworks. It is not hard to see how such a discourse might be of
immense benefit to SBNRs as they attempt to navigate their own unique,
individualized paths amidst a smorgasbord of spiritual practices and reli
gious frameworks, some of which are authentic, others which are commer
cialized, and still others which are downright dangerous.7 Knowing some
of the pitfalls and dangers, as well as how to cultivate discernment among
such diverse spiritualities, would contribute to the efficacy of an SBNR’s
spiritual quest.
TWW can help as well to provide various conceptions of ultimacy that
transgress confessional boundaries. This serves SBNRs in developing more
sophisticated frameworks for understanding their own spiritual paths.
TWW also provides a discursive community for SBNRs to hone and shape
their understandings through academic exchange. One might imagine
future scholars working on theological frameworks and philosophical or
political theologies from ever-deepening interspiritual perspectives. Such a
development would also be of benefit to those in religious traditions as well
as to the SBNR movement, as it would naturally continue to deepen reflec
tion on questions of difference and individuality, discernment of spiritual
maturity, the relationship of religious traditions to one another and to their
own institutionalized forms, and the very concept of what it means to be
“religious.”
Who is to say that SBNRs will not eventually be regarded as forerunners
of a new religious spirit, a religious spirit that sees the religious quest as a
transformative journey, embraces democratization of the spiritual life, and
in this sense, may be particularly apt for our times?
94 Rory McEntee
Interspirituality as a religious path
Over the first few years of the Snowmass Conference participants worked
through difficulties in trying to formulate some common points of agree
ment. They eventually produced a document, which became known as “The
Points of Agreement” (yet remained out of the public eye for decades).
Choosing “ultimate reality” as their reference word for ultimacy, the points
consist of eight statements about ultimate reality and the human condition,
such as a recognition that the world religions “bear witness to the experi
ence of ultimate reality”; that ultimate reality cannot be limited by names or
concepts; that it is the ground of actuality and potentiality; that all human
beings have a potential for transformation, wholeness, enlightenment, tran
scendence; etc.; that “disciplined practice is essential to the spiritual life,”
yet nevertheless all spiritual attainment is, in the end. “not the result of one’s
efforts” but instead dependent upon ultimacy itself; and that ultimacy may
be experienced outside of religious practices, such as “through nature, art,
human relationships, and service to others” (Miles-Yepez 2006, xvii).8
One point of agreement in particular, however, interests me here. It
reads, “Faith is opening, accepting, and responding to Ultimate Reality.
Faith in this sense precedes every belief system” (Miles-Yepez 2006, xvii,
emphasis mine).
To see faith as something that exists prior to every belief system is to turn
on its head a more widespread, pedestrian understanding of faith, where
“faith” exhibits a “belief” in something that perhaps cannot be proven,
like the trinitarian nature of God, for instance. If, on the other hand, faith
precedes any belief system, then it stems not from assent to some humanly
constructed religious framework, but rather exists as an intrinsic aspect of
humanity’s entanglement with ultimacy. Faith, in this sense, is inherent to
the human condition. One might choose not to explore it or to refuse its
quiet, constant nudging. Or one may nurture it, and this would seem to be
the purpose of belonging to a religious tradition. However, if one’s faith
exists before one’s tradition does, then the tradition itself becomes a vehicle
for the nurturing of an intrinsic human capacity. Distinctive “nurturings” of
this capacity contribute to differing substantiations of ultimacy. It is worth
noting again that committed practitioners from different religious traditions
were able to affirm this statement on faith.
All human beings have a capacity for transformative growth that aligns
them in increasing degrees with ultimacy. This capacity exists outside of any
religious tradition. An interspiritual approach further affirms the diversity
of such approaches and entertains the possibility that diversity in mani
festation is at the heart of ultimacy, and that therefore the many ways of
nurturing our “faith” is a consequence, or reflection, of such multiplicity.
Each particular way will inevitably have strengths and weaknesses, bringing
unique insights into the nature of ultimacy and the transformative possibili
ties of human beings to align and orient themselves towards ultimacy. These
are not preordained ways, mapped out prior to their manifestation, but
rather are birthed within spontaneous and creative impulses at the heart of
manifestation. These differences are but a flowering of life itself and com
pose a reflection of ultimacy.
Given this, spiritual impulses that look to give rise to new types of religi
osity, such as we see today in the West among multiple religious belongers,
SBNR, and interspiritual folks, need not be seen as disconnected from ulti
macy just because they are not embedded in traditional religious forms.
A better question would be: Are they responding to their “faith” in the sense
given earlier? One might consider the possibility that, for these individuals,
nurturing their faith – that is opening and responding to ultimacy – crea
tively manifests in nontraditional religious ways. Certainly it is not hard to
see some of the qualities we often associate with these nontraditional spir
itualities as undergirded by ultimacy, such as a spiritual longing for trans
formation; questioning unhealthy institutional and hierarchical religious
structures; naming and addressing problems of embedded patriarchies, colo
nialisms, and racism that exist in all of our religious traditions; emphases
on issues of social and ecological justice; democratic sensibilities in explor
ing differences among spiritual orientations; and the freedom to follow and
embody one’s sense of the sacred – that is, to nurture one’s “faith.”
To nurture one’s faith requires commitments. Such commitments lie at
the root of an interspiritual path, which is where I delineate between an
ambiguous use of the term “spiritual” and what it means to be “religious.”
Spirituality is not a mere component of our lives. The spiritual is a kind of
intrinsic quality to life itself, part of the ground of actuality and potential
ity and the ever-present possibility of opening and responding to ultimacy.
The spiritual overflows into all of life, its ambiguity pointing towards its
ever-present nature as ground. To be “religious” involves an active cultiva
tion of this spiritually transformative capacity, which opens up a vast terri
tory for discernment. This in turn implies a need for theological reflection
and practical experimentation regarding concepts of spiritual maturity and
the efficacies of various spiritual practices and orientations. It is a religious
practice to bring one’s religious and spiritual commitments into the reflec
tive light of the intellect and to make oneself aware of one’s orientations
towards ultimacy so that they may continually be (re)evaluated and evolve
as one’s journey proceeds.
Further, as religious denotes, in the terms of this chapter, commitments
to a transformative journey – that is, a spiritual path that attempts to con
tinually orient and reorient one towards ultimacy in ever clearer and more
transparent ways with greater faith, hope, love, service, compassion, and
wisdom, and confidence in the ameliorating potency of one’s quest – then
an interspiritual religious path would be one where one’s religious identity
is primarily predicated upon such commitments. This could obviously occur
both within and without religious traditions. That is, an interspiritual reli
gious path may be journeyed on within a traditional religious identity or
96 Rory McEntee
walked in such a way that is not embedded in any singular religious tradi
tion. Interspirituality imparts a sense of solidarity with all those who walk
committed paths of a spiritually efficacious nature.
I’d like to conclude on a personal note, with a closing story from the last
day of the final Snowmass Dialogue. As practitioners from many of the
world’s different religious traditions sat in a circle in the meditation hall at
St. Benedict’s monastery, looking out onto the vast landscape of the Rocky
Mountains through the wall-length, cathedral-like windows surrounding
us, we began to go around the circle, offering thoughts on our experience
and what we might take back to our religious traditions and communi
ties as a result. As various responses were given and one after another told
of insights – some difficult, others joyous – that they would endeavor to
offer back to their communities, I was overcome with the coalescence of an
incipient, but growing, awareness. As it happened, I was the last to speak,
and when I did my voice stammered with emotion.
“It is wonderful to hear about all of the myriad things you will be bring
ing back to your home traditions,” I told them.
It brings me joy, but I would be lying if I did not admit to a hint of sad
ness. I do not have a tradition to “return” to, for it exists here, among
you. This is my tradition. My spiritual (and religious) home is to be
found amidst the spaces you have created, in that which has come into
being through your willingness to open yourselves, and your traditions,
to one another, without defensiveness and in love. It exists within the
interchange and synergy of spiritual energies that entwine when you
come together. And amidst the silence we share. And the personal, inti
mate testimonies of those who have dedicated themselves – in endear
ing, instructive, and inspirational ways, to their own transformative
journeys.
This tradition, my tradition, is what I have called “interspiritual.” I have

come to know, through friends, colleagues, and mentors across the globe,
that I am far from alone in claiming it. I have no doubts that though youth
ful, it is also undergirded by ultimacy, as all authentic religious traditions
are. Its story has only begun to be told.
Notes
1 Citation refers to Friends United edition.
2 The new dialogue series, known as FRIS for short, is an invitation-only dialogue
held at contemplative centers around the country, run by The Foundation for
New Monasticism & Interspirituality, of which I am a founding member. For
more, see Foundation for New Monasticism & InterSpirituality, founded in 2015.
3 For “axiological depths of nature,” see Wildman (2016), in reference to a reli
gious naturalist perspective.
4 The Bible. New International Version. Grand Rapids: Zondervan House, 1984.
Lk 18:19.
5 See Panikkar (1981) and Panikkar (2014), among other Panikkar books as well.
6 For “traits,” see Komjathy (2018); for “divine adornments,” see McEntee (2017).
7 “Authenticity” here is a matter of discernment, often practiced within discur
sive communities of practitioners. These communities can, and perhaps should,
exceed the boundaries of one’s own tradition and/or spiritual commitments.
TWW, broadly understood, would constitute one such diverse community.
8 An interesting tidbit here I know from personal knowledge is the difficulty the
participants had in even choosing a term for ultimacy. For example, the Christians
preferred “ultimate mystery,” but Buddhists could not assent to “mystery,” as
they felt this disputed their viewpoint that ultimacy can be directly awakened to.
References
Foundation for New Monasticism & InterSpirituality. Founded 2015. www.new
monastics.com (accessed September 5, 2019).
Komjathy, Louis. 2015. Contemplative Literature: A Comparative Sourcebook on
Meditation and Contemplative Prayer. Albany, NY: SUNY Press. doi:10.1353/
scs.2018.0017
Komjathy, Louis. 2018. Introducing Contemplative Studies. Hoboken, NJ: John
Wiley & Sons.
McEntee, Rory. 2017. “The Religious Quest as Transformative Journey: Interspir
itual Religious Belonging and the Problem of Religious Depth.” Open Theology 3
(1): 613–629. doi:10.1515/opth-2017–0048
Miles-Yepez, Netanel, ed. 2006. Common Heart: An Experience of Interreligious
Dialogue. xix. New York, NY: Lantern Books.
Olsson, Stephen. 2013. An Inter-Spiritual Dialogue with Father Thomas Keating.
Sausalito, CA: CEM Productions, DVD.
Panikkar, Raimon. 2014. Mysticism and Spirituality, Part One: Mysticism, Fullness
of Life (Opera Omnia, Vol. I). Maryknoll: Orbis Books. doi:10.1017/hor.2015.89
Panikkar, Raimundo. 1981. The Unknown Christ of Hinduism: Towards an Ecu
menical Christophany. Maryknoll: Orbis Books.
Teasdale, Wayne. 1999. The Mystic Heart: Discovering a Universal Spirituality in
the World’s Religions. Novato, CA: New World Library.
Teasdale, Wayne. 2002. A Monk in the World: Cultivating a Spiritual Life. Novato,
CA: New World Library.
Thatamanil, John J. 2016. “Transreligious Theology as the Quest for Interreligious
Wisdom.” Open Theology 2 (1): 354–362. doi:10.1515/opth-2016–0029
Thurman, Howard. 1986. The Search for Common Ground: An Inquiry into the
Basis of Man’s Experience of Community. Richmond: Friends United Press.
Vedanta Society of Southern California. 2019. https://vedanta.org/what-is-vedanta/
the-avatar-god-in-human-form/ (accessed January 23, 2019).
Wildman, Wesley J. 2016. Science and Religious Anthropology: A Spiritually Evoca
tive Naturalist Interpretation of Human Life. London, England: Routledge.
doi:10.4324/9781315607757
9 With open doors and
windows
Doing theology in the spirit of
William James
Jonathan Weidenbaum
Introduction: concrete experience

In a last essay published just before his death, William James concedes that
the early work of Benjamin Paul Blood, a self-styled philosopher and fel
low experimenter in nitrous oxide, manages to “charm the monist in me
unreservedly” (James 1978). Despite this brief confession of sympathy for
a picture of the universe as constituting a single unity, the article is largely
a celebration of an eccentric and unsung thinker’s turn away from monism
and a confirmation, by way of direct religious experience, of James’s own
metaphysical pluralism.
Titled “A Pluralistic Mystic,” James’s final essay encapsulates much of the
distinctive spirit of his approach toward different philosophical and theo
logical frameworks. This includes, first, a search after rich and pronounced
experiences wherever and whenever they may be found. Intuitions that are
pathological, paranormal, and even drug-induced join religious experiences
in possessing revelatory value for James and are presented as disclosing
truths otherwise obscured from our more routine and ordinary forms of
being. While never eschewing the importance of rational reflection upon our
first-hand perceptions, a receptivity toward the freshness and immediacy of
concrete experience is front and central for James. “Philosophy, like life,”
he affirms in Some Problems of Philosophy, “must keep the doors and win
dows open” (James 1996b, Ch. 4). Indeed, the analogy of open doors and
windows as our proper orientation toward the world is found in numerous
places throughout James’s authorship.1
Second, James’s exhibition of Blood demonstrates his almost uncanny
ability to grasp the vital core of any religious or philosophical point of
view and from what always seems like an insider’s perspective. Continu
ally arguing that beneath even the most rarefied theoretical constructs is
a preconceptual feel for the way things are, James’s capacity for entering
into and articulating the living kernel beneath different worldviews is
very likely connected with the beauty of his prose. It is one reason why
a careful analysis of lived human experience is such a central preoccupa
tion of his.
DOI: 10.4324/9780429000973-12
With open doors and windows 99
Third, James is a seminal contributor to the philosophy of religion, one
whose ruminations are often focused on the justification of the spiritual
life. “I feel now,” James writes triumphantly in his article on Blood, “as
if my own pluralism were not without the kind of support which mystical
corroboration may confer” (James 1978). Whether championing the right
to believe ahead of all evidence or assessing the extent to which mystical
experience may validate our philosophical convictions, the thought of James
possesses endless resources for assessing theological positions in the face
of what is arguably the single, most far-reaching development of the mod
ern world: namely the ascendancy of the empirical attitude and the natural
sciences.
But James’s essay on Blood reveals one more tendency of his orientation
toward different philosophies and religions. Even while keeping his doors
and windows wide open to the full spectrum of human experience, James
was never shy of making evaluative judgements with regard to different
visions of the real. With regard to the contest between accepting a universe
in which salvation is assured for all and one in which it isn’t, James asks: “Is
all ‘yes, yes’ in the universe?” Doesn’t the fact of ‘no’ stand at the very core
of life?” (James 1975a, 141). No matter how much his inner monist may
reverberate when reading the earlier writing of Blood, a support for a more
baroque and pluralistic cosmos over the pristine One of the idealists so pre
dominate in his time remains an implacable theme of James’s philosophical
work. “A Pluralistic Mystic” is his last affirmation of such a commitment.
James’s thoughts on religion are sufficiently abundant to allow for
multiple voyages beyond the barriers of denomination. What follows is
merely one creative attempt to articulate the relevance of his thought for
just such an adventure. Our main strategy is to press a few of James’s most
essential themes into a two-storied methodology. While our first step argues
for the necessity of opening our windows and doors as broadly as possible
to the depth of experiences that animate different theological sensibilities,
the second digs further into the thought of James in order to ascertain one
of the standards we may use to evaluate between religious philosophies.
Both sections begin with episodes weaned from my involvement with The
ology Without Walls, debates in which Jamesean themes have proven their
relevance.
Because Theology Without Walls is in its infancy, it is the perspective of
the author that a concentration on methodology is more essential at this
early stage than any finished or even tentative theological picture. And yet
James’s theological positions – his “over-beliefs” as he calls them in the
Varieties – are not without their place.2 A penultimate section therefore
introduces us to James’s mature theological statement – mainly as a demon
stration of our methodological principles at work. Our brief conclusion will
ride the spirit of James beyond the assumptions underlying his method and
will point the way toward a few topics well worth exploring in the future of
a Theology Without Walls.
100 Jonathan Weidenbaum
Varieties
In more than one discussion with my colleagues in Theology Without Walls
I have met with disapproval for speaking against philosophies in which the
summum bonum of the spiritual life is the understanding of all things, sen
tient beings and galaxies alike, as manifestations of a single and perfect
divine ground. One well-known philosophy of religion that sees this realiza
tion as the common goal of every authentic spiritual tradition – despite the
outer doctrinal and ritual differences between faith communities – is the
“perennial philosophy.” Popularized by Aldous Huxley in The Perennial
Philosophy, and defended by a number of authors known as the Traditional
ists, the identification of our deepest selves with a formless and all-inclusive
ultimate reality is here deemed as a higher plane of awareness than that of a
relationship to a transcendent and personal deity. As this unitary insight is
often provided by the contemplative and meditative traditions of the world
East and West, monistic systems of thought like Advaita Vedanta and Neo-
Platonist mystics like Meister Eckhart are therefore favorites among peren
nialist writers.
Skimming through portions of the chapter of mysticism in The Varie
ties of Religious Experience, proponents of such a perennialist-type theol
ogy would find much to delight in James’s well-known study of the topic.
Among the defining feature of mystical experiences for James are their
seemingly noetic, or knowledge-bearing, quality, for they are felt “as states
of insight into depths of truth unplumbed by the discursive intellect” (James
2004, 329). In one section, James quotes and refers to a myriad of con
templative authors – Eckhart, Silesius, Boehme, the Upanishads, and many
others – and declares that the “overcoming of all the usual barriers between
the individual and the Absolute is the great mystic achievement” (James
2004, 362).
But even here, within James’s survey of mysticism, we are made aware of
the radically different theological perspectives surrounding mystical experi
ence. The precise reason why mystical experiences are not binding upon
those who haven’t undergone them is the sheer range of their interpretation:
“It is dualistic in Sankhya, and monistic in Vedanta philosophy. I called
it pantheistic; but the great Spanish mystics are anything but pantheists”
(James 2004, 368). And stepping back to view The Varieties of Religious
Experience as a whole, we see how it truly earns the beginning of its title
as a varieties. For in it we are treated to testimonies ranging from those of
grounded inner peace to moments of near-hallucinatory horror; from the
spiritually inspired overcoming of addiction to God-intoxicated flights of
ecstasy; from the confident joy and optimism of the “healthy-minded” for
whom dwelling on evil is but a vice, to a concentration on the problems of
existence which is the “sick soul.” One of James’s lengthiest descriptions is
his account of the sudden reconfiguring of the self after its own inner ten
sions and divisions have brought it to its lowest point (James 2004, lectures
VIII-IX). Although James later asserts that “the faith-state and mystic state
are practically convertible terms,” this is a religious experience more akin
to what is found at a Protestant tent revival than the full self-transcendence
of a Sufi dervish or contemplative, a sensibility articulated theologically by
Luther, Kierkegaard, and the Neo-Orthodox theologians of the twentieth
century (James 2004, 367).3
Doing Theology Without Walls in the spirit of James means being recep
tive to religious experiences of all kinds. It also means perceiving the mean
ing within all forms of experience, even those not explicitly religious. In
“On a Certain Blindness in Human Beings,” James writes of the manner in
which our encounters with people unlike ourselves may serve as a kind of
epiphany, as not only a necessary shattering of our prejudices and assump
tions but also as a complete re-centering of our inner lives.4 We let our guard
down before the other, and “then the whole scheme of our customary values
gets confounded, then our self is riven and its narrow interests fly to pieces,
then a new centre and a new perspective must be found.” This is an insight
akin to the I–Thou relationships of Martin Buber or our heeding of the face
of our neighbor as described by Emmanuel Levinas – philosophies focused
not a mystical descent within our consciousness at all, but in our active and
moral comportment towards others.5
Finding nondual spiritual experiences within and across different tradi
tions, the adherents of perennialist-type theologies interpret such experi
ences as more fundamental than other forms of intuition, religious and
otherwise. But this comes with the cost of either ignoring or trivializing
equally transformative experiences, including those which speak of an
unbridgeable distance felt between the self and the other and I and a Thou.
For the Jamesean involved in Theology Without Walls, a compelling reason
must be found to justify prioritizing one form of intuition over another.
Moreover, because nondual religious philosophies tend to lean toward a
monism or quasi-pantheism in which the divine is understood as the sole or
most basic reality, negative and tragic sorts of experiences are often deemed
by them as either derivative or illusory. There are philosophical problems
with this kind of denial, but this is a theme to which we must return later.
Moral strenuousness
Keeping our doors and windows open does not guarantee that every idea
is of equal value in navigating what drafts may come through. This point
is not always well taken. I recall a meeting of Theology Without Walls in
which the very idea of using principles to discern the worth of different the
ological positions was seen as arrogant and arbitrary – the imposition of our
inherited prejudices and assumptions. Isn’t this a betrayal of the very pur
pose of a Theology Without Walls, it was asked. For isn’t the practice of dis
criminating between theological visions just a placing up of more walls? To
which one may respond that employing some kind of principle of evaluation
is implied by the very title of a Theology Without Walls: namely, to not have
walls. We do not, for instance, ignore a religious tradition because it rejects
theism (i.e., Jainism and Buddhism).
But the other side of the argument is not without a few important con
cerns. We certainly must not shun thinkers or insights, for instance, that
do not fit our a priori religious convictions. In a private letter to his fel
low perennialist Huston Smith, Frithjof Schuon lambasts the thought of
Kierkegaard for, among other things, its nonconformity to several of the
more official and acceptable metaphysical systems as seen from a Tradi
tionalist perspective. The religious thinker who pitted the risk-filled com
mitments of faith against the abstract certainties of reason and flouted the
theological orthodoxies of his time must, in Schuon’s recommendation, “be
rejected without pity, I will even say: with horror” (Schuon 1975). No atti
tude can be more anathema to those who heed James’s contention that in
demanding conformity between different religious figures and directions
of the spirit, “the total human consciousness of the divine would suffer”
(James 2004, 420).
To explore theological perspectives in the spirit of William James is to
employ principles of evaluation that are neither arbitrary nor smuggled
in by way of our prior theological commitments. Early on in the Varie
ties James argues that the veridicality, or truth-bearing status, of a religious
experience must be judged using the same standards as any form of experi
ence: the sheer force by which it grips us, how well it fits in with our other
beliefs, and finally its influence upon our ethical life (James 2004, 28).6 It is
the last of these criteria that take us to the very heart of James’s philosophi
cal anthropology – his take on human nature.
In an early and key essay, James offers a description of rationality as the
felt transition from a state of puzzle and unrest to one of contentment, ease,
and sense of normal mental functioning. Philosophies that help to bring
about this feeling of rationality must meet a number of conditions, one of
which is to not disappoint or fail to engage our “active propensities,” or “to
give them no object whatsoever to press against” (James 2004, 82). Time
and again in his writings, James argues in favor of those worldviews that
speak not only to our spiritual intuitions but also our practical and ethical
ones – those that draw upon the morally “strenuous mood” (James 2004,
211). The yearning for the unique satisfactions and rigors of the ethical life
are, for James, built into our very makeup as human beings.
In another of his early essays, our cognitive and intellectual faculty is
depicted as a kind of second department – one which, following our imme
diate sensory experience, exists primarily for the purpose of guiding our
behaviors (James 2004, 113–114). For James, we are not minds in isolation,
subjects cleaved off from a separate realm of objects, but whole and embod
ied organisms existing in and through an environment. Judging between
worldviews with a concern for how they link with a few of “our deepest
desires and most cherished powers,” the moral life chief among them, is
therefore no arbitrary move for James but follows from his observations as
a pragmatist and consummate phenomenologist (James 2004, 82).
In his letter to Smith, Schuon complains that Kierkegaard has no con
ception of the intellect – what for the Traditionalists is not our faculty for
discursive reasoning but our organ of direct illumination from the divine,
even a spark of the Absolute within (Schuon 1975). To do theology in the
spirit of William James is to be receptive to this feature common to many of
the most refined spiritual philosophies, as James has done in his chapter on
mysticism in The Varieties. But it is not to remain there, for we are practical
and moral creatures as well as contemplative ones. Returning to his triadic
picture of the human being, James diagnoses the gnostical urge to realize the
completeness of our identity with the divine as an illegitimate swallowing
up of our active and practical nature into our contemplative one, a disap
pearance of the third department of our being into the second (James 1956,
138–140). It is for these reasons that James writes sympathetically of the
ascetic tendencies of the saint in the Varieties, what for him is only a more
extreme representation of those for whom “passive happiness is slack and
insipid, and soon grows mawkish and intolerable” (James 2004, 263).
In short, one standard employed by a Jamesean in order to discern
between theological positions – a principle found directly within our experi
ence rather than invoked arbitrarily – is to favor those perspectives that cul
tivate the morally strenuous life in addition to our yearning for communion
with an ultimate reality.
A finite god
To summarize a Jamesean approach toward a Theology Without Walls, we
should, first, be open not only to the deeper intuitions which fuel and moti
vate other theological positions but equally to experiences of all kinds – even
those that don’t sit so easily within our prior and cherished philosophical
and religious assumptions. And second, we have the right to accede value to
those theological positions that draw upon, and enhance, our moral ener
gies over those that do not.
For the project of a Theology Without Walls, James’s own theological
conclusions are of ancillary importance to his methods. And yet James’s
mature speculations are a good demonstration of these principles at work.
To do philosophy and theology in the spirit of James means to acknowl
edge what so many monistic- and pantheistic-type perspectives so often
trivialize or even deny: the unrefined edges of life, the phenomena of pain
and suffering, the gaping holes which beset the universe. It is in the inter
est of being inclusive that in the Varieties James prefers the more complex
universe of the sick soul rather than the simpler and happier metaphysics
of the healthy minded. As “a rectilinear or one-storied affair,” what the lat
ter ignores “may after all be the best key to life’s significance, and possibly
the only openers of our eyes to the deepest levels of truth” (James 2004,
148, 151). Moreover, and as we saw in the previous section, philosophies
which claim that all is undergirded by a transcendental perfection too eas
ily allow our propensities for worldly activity to atrophy, and are therefore
inadequate. James’s approach toward assessing different theologies leans
toward the recognition of a partly precarious cosmos, a melioristic universe,
as James labels it in Pragmatism, in which our efforts may play a role (James
1975b, lecture VIII).
We should recognize even how self-defeating the denial or trivializing of
evil is when analyzed more carefully. For as James points out toward the
end of his first lecture in A Pluralistic Universe (what is partly an expan
sion of his over-beliefs in the Varieties), to push for an acosmistic universe
in which all pain and finitude are understood as a kind of primal ignorance,
a veil blocking us from a nondual state of awareness or ultimate reality, is
only to land ourselves within yet another duality. This is between the per
spective of the Absolute in which all such limitations are overcome and the
grittier vantage point of our own existence – one seemingly hemmed in by
limitations of all kinds. In this way, to envision a perfect and all-inclusive
ultimate reality would be every bit as alienating as looking upward from
our lowly plane toward an all-powerful creator deity (James 1996a, 38–40).
This theological picture is not only an insult to the human condition, but it
deflates all motivation to rely upon our own efforts to help make the cosmos
a better place.
For these reasons, the god defended by James is finite, a being limited “in
power or in knowledge, or in both at once” (James 1996a, conclusions or
lecture VIII). This notion of a finite deity, a god for whom we are partners
with the gradual perfecting of the world rather than as passive subjects,
can appeal to the ethicist in us.7 And yet because his deity is also a greater
consciousness in which our smaller selves are a part, this model can appeal
somewhat to the mystic’s sense of union with a greater and more expansive
divine reality.8
Conclusion: many doors and windows

Throughout the preceding pages we have unpacked the relevance of William
James for the project of a Theology Without Walls. In no small part, this
is the method of including as much of the full range of human experience,
particularly religious experience, as we can. Even the standard of promoting
the morally strenuous life is a principle found within our living engagement
with things and is not imposed from without. Or so I have argued.
Since James’s time, however, there has been some fruitful reflection on the
nature and character of religious experiences. Although James’s Protestant
upbringing and influence may have helped bias his investigations toward
the experiences of gifted individuals and against the role and mediation of
institutions, the social nature of the spiritual life should never be left out of
our focus. We may not go as far as James’s colleague and sparring partner,
Josiah Royce, that authentic religious experience, at least for Christianity,
must be social (Royce 2001, 40–41). But social it may be. Charles Tay
lor offers an example of how his exultation at watching the victory of his
hockey team is heightened by the fact that he rejoices with an entire city
(Taylor 2003, 28). There are also some who argue for the necessity of rec
ognizing how background beliefs and inherited dogmas infiltrate even the
most ecstatic and rarefied of our experiences. Hence, it may not be just the
interpretation or felt intensity of our intuitions that are shaped through cul
ture and historical context, but their very content.9
A Jamesean approach to a Theology Without Walls is always ready to
draw upon the unique experiential insights of individuals as they have sur
faced in different places and times – whether such heights of awareness
are achieved through meditation, discovered in the throngs of a personal
crisis, or even induced through chemicals. But a contemporary Jamesean
methodology must equally be attentive to experiences forged through entire
communities, as well as the shared social and theological tenets in which
the most defining of our spiritual intuitions have been fermented and culti
vated. This may be a bit of a departure from James’s own preoccupations,
particularly in the Varieties. And yet peering out upon the world’s divergent
theological visions, it is keeping well within his spirit to open as many of our
doors and windows as possible.
Notes
1 Richard Gale provides a list of James’s references to open windows and doors in
the introduction to The Divided Self of William James (Gale 1999, 4).
2 See the conclusion for his discussion on over-beliefs.
3 D.S. Browning affirms that “the Niebuhrs, Tillichs, and Bultmanns of the neo
orthodox period could have turned to James as easily as to Kierkegaard or Hei
degger” (Browning 1980).
4 Found in Talks to Teachers (James 1962).
5 For Buber’s (1970) and Levinas’s (1969) most definite and well-known statements
on our relationships to others, see I and Thou and Totality and Infinity (Buber
1970), respectively.
6 After refuting the idea that religious experiences can be dismissed as mere prod
ucts of physical disorder, what he labels “medical materialism,” James suggests
that “Immediate luminousness, in short, philosophical reasonableness, and moral
helpfulness are the only available criteria.”
7 Some may appreciate the similarity of this idea with several notions found in Luri
anic Kabbalah, including the mission of human beings to enact tikkun olam, or
the reparation of the cosmos. See the seventh lecture in Gershom Scholem’s Major
Trends in Jewish Mysticism, the landmark introduction to this topic.
8 Whether or not James has completely resolved all of the tensions between the ethi
cal and the mystical facets within his own work, let alone for theology in general,
is too large a topic for this chapter. See Gale (1999) and Weidenbaum (2013).
9 The idea that our background beliefs at least partly constitute our experiences is
called constructivism. One scholar who draws our attention to James’s overlook
ing of the manner in which historical context may inform religious experience is
Proudfoot (2004).
References
Browning, Don S. 1980. Pluralism and Personality: William James and Some Con
temporary Cultures of Psychology. Lewisburg: Bucknell University Press.
Buber, Martin. 1970. I and Thou, trans. Walter Kaufmann. New York: Simon &
Schuster.
Gale, Richard. 1999. The Divided Self of William James. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
James, William. 1956. The Will to Believe and Other Essays in Popular Philosophy.
New York: Dover.
James, William. 1962. Talks to Teachers on Psychology; and to Students on Some of
Life’s Ideals. Mineola: Dover Publications, Inc.
James, William, ed. 1975a. “Pragmatism.” In Pragmatism and the Meaning of
Truth. Cambridge: Harvard University Press.
James, William. 1978. “A Pluralistic Mystic.” In Essays in Philosophy, edited by
Frederick Burkhardt, Fredson Bowers, and Ignas K. Skrupskelis. Cambridge: Har
vard University Press.
James, William. 1996a. A Pluralistic Universe. Lincoln: University of Nebraska
Press.
James, William. 1996b. Some Problems of Philosophy. Lincoln: University of
Nebraska Press.
James, William. 2004. The Varieties of Religious Experience. New York: Sterling
Publishing.
Levinas, Emmanuel. 1969. Totality and Infinity: An Essay on Exteriority, trans.
Alphonso Lingis. Pittsburgh: Duquesne University Press.
Proudfoot, Wayne. 2004. “Introduction” to the Varieties of Religious Experience.
New York: Sterling Publishing.
Royce, Josiah. 2001. The Problem of Christianity. Washington, DC: The Catholic
University of America Press.
Scholem, Gershom. 1946. Major Trends in Jewish Mysticism. New York: Schocken
Books.
Schuon, Frithjof. 1975. “Letter on Existentialism.” www.studiesincomparativereligion.
com/public/articles/Letter_on_Existentialism-by_Frithjof_Schuon.aspx (accessed
November 12, 2018).
Taylor, Charles. 2003. Varieties of Religion Today: William James Revisited. Cam
bridge: Harvard University Press.
Weidenbaum, Jonathan. 2013. “William James’s Argument for a Finite Theism.” In
Models of God and Alternative Ultimate Realities, edited by Jeanine Diller and
Asa Kasher, 323–331. Heidelberg: Springer. doi:10.1007/978-94-007-5219-1_27
Part III
Challenges and possibilities

Introduction
Jerry L. Martin
Sympathetic critics are invaluable, because they articulate the challenges a

new way of thinking must face. Peter Feldmeier explores the potential of
Theology Without Walls (TWW). He begins with the Vatican’s evolution
toward inclusivism. He shows how seeing the parable of the Pharisee and
the tax collector through Buddhist eyes can temper our own judgmentalism,
and how Taoist attitudes could prevent a pastor’s manipulative behavior.
In this mode, TWW is a kind of comparative theology. The alternative is
simply “to think theologically utilizing the vast array of insights from the
world’s great depositories of wisdom and insight.” Ask “what is love or
compassion?” and “draw insights from the widest net possible.”
On the other hand, Feldmeier sees a danger in a kind of “theological
free-for-all” that ignores consistency. Christianity and Daoism, for example,
each has its own metaphysics. Religious insights are “tied to structures of
thought that can be incommensurable.” Perhaps there can be no “meta
narrative” that accounts for everything. Moreover, any theology must reflect
a “living faith.” Feldmeier concludes by asking what TWW would look like
“in its most robust expression.”
One approach to method is offered by Wesley J. Wildman and Jerry L.
Martin. The transreligious theologian faces choices between “theological
possibilities that cut across the religions.” Three of the most plausible mod
els of ultimate reality are an agential being, the ground of being, and a sub
ordinate god within a more fundamental ultimate reality. Each has its own
appeal. Agential being models are best fitted to “the human tendency to see
intentionality in events.” “Reality as a whole is invested with personality
and purpose, meaning and intelligibility, goodness and beauty.” Subordi
nate god models have a “two-tiered” view, with God having the appealing
properties of an agential being, without the difficulties posed by trying to
have a personal being account for the whole of reality. Ground-of-being
models avoid anthropomorphism and best express the limits to human cog
nition that point toward apophaticism.
The models can be tested against what we know from “cognitive science,
evolutionary psychology, comparative religion and other sources.” Each
model will have to meet such “explanatory standards” as “applicability,
DOI: 10.4324/9780429000973-13
108 Jerry L. Martin
adequacy, coherence, consistency, and pragmatic considerations such as eth
ical consequences, aesthetic quality, social potency, and spiritual appeal.”
Choices that fit well with one criterion may fit poorly with another. Hence,
there are “conceptual stresses” within each model. “Fortunately, compara
tive religion and comparative theology have prepared an array of fruitful
cross-cultural concepts, issues to be addressed, and theological options to
consider.”
Among the resources that can now be brought to bear on theology is
the cognitive science of religions (CSR). Johan De Smedt and Helen De
Cruz ask “what theologians can learn” from CSR and “what it identifies
as commonalities across religions.” They connect their approach to “Hick’s
religious pluralism, Ramakrishna’s realization of God through multiple
spiritual paths, and Gellman’s exhaustible plentitude.” The authors begin
with a wide-ranging survey of accounts, religious and nonreligious, of the
“origins of religious belief.” Those views that begin with a natural or innate
knowledge of God have had the challenge of explaining religious ignorance
and religious diversity. Here, “CSR can shed new light.” “A unifying theme
throughout this literature” is that “religion is natural” and that religious
beliefs result from cognitive processes that “operate in everyday life, such
as discerning teleology, detecting agency, and thinking about other people’s
minds.” The authors explore CSR research with regard to “belief in super
natural agents and its connection to cooperation, teleological thinking, and
afterlife beliefs.” They argue that “the dispositions outlined by CSR do give
us some insight into the divine” and that insight is pluralistic.
Wesley J. Wildman draws on cognitive science, evolutionary psychology,
and biology to explore the theologically salient topic of love and desire. He
wants to understand “why these concepts, and the corresponding experi
ences, are so powerful for us, and why we feel they take us so deeply into the
nature of the reality we receive, create, and inhabit.” For him, as a religious
naturalist, divine love does not refer to the thoughts, feelings, intentions,
or actions of a divine being, but to “the valuational depth structures and
dynamic possibilities of the natural world.”
The story of human love begins with the “neutral-behavioral love sys
tems” of the primates evolving into humans. “There are at least four rela
tively distinct brain and behavioral love-and-desire systems, three of which
are directly related to what we human beings call romantic love.”
These systems need not be taken as normative. “Just as it is tempting to
derive moral norms from descriptive information about nature (the natu
ralistic fallacy), so it is all too easy to impute to the depths of nature what
we find emerging in human moral worlds (the projection fallacy).” For the
religious naturalist, “love and desire have cosmic significance,” not because
they were “always there,” but because they emerge within the biocultural
realm as “a sign and an instance of the potent axiological possibilities in
the very depths of nature” as “we choose what love and desire will mean
for us.”
10 Is Theology Without Walls
workable?
Yes, no, maybe
Peter Feldmeier
Yes
The concept of Theology Without Walls is not only an intriguing project, it’s
one that already aligns with my theological tendencies. I write as a Roman
Catholic theologian who has been fascinated by other religions and the
potential value they have in informing my own religious sensibilities. As
a religious studies major in college (almost four decades ago), I gained an
appreciation for other ways of being religious that were quite different from
my own. I allowed myself to be open to the religious other, enough so that
I subsequently utilized non-Christian classical texts for spiritual reading,
including the Upanishads, the Dao De Jing, and classic Zen texts. Much
later, in doctoral studies, I wrote my dissertation on comparing the teach
ings of the Catholic John of the Cross to the Buddhist Buddhaghosa for the
purpose of seeing how Buddhist practices might be incorporated into the
Christian life without compromising Christian theology; no small project
there.
Since the Second Vatican Council (1962–1965), Catholicism has taken a
respectful stance toward the religious other, even proclaiming that, through
the grace of God, God’s saving presence was active in other religious tradi
tions. In no way was this imagined to be some version of relativism. The
Church was clear: although God was present and active in other traditions,
nonetheless “she proclaims and is in duty bound to proclaim without fail,
Christ who is the way, the truth and the life. In him, in whom God recon
ciled all things to himself, men find the fullness of their religious life” (Nos
tra Aetate, #2).
In the theological discipline of theology of religions, this position became
known as inclusivism. Here one’s home religion is believed to be absolutely
true, even while recognizing God’s presence in the religious other. There is
a kind of imperialism in inclusivism, as other religions are not imagined to
be on par with one’s own. Vatican II saw the truths articulated in others as
“a preparation for the Gospel” (Lumen Gentium, #16). One of the great
liabilities in the inclusivism position is that it tends to look for and affirm
those qualities in other religious traditions that look like one’s own. If one
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110 Peter Feldmeier

has the fullness of truth, then the religious other could only have partial
truths, something that reflects one’s own whole truth. It is difficult for the
inclusivist to see any unique quality in the religious other, something valu
able in its own right.
Since Vatican II, the Catholic Church has added something of a wrinkle
in its promotion to dialogue with other religions. In 1984, the Vatican’s
Pontifical Council for Interreligious Dialogue published a document titled
The Attitude of the Church toward Other Religions. Here it outlined vari
ous forms of dialogue. These were 1) Dialogue of Life, focusing on com
mon humanity; 2) Dialogue of Collaboration, focusing on humanitarian
issues; 3) Theological Dialogue, seeking greater mutual understanding; and
4) Dialogue of Religious Experience, including sharing one’s spiritual life
and religious practices. Dialogue here is described as “not only discussion,
but also includes all positive and constructive relations with individuals and
communities of other faiths which are directed at mutual understanding and
enrichment” (#3). The religious other is presumed to have spiritual truths or
insights that the Church can learn from. The document goes on to say that
“a person discovers that he does not possess the truth in a perfect and total
way but can walk together with others toward that goal. Mutual affirma
tion, reciprocal correction, and fraternal exchange lead the partners in dia
logue to a greater maturity.” It is an engagement with other religious faiths
for “mutual enrichment” (#21). The text concludes that there may be great
differences between various religions, but “[t]he sometimes profound differ
ences between faiths do not prevent this dialogue. Those differences, rather,
must be referred back in humility and confidence to God who ‘is greater
than our heart’ (1 Jn 3:20)” (#35).
This document became for some Catholic theologians a game-changer. It
seems to argue that both the non-Christian tradition and Christianity can
be reciprocally corrected, that non-Christian insights can lead the Christian
toward a greater maturity, and that both traditions can be mutually enriched
by his encounter. Thus, the non-Christian tradition has religious goods the
Church does not. Further, where there are differences, the document appeals
to God who transcends what our hearts (or minds) can imagine.
While secure in one’s primary faith commitments, seeking insights through
mutual learning is nothing new to some expressions of Catholicism, even at
the formal level. Already in 1974 the Federation of Asian Bishops’ Confer
ence in Taiwan declared,
How then can we not give them [the other religions] reverence and
honor? And how can we not acknowledge that God has drawn all peo
ples to Himself through them? . . . The great religions of Asia with their
respective creeds, cults and codes reveal to us diverse ways of respond
ing to God whose Spirit is active in all peoples and cultures.1
Theologians have taken up this call as well. The renowned David Tracy
announced three decades ago that “[w]e are fast approaching the day when
Is Theology Without Walls workable? 111
it will not be possible to attempt a Christian systematic theology except in
serious conversation with the other great ways” (Tracy 1990, xi). Tracy’s
insight has borne fruit in what is known as comparative theology. Compara
tive theologians attempt to do systematic theology in light of dialogue with
other religious traditions. Here one engages the texts, theologies, practices,
and religious imagination of another religious tradition. This encounter
gives one insight from a broader religious context to do Christian theol
ogy. Not only does such a procedure widen one’s theological imagination,
it also facilitates a more authentic sympathy for the religious other. What
is attempted by comparative theology is not a syncretistic unification of all
religions, but rather a fresh set of eyes and resources to rethink one’s own
tradition in new ways.
Let me provide a couple of examples of how this might work. Consider
Jesus’s parable in Luke 18 of two men who went to the temple to pray. One
was a Pharisee and the other a tax collector.
The Pharisee, standing by himself, was praying thus, “God, I thank you
that I am not like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like
this tax collector. I fast twice a week; I give a tenth of all my income.”
But the tax collector, standing far off, would not even look up to heaven,
but was beating his breast and saying, “God, be merciful to me, a sin
ner!” I tell you, this man went down to his home justified rather than
the other; for all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who
humble themselves will be exalted.
Jesus’s point is obvious: do not be self-righteous or judgmental but humble,

as this is the truly authentic religious posture before God and others. Let us,
however, consider this parable through the lens of Buddhism. According to
Buddhism, all unskillful thinking, particularly that which inflates the ego, is
an expression of delusion and suffering. And the fact that the Pharisee does
not see this demonstrates just how unaware he is of the situation. He is suf
fering but does not know it. Let us take this a further step: almost certainly
most readers (you and I) have found ourselves in disdain of the Pharisee (I
hate people like that!). Ironically, we are tempted to judge the judgmental
Pharisee and take on his same toxic mental state. Buddhist wisdom guides
us away from such tendencies with its incisive assessment of how a con
ditioned mind works and how to become free from such unskillful, con
ditioned reactivity. One last step: Buddhist wisdom neither condemns the
Pharisee nor us, but instead invites us to see how delusion and suffering
work in the psyche. Buddhist wisdom allows one to embrace the parable
more fully and to cultivate compassion toward all who suffer – the Pharisee,
the tax collector, and oneself alike. In short, listening to Buddhism can help
us understand our own religious predicament more clearly, and this without
compromising our own religious faith.
Let us consider an additional example. In Daoism, there is something
known as the Wu-forms. Wu is a Chinese negative that is often used as a
112 Peter Feldmeier
prefix. Wu-wei (no-action) refers to the value of nonimposing activity. One
does not force something, but instead learns to work with the possibilities
at hand. Wu-zhi (no-knowing) refers to letting go of any artificial constructs
that would blind one from the uniqueness of the new moment. Wu-yu (no-
desire) refers to letting go of one’s neurotic need to be attached to some
static agenda. In Daoism, the universe is an evolving mystery unfolding
before one. The best experience is to participate in it as it is. The wu-forms
dispose the soul to embrace life as art and optimize creative possibilities
without trying to manipulate one’s experience. The wu-forms can teach
one to cultivate an open, spacious mind and heart, respectful of the reality
unfolding before one.
A great temptation in pastoral ministry is to impose an agenda on others.
Perhaps the congregation is not vibrant at, say, a wedding. The pastor might
want to pump up the energy. But all this guarantees is that the minister
and congregation are out of sync. Wu-wei suggests entering the energy that
exists and working skillfully with it, not against it. Or perhaps the pastor
meets a parishioner in crisis. He or she may be uncomfortable with the pain
or ambiguity of the situation. The principle of wu-yu can help the pastor
to stop seeking a personal agenda and to be present as the suffering person
needs one to be present. For the minister, this does not mean that “I must
get rid of this pain.” One does not come to the situation imagining that its
conclusion ought to be joy, surety, or healing. Although these are laudable
goals, they are imposed goals. Indeed, someone may need to grieve or be
in doubt a long time. One ought not to force anything. In both these cases,
insights from religious others can actually help one’s own religious sensibili
ties and even pastoral presence (Feldmeier 2013, 192–197).
Theology Without Walls seems to me the kind of project that can draw
on the uniqueness of various traditions and show how, in dialogue, new
insights might emerge. If utilized in the earlier sense, Theology Without
Walls would take on a kind of post–Vatican II inclusivistic perspective. Here
one would have a starting point with a home tradition that seeks to invig
orate itself with the myriad of insights available from other religious tradi
tions. They could provide complementary insights that might create a more
robust version of one’s own tradition or stretch one’s traditional boundaries.
I see it as potentially a version of comparative theology.
This is not the only way Theology Without Walls might work. It could
take on the presuppositions that belong to a more pluralist camp. Some the
ologians imagine the great religious traditions as proceeding along the same
trajectory, fundamentally doing the same thing. These are broadly known as
pluralists. Typically, pluralists rely on several reasonable principles. The first
is that God as God transcends all conceptuality. Concepts, they argue, are
what humans do, how humans think. They exist to help us negotiate the cre
ated world. But God radically transcends the world. Thus, any God talk can
only correspond to human ways of imagining or making sense of God for
us. Pluralists, such as John Hick, Wilfred Cantwell Smith, and Paul Knitter,
ask, “What’s in a name?” If there is one Transcendent Absolute, and if that
Absolute transcends conceptuality, then it matters little whether we call that
Absolute God, Brahman, Eternal Dao, and so on. Of course, religions do
have their uniqueness, they concede. Still, all authentic religions are dealing
with the same reality in different ways.
Pluralists also tend to see religions as not only pointing to the same divine
Reality, but also looking much like each other. They share many of the same
ethical perspectives, and it is uncanny how similar they are in terms of the
kinds of transformation they describe, and even what union with God is like
according to their various exemplars. In many traditions, the ordinary self
seems to get discarded, while the true self finds a kind of oneness or even
quasi-identity with the divine. One literally re-centers oneself in God. As
Marianne Moyaert notes,
Pluralists are determined to promote real openness, real reciprocity,

and real transformation. They argue for a paradigm shift that would
enable Christians to move away from their millennia-long insistence
on the superiority and finality of their way, whether in its exclusivist or
inclusivist version, and to recognize the independent validity of other
religions.
(Moyaert 2014, 120)
That other religions are fundamentally doing the same thing allows for a
kind of sharing of resources and insights that seem to go far beyond what
any other theology of religions could offer, and it is the most likely perspec
tive one would hold for a Theology Without Walls project. If most or all
religions are not fundamentally doing the same thing, then one wonders
from where one would start, that is, which first principles would ground
one’s theology and how one might negotiate competing perspectives?
Thus, I think that Theology Without Walls could proceed as some form of
pluralism.
One must recognize, however, that so far my framing of Theology With
out Walls has been contextualized through some form of a theology of reli
gions. Jerry L. Martin, both privately and in conference forums, insists that
this is utterly unnecessary. He argues: Why not simply proceed to think the
ologically, utilizing the vast array of insights from the world’s great deposi
tories of wisdom and insight? What is love or compassion? How does one
become holy? How ought the Divine Absolute be understood? To attempt to
answer such questions, why not draw insights with the widest net possible?
Surely, we might want to start with our own natural operating paradigm, be
that Christianity or Hinduism, etc., but Theology Without Walls does not
need a theology of religions to do this. While acknowledging that everyone
comes to texts or teachings with what Gadamer calls pre-understanding,2
one could attempt a kind of tabla rasa (clean slate). What is compassion?
Let’s see what Christians say, what Buddhists say, what Muslims say, and
114 Peter Feldmeier
so on to come up with a larger and more holistic view of it, informed by
its many expressions in various traditions. What is holiness? Again, let’s
consult broadly.
In affirming the possibilities of Theology Without Walls we might also
recognize that it commends itself to a larger public. Young and middle-age
adults in the United States are increasingly identifying with being a “none,”
that is, not identifying with a given religious tradition but refusing to self-
identify as either agnostic or atheist. Progressively, Americans are skeptical
about exclusive religious claims, decidedly rejecting fundamentalist reli
gious framings and imagining religions as about the same agenda. They also
eschew what they think is the typical politicization of religion.3 Thus, Theol
ogy Without Walls seems to fit the zeitgeist or spirit of the time. Responding
to such a spirit, Julius-Kei Kato calls for a “hybridity that makes us mem
bers of multiple worlds and citizens of a global world” (Kato 2016, 271).
No
So far in this chapter, it looks as though Theology Without Walls is not only
commendable but perhaps even indispensable if one is going to do cred
ible theology in this globalized and multiple-religious world. But like most
things, the issue is far more complicated. Inclusivist theologians recognize
that their home religion really does take priority. The point of interreli
gious dialogue from an inclusivist framework is to appreciate and revere
the religious other and in small ways to allow one’s own tradition to be
challenged. But here all religions are assuredly not equal. In responding to
what was considered overreach by some theologians, the Vatican’s Congre
gation for the Doctrine of the Faith reacted strongly with its publication of
Dominus Iesus: On the Unicity and Salvific Universality of Jesus Christ and
the Church. Written by Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger, who later became Pope
Benedict XVI, Dominus Iesus insisted:
What hinders understanding and acceptance of the revealed truth: the

conviction of the elusiveness and inexpressibility of divine truth . . . rela
tivistic attitudes toward truth itself . . . the metaphysical emptying of the
historical incarnation of the Eternal Logos, reduced to a mere appearing
of God in history; the eclecticism of those who, in theological research,
uncritically absorb ideas from a variety of philosophical and theologi
cal contexts without regard for consistency, systematic connection, or
compatibility with truth.
(#4)
Dominus Iesus concedes that there may be some elements of truth in other
religions, but “[i]t is also certain that objectively speaking, they are in a
gravely deficient situation in comparison with those who, in the Church,
have the fullness of the means of salvation” (#22).
The great concern that Ratzinger had was a kind of theological free-for
all that neither recognized the priority of the Christian gospel, nor respected
the complexity of trying to incorporate insights from other traditions with
out concern for philosophical or theological consistency. I hope that my
example of Daoist insights was helpful to see how comparative work can
yield fruitful results. I am also aware, however, that there are massive com
plexities in making any theological claims that include Daoism. Daoism has
its own particular metaphysics that contrasts strongly with Western notions
of God. Daoism is virtually acosmic, with no sense that there is an abso
lute, eternal Reality undergirding created reality. The Dao is not God in any
sense; there is no God exactly, but only the ceaseless flow of life. There is
no Transcendent Absolute, and thus to draw on its metaphysics is to risk
violating the principle of noncontradiction – they can’t be both true. And
where a Daoist concept depends on such a metaphysic, there will be serious
problems incorporating such a concept into a theistic view.
This is one of the biggest concerns I have for Theology Without Walls: its
scope seems to be simply too large. What the most responsible comparative
theologians do is relatively small and discrete. Francis Clooney, the fore
most authority in comparative theology, is a good example. He has spent his
career comparing Hindu insights with Christian ones. In every attempt, his
scope is highly circumscribed. Clooney writes,
[T]he opportunities present in the interreligious situation are most fruit

fully appropriated slowly and by way of small and specific examples
taken seriously and argued through in their details. . . . Interreligious
theology is not the domain of generalists but rather of those willing to
engage in detailed study, tentatively and over time.
(Clooney 2001, 164)
Further, his work is intended to both stretch and be faithful to his own
faith (i.e., Christianity). In commenting on comparative theologians,
Michael Barnes notes that they favor “experiments, focused micro-studies
that acknowledge the freedom of the Spirit while at the same time driving
the faithful thinker deeper into the mystery of the divine encounter as it is
inscribed in . . . the home tradition” (Barnes 2016, 241).
Pluralism is not without its own method problems. Critics have observed
that pluralists tend to home in on what appears similar in different religions
without taking seriously the differences. They tend to look for evidence
from an already predetermined pluralist assumption, something of a conclu
sion looking for supportive data. I noted earlier that witnesses of mystical
union look very much alike among various religions. But others have argued
that if you looked carefully, the similarities fade in light of the particularities
of each religion. A scholar of mysticism, Stephen Katz, has argued that the
past two decades of research have now rejected the earlier assumptions that
mystics were having the same experiences. These assumptions, he states,
116 Peter Feldmeier
are “simplistic and untrue to the data at hand” (Katz 2013, 5). According
to Katz and others, Muslims have Islamic mystical experiences, Jews have
Jewish experiences, Buddhists have Buddhist experiences, and so on (Katz
2013, 5–6).
Not only have pluralists potentially overshot their mark on any unifying
qualities in the world’s religions, they can tend to undermine their own home
religion in striving for universal claims. In a friendly debate between myself
and Paul Knitter, we discussed whether Buddhism and Christianity were
commensurable, that is, able to be aligned. I charged Knitter with down
grading God (from a Christian point of view) and eternalizing creation.
I also charged him with misappropriating classic Buddhist texts. Whether
my position succeeded is for the scholarly audience to decide. Regardless,
the danger lurks large when striving to see a unified religious world that may
not be so unified after all.4
This same problem occurs without a theology of religions informing one’s
assumptions. The quasi–tabla rasa position, discussed earlier, has yet to
deal in a satisfying way with the problems of uniting insights from various
religions without recognizing that those very insights are tied to structures
of thought that can be incommensurable with other structures of thought.
Many scholars argue that religions simply cannot be well compared or
mutually drawn on. In George Lindbeck’s influential book, The Nature of
Doctrine, he argues that religions resemble languages that are intrinsically
unique and inseparable from their respective cultures. Lindbeck writes,
Adherents of different religions do not diversely thematize the same

experience, rather they have different experiences. Buddhist compas
sion, Christian love and . . . French revolutionary fraternité are not
diverse modifications of a single human awareness, emotion, attitude,
or sentiment, but are radically (i.e., from the root) distinct ways of expe
riencing and being oriented toward self, neighbor, and cosmos.
(Lindbeck 1984, 40, as cited in
Moyaert 2014, 131)
Moyaert notes that “according to Lindbeck, there is still a second reason

why religions are untranslatable. Religions are all-encompassing interpre
tive schemas.” Thus, citing Lindbeck, “nothing can be translated out of the
idiom into some supposedly independent communicative system without
perversion, diminution or incoherence of meaning” (Moyaert 2014, 131).
In short, trying to incorporate Nirvana into some Christian interpretive
scheme is certain to undermine what Buddhists really mean by Nirvana, as
well as to compromise Christianity, which simply has no message regarding
Nirvana or interest in it. We might call Lindbeck the herald of a new kind
of theology of religions, that is, the postliberal or postmodern position. In
short, it proclaims that there can be no meta-narrative, no absolute vision
or paradigm that could absorb or account for everything.
A final potential problem with a Theology Without Walls has to do with
its readership. I noted earlier that this is the kind of project that would
appeal particularly to the nones, those who reject particular or exclusive
claims from religion but are open to larger universal claims. The problem is
that this is less a community than it is an audience. Centuries ago, the great
Christian theologian Anselm of Canterbury famously defined theology as
fides quaerens intellectum – faith seeking understanding. What any theol
ogy requires, including Theology Without Walls, is a living faith. Faith is the
condition of possibility for theology to make sense, to be valuable. I won
der if Theology Without Walls would actually help this audience or if it
would encourage its readership away from a particular faith. I see religions
as forums for spiritual transformation. I also see religions as having their
own particularities and unique expressions of this transformation. Religions
operate as paradigms or lenses of interpretation of experience. Their respec
tive dogmas act like fences within which its members live. Such fences could
be permeable, even climbable, but they seem to be necessary. They give reli
gion form. Could Theology Without Walls be ultimately formless?
Conclusion: maybe
Some scholars, including me, believe that all the earlier positions and those
of their critics can be overstated. Inclusivism rightly insists that if one thinks
one’s religion is true – really true – then this has consequences as to what
one thinks of alternative faiths. But inclusivism cannot account for authen
tic and very different religious expressions that do not fit well into its own
religious tradition. If the Catholic Church, for example, takes on the inclu
sivist model, it does so without consistency. If one can really learn from the
religious other, then one’s tradition cannot have all the goods. Pluralism
rightly sees universal tendencies that make interreligious sharing possible.
I am not at all convinced that other religions are so incommensurable as
Lindbeck insists. There really are massive similarities that make interreli
gious sharing possible. On the other hand, pluralism does underestimate
religious differences. And although the postmodern position is right to warn
against colonizing the religious other, it overstates its own position. If reli
gions are different languages, we can learn these languages and see cognates
in our own. Further, there is no pure religion that has not been influenced
by forces outside itself. For example, early Christianity was decidedly influ
enced by Neoplatonism. Thomas Aquinas, the great medieval synthesizer,
unabashedly drew on Aristotle, Plato, and Islamic and Jewish sources such
as Avicenna and Maimonides.
Thus, I see Theology Without Walls as valuable and in some ways already
being done fruitfully. But I must ask, what would it look like in its most
robust expression? By what method? Would it have a theological founda
tion, say, Christianity, and then extend this to include insights from the
world’s religions? Or would it start from scratch and attempt a unified
118 Peter Feldmeier
theory of religion? How would it address philosophical positions that have
very different and even colliding first principles? These are the questions
that would have to be answered. If successfully addressed and defended,
then – maybe!
Notes
1 Cited in Chia (2016, 49).
2 See Gadamer (1975, 274–289).
3 See Putman and Campbell (2010), passim.
4 This debate initially took place at the Catholic Theological Society of America in
2015 and subsequently published as Knitter and Feldmeier (2016).
References
Barnes, Michael. 2016. “The Promise of Comparative Theology: Reading between
the Lines.” In Interfaith Dialogue: Pathways for Ecumenical and Interreligious
Dialogue, edited by Edmund Kee-Fook Chia, 237–250. New York: Palgrave
Macmillan.
Chia, Edmund Kee-Fook. 2016. “Response of the Asian Church to Nostra
Aetate.” In Interfaith Dialogue: Pathways for Ecumenical and Interreligious
Dialogue, edited by Edmund Kee-Fook Chia, 45–56. New York: Palgrave.
doi:10.1057/978-1-137-59698-7_4
Clooney, Francis X. 2001. Hindu God, Christian God: How Reason Helps Break
Down the Boundaries between Religions. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
doi:10.1086/382319
Feldmeier, Peter. 2013. “Christian Transformation and the Encounter with the
World’s Holy Canons.” Horizons 40 (2): 192–197. doi:10.1017/hor.2013.72
Gadamer, Hans-Georg. 1975. Truth and Method. Trans. Garrett Barden and John
Cummings. New York: Seabury Press.
Kato, Julius-Kei. 2016. “Epistemic Confidence, Humility, and Kenosis in Interfaith
Dialogue.” In Interfaith Dialogue: Pathways for Ecumenical and Interreligious
Dialogue, edited by Edmund Kee-Fook Chia, 265–276. New York: Palgrave Mac
millan. doi:10.1057/978-1-137-59698-7_20
Katz, Steven. 2013. “Introduction.” In Comparative Mysticism: An Anthology of
Original Sources, edited by Steven Katz, 3–22. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Knitter, Paul, and Peter Feldmeier. 2016. “Are Buddhism and Christianity Commen
surable? A Debate/Dialogue Between Paul Knitter and Peter Feldmeier.” Journal
of Buddhist-Christian Studies 36 (1): 165–184. doi:10.1353/bcs.2016.0015
Lindbeck, George. 1984. The Nature of Doctrine: Religion and Theology in a Post-
liberal Age. Philadelphia: Westminster Press. doi:10.1177/004057368504200214
Moyaert, Marianne. 2014. In Response to the Religious Other: Ricoeur and the
Fragility of Interreligious Encounters. Lanham: Lexington Books.
Putman, Robert, and David Campbell. 2010. American Grace: How Religion Divides
and Unites Us. New York: Simon & Schuster. doi:10.1017/s0022381612000771
Tracy, David. 1990. Dialogue with the Other: The Inter-Religious Dialogue. Lou-
vain: Peeters.
11 Daunting choices in
transreligious theology
A case study
Wesley J. Wildman with Jerry L. Martin
The transreligious theologian faces daunting choices. These choices are not
between religions – because for transreligious theologians the relevant data,
concepts, and methods are not restricted to those of a single tradition – but
rather between theological possibilities that cut across the religions. Under
standing this is a critical part of the answer to the appealingly practical
question about how we might go about the difficult task of transreligious
theology. To the end of such understanding, this chapter presents a case
study to illustrate the way theological options cut across traditions, inviting
us along a pathway into the territory of transreligious theology oriented
more by conceptual affinities and tensions than by religious identifications.1
Consider the category of ultimate reality, which fits postaxial religious
traditions reasonably comfortably, and even many nonaxial traditions with
tolerable awkwardness. This is a classic example of a vague comparative
category: it has been specified with a variety of mutually incompatible mod
els that exist side by side within traditions and recur in various modalities
across traditions.2 Three of the most plausible, highly developed models
of ultimate reality are an agential being (personal theism, or not-less-than
personal theism, where this divine being is the ultimate reality), the ground
of being (beyond the categories of existence and nonbeing, and thus not
a being but a principle that resists comprehensive understanding), and a
subordinate god (a personal or not-less-than-personal God or gods within
a more fundamental ultimate reality). Each ultimacy model boasts a long
heritage, impressive explanatory power, significant cross-cultural visibility,
and considerable internal diversity.
The agential being model supposes that, whatever else it may be, ultimate
reality is a being aware of reality, responsive to events, and active within the
world. Reality as whole is invested with personality and purpose, meaning
and intelligibility, goodness and beauty. Every aspect of reality is rendered as
coherent as the narrative of a focally aware and purposefully active personal
life. No theory of ultimate reality is better fitted to the human tendency to
see intentionality in events and to give group identity an authoritative focus.
Subordinate god models assert that there is at least one God, who is a
being with determinate characteristics existing within a more fundamental
DOI: 10.4324/9780429000973-15
120 Wesley J. Wildman with Jerry L. Martin

reality. In this two-tiered view, God has the personal characteristics that
make agential being models so appealing – providing existential meaning
and a focus for community bonding – but the challenging task of provid
ing an understanding of reality as a whole is addressed at a more abstract,
impersonal level. Subordinate god models offer a way to avoid some of the
conceptual stresses that beset agential being models.
Ground-of-being models make an ontological shift from God as a being
to God as the ground or source of reality. This God is typically conceived as
the source of being and nonbeing, and thus beyond those categories, which
makes talk of existence or nonexistence unintelligible. To the extent that
we can identify patterns and fundamental structures within the reality in
which we live and move and have our being, we generate insights into the
character of the ground of being but a full understanding always necessar
ily retreats from the grasping cognition of human beings, or indeed of any
being whatsoever. This is why ground-of-being models are often expressed
using apophatic strategies of indirection.
Consider a couple of examples of diversity internal to traditions. First, in
the South Asian context, the theology of Rāmānuja (from the dvaita Vedānta
tradition of Hindu philosophy) expresses personal theism. Rāmānuja’s the
ology was formulated in explicit opposition to the advaita, or nondual
Vedānta tradition, which belongs to the ground-of-being class of ultimacy
models. Here we see a fundamental conflict internalized within the vague
category of ultimate reality and persistently debated within the rich Vedānta
tradition. Meanwhile, next door in Persia, Zoroastrianism presented two
non-ultimate Gods, one good and one evil, who jointly constitute ultimate
reality. This subordinate-gods cosmological vision eliminates the moral par
adoxes of a personal ultimate and the moral neutrality of a nonpersonal
ultimate and with striking clarity calls upon each human being to choose a
moral side.
Second, in the Western context, the ancient tradition of the Israelite reli
gion, as it transformed into Judaism and early Christianity, gave powerful
articulation to a subordinate-being model of ultimate reality. Here God is
not ultimate reality, but rather a force for goodness and justice within a
wider chaotic reality. Creation was understood as this God taming chaos
to fashion an intelligible moral order. Within three centuries of its origins,
Christianity had produced a new understanding of creation in which God
creates from nothing, thereby making a personal being the ultimate reality,
with all of the attendant theodicy problems. In the same environment, early
Stoicism was propounding a ground-of-being model that also influenced
Christianity as it sought to articulate the radical transcendence associated
with its emerging view of God as ultimate reality itself, rather than as the
religiously relevant component of ultimate reality.
These models are live options for the transreligous theologian, once their
cross-cultural character is recognized, but only if the theologian is prepared
to leave the complex beauty of a single familiar religious continent to sail
Daunting choices in transreligious theology 121
the oceans seeking conceptual affinities and tensions among the world’s
religious ideas and practices. Even within the domain of comparative theol
ogy, not all theologians find that journey appealing and would rather root
themselves in one religious continent and learn from one or more other
traditions how to root themselves ever more deeply. Fair enough; there is
room for many theological temperaments within comparative theology.
But transreligious theology takes a different journey, tackling fundamental
theological questions as they arise within the human species, in all of its
cultural and religious diversity and biological and bodily givenness. That
conception of transreligious theology guides this chapter’s exploration of
ultimate-reality models that cut across religious traditions and co-exist
within each tradition.
Identifying the presence of the three models cutting across religious tradi
tions helps to shape the choices before the transreligious theologian. Com
paring those models is a critical component in making rational choices.
One line of comparative analysis begins with the observation that the three
models exemplify different approaches to managing the human reality of
anthropomorphic cognition, whereby we make use of what we think we
know best (human beings) to understand what we surely know least (ulti
mate reality). For at least the following three reasons, comparing ultimacy
models in terms of the ways they embrace or resist anthropomorphism may
be a good place for the transreligious theologian to focus inquiry.
First, anthropomorphism is prominent in theological traditions and wide
spread in popular devotion, so it is difficult to avoid. The world of religious
symbolism is replete with anthropomorphic imagery that promotes spiritual
engagement, and there need not be anything naive or excessive about it.
Moreover, some philosophic models ascribe to ultimate reality character
istics that are derived from human experience, such as awareness, feelings,
intentions, plans, and agency. Yet intellectuals also critique anthropomor
phic conceptions of ultimate reality as profoundly misleading, so there is a
rich array of material here for the transreligious theologian to engage and
process. Second, a tradition rich in anthropomorphic images and stories
may well be the departure point of a theologian raised in or attached to a
theistic tradition. This makes anthropomorphic models of ultimate reality
of immediate interest to many comparative and transreligious theologians.
Third, from cognitive psychology and evolutionary biology, we have learned
that anthropomorphic cognition appears to be something like a cognitive
default, in the sense of the most natural, ready-to-hand way of thinking
available for making sense of the world around us, including difficult-to
interpret aspects of that world. Unfortunately, cognitive defaults of all
kinds, including this one, are prone to error. Human beings routinely project
consciousness, agency, and purpose where there is none. Our tendency to
misapply anthropomorphic cognition does not refute anthropomorphism,
but it does raise a red flag that transreligious theologians should evaluate
carefully.
Anthropomorphism isn’t a simple continuum, ranging from extreme
to none. There are three relatively independent dimensions of theological
anthropomorphism: intentionality, practicality, and narrativity. Intentional
ity is the degree to which the model attributes intentional action, conscious
ness, and purposes to an invisible being such as a deity. Practicality is the
degree to which a model of ultimate reality has existential grip and rel
evance to the immediate concerns of people’s lives. Narrativity is the degree
to which the model supports rich traditions of story, legend, and miracles
that provide meaning to people’s lives and shared referents for a community.
Anthropomorphism can be stronger or weaker in relation to each of these
three dimensions, and theologians have adopted a variety of positions –
opposing anthropomorphism here, employing it there. The variety of con
figurations possible seems to offer the theologian considerable freedom,
but the choice is meaningfully constrained. Each dimension can be tested
against relevant information from cognitive science, evolutionary psychol
ogy, comparative religion, and other sources. The theologian may have to
balance what best reflects the scientific data against what most effectively
provides existential orientation and a sense of religious community. Then
a complex theological hypothesis will have to be tested against explana
tory standards, including applicability, adequacy, coherence, consistency,
and pragmatic considerations such as ethical consequences, aesthetic qual
ity, social potency, and spiritual appeal. Framing and ranking the relevant
criteria are themselves theological choices.
Because choices that fit well with one criterion may fit poorly with another,
the theologian should expect difficult decisions and conceptual stresses. For
example, the ground-of-being model may be appealing to those who give
great weight to evolutionary psychology and cognitive science, but may be
found to be spiritually disappointing to those who sense that only a personal
deity could be spiritually satisfying. The agential-being model may provide
accessible spiritual understanding but struggle with scientific information
about the ways human minds work. If the theologian finds the notion of
providential action compelling, then God simply has to be an agent, but
then the agential-being model must confront the problem of theodicy –
which arises from the equation of the personal God, who contains no evil,
with comprehensive reality, which does. Theodicy can be a problem also
for those ground-of-being models that regard God as unambiguously good.
Theodicy is not a problem for subordinate-deity models, such as process
theology or Zoroastrianism, which can divorce God from the moral flaws of
reality as a whole and thereby protect God’s moral perfection.
The theologian will also face anthropomorphically inflected metaphysi
cal questions about the ultimate conditions for reality. These include the
problem of the One and the Many, the problem of evil, the problem of onto
logical dependence, the problem of causal closure, the problem of the intel
ligibility of reality, and so on. For example, suppose the theologian faces a
choice between 1) the hypothesis of God as omnipotent creator (this could
be either an agential-being or a ground-of-being position, depending on the
details) and 2) the hypothesis of cosmic moral dualism famous from classical
Manichaeism and Zoroastrianism (this belongs to the class of subordinate-
deity models). How might the theologian reason about such a choice?
It would be relevant to consider how well each handles such theological
issues as the problem of evil and the problem of the One and the Many. The
theologian will find that absolute moral dualisms handle the problem of evil
spectacularly well, at least in one obvious sense: the origin of both good
and evil is cosmological, there is no perplexing question of one deriving
from the other, and there is no possibility of eschatological consummation
in favor of one or the other. By contrast, omnipotent creator theism offers
a famously contorted solution to the problem of evil, with evil explained
either as a mere privation of good in a good world created by a good God,
or as spontaneously derived from the good and tolerated by a good God for
a good reason, or as deliberately created by a good God for a good reason
(which eschatology may reveal), or as rooted in God’s own morally ambiva
lent nature.
In regard to the problem of the One and the Many, the strengths and
weakness of the two models are reversed. Absolute moral dualisms attribute
everything in reality to two co-primordial creative forces locked in eternal
battle, but don’t explain why things are determined in that dualistic cos
mological way, essentially dodging the problem of the One and the Many.
Meanwhile, omnipotent creator theism traces all of determinate reality to
the divine nature and its creative act. One famous solution to the problem
of the One and the Many describes this divine creative act not as a taming of
chaos or the forming of pre-existent material but as creation from nothing
(ex nihilo), which implies that everything is ontologically dependent on this
divine creator. The only limitation to this splendid solution to the problem
of the One and the Many is explaining the determinate nature of God –
why should God be that way rather than some other way? Most ex nihilo
creation traditions simply refuse to entertain that question, treating God as
self-existent, and thus as the metaphysical backstop for all origins questions.
Thus, the model that solves one problem well does relatively poorly on
the other. The transreligious theologian must ask: Is it more important to
have an intelligible solution to the problem of evil or a compelling resolu
tion of the problem of the One and the Many? Among those who would
prefer to solve the problem of evil are Zoroaster, Confucius, and Alfred
North Whitehead. Those who would prefer to solve the problem of the One
and the Many include Plotinus, Śaṅkara, and Robert Neville. Still others,
with competing metaphysical intuitions (such as the later Augustine), regard
the two problems as equally important.
How does one decide which problem is more pressing? Here the dimen
sion of anthropomorphism we call practicality – the ready applicability of
ideas to the immediate concerns of life – becomes a vital consideration.
Prioritizing a solution to the problem of evil underwrites a way to think
about one of the great problems of human life, in which we are often preoc
cupied with the pain and frustration of finitude and the outrage and needless
suffering associated with moral evil. The more anthropomorphic position
does not bother about completeness of rational intelligibility when it is not
immediately relevant (which it rarely is in ordinary life). The less anthro
pomorphic position maximizes the completeness of rational intelligibility.
Agential-being models rate high on the practicality dimension of anthropo
morphism, responding to existential needs and spiritual yearnings, but they
do little to resist error-prone cognitive defaults. An overemphasis on stories,
myths, legends, and miracles may impair theological richness, complexity,
sophistication, and validity. By contrast, the less anthropomorphic position
prioritizes the completeness of rational intelligibility even if the result is a
theological vision of ultimate reality that regular religious people find dif
ficult to digest.
Several strategies are available to mitigate anthropomorphism. Consider
the role of time and change within the life of an agential God. The more
highly anthropomorphic models take their conceptual clues from narratives
of God as an agent, which are amply present in the Vedas, the Hebrew Bible,
the New Testament, and the Qur’an. In these narratives, God is a being who
communicates, makes decisions, and acts at particular times. These char
acteristics require the divine version of a temporal consciousness and the
metaphysical capacity to change, develop, and feel. On the other hand, the
theologian may come to regard a temporal, changing being as either unsuit
able for a deity or impossible for an omnipotent creator. These reservations
struck Aquinas, Avicenna, and Maimonides for Abrahamic theisms, and
Udayana for South Asian theism.
The attribution of eternity, immutability, and impassibility to God miti
gates the intentionality dimension of anthropomorphism and draws the less
highly anthropomorphic agential-being models close to the ground-of-being
models. These attributions may help provide a rational account of compre
hensive reality, but they may weaken the notion of a loving, benign, act
ing God vital to some religious understandings. Similarly, a God standing
outside time may imply divine foreknowledge incompatible with human
freedom and natural divine responsiveness. Here again, subordinate-deity
models, which do not use God to explain ultimate reality, may be able to
avoid these difficulties.
Like theologians rooted within a single tradition, the transreligious theo
logian may feel forced toward some balancing of the personal aspects of
divinity and the impersonal aspects of ultimate reality. The medieval syn
thesis of classical theism combines personal (Biblical) and nonpersonal
(philosophical) elements to define key doctrines such as the Trinity and the
hypostatic union (the unity of humanity and divinity in Christ). In these
formulations, the theologian grants the philosophers’ point that ultimate
reality is not a being, but construes this as “not a being like created beings,”
and then continues to insist with the Bible that the divine being is personal,
intentional, and active. Where some analysts saw only contradictions in this
synthesis, others saw hard-won harmony.
The clearest way to save the idea of God as agential being is to dispense
with the claim that this God is the ultimate reality, which is to shift from
the agential-being class to the subordinate-deity class. Process theologians
have made exactly that move. The clearest way to save the idea of God as
ultimate reality is to drop the claim that ultimate reality is an agential being,
which is to shift from the agential-being class to the ground-of-being class
of models. Some theologians, such as Paul Tillich and many Jewish post-
Holocaust thinkers, have done just that.
The transreligious theologian will also face the question of ontological
dependence. The problem arises in classical theism when it asks how God
can be truly omnipotent if there is something external to God with reference
to which God’s moral or ontological standing can be assessed? The doctrine
of aseity or self-subsistence asserts that divine reality exists in, of, for, and
from itself. This implies that all things – even the transcendental ideals of
goodness, truth, and beauty – are ontologically dependent on God, derive
from God, and are what they are because of God. The most austere form
of aseity implies occasionalism, which is influential in Muslim theology:
nothing occurs that God does not do, nothing is created that God does not
create, and there is no causal continuity apart from the action of God to
make causal patterns and regularities appear. Jewish, Christian, and Hindu
theology tend to affirm aseity in a moderate form. The ex nihilo constraint
ensures that nothing already exists alongside God when God creates, which
is the constraint that process models of ultimate reality abandon. Thus, for
the creation ex nihilo view, everything is ontologically dependent on God,
and yet God is free to create as God sees fit, perhaps giving creation the
power to sustain its own causal regularities.
A question that looms over all theological reasoning is: To what extent is
ultimate reality to be regarded as generally fitting human modes of under
standing? To what extent does ultimacy, by its very nature, exceed the grasp
of finite knowers? If it exceeds too much, no knowledge and perhaps no
relationship – at least no articulate relationship – to the divine is possible,
as Aquinas argues in his discussion of analogy. If it fits too closely, the con
cept of God threatens to shrink to disturbingly human size. These issues are
closely related to questions about religious language. To what degree are
characteristics attributed to God literally and univocally? To what extent
analogically or metaphorically or symbolically?
Symbolic interpretations shift reference away from the literal sense to
some other meaning. Aquinas’s doctrine of analogy offers an in-between
view: God loves in a way that is analogous to the way human beings
love – similar in respects sufficient to deserve the same word but different
in respects appropriate to the difference between divine being and human
being. Suitably reframed, divine agency can be retained even by ground
of-being models. Tillich rejects virtually all literal statements about God,
but compensates for the loss of concrete meaning with a vibrant theory
of symbolism.
Ground-of-being models tend to rank relatively low on all three dimen
sions of anthropomorphism – significantly lower than the least anthropo
morphic agential-being models – but versions differ in how they handle
each of the three dimensions. For example, subordinate-deity models are
an intriguing combination of high intentionality and high narrativity at the
level of the depiction of the subordinate deity – higher than many agential
being models – and low intentionality and low narrativity at the level of ulti
mate reality as a whole, which is not religiously relevant for these models.
Of course, what qualities to attribute to the God or gods operating under
the dome of ultimate reality presents further decisions for the theologian, as
well as how precisely to conceive the nature and structure of ultimate real
ity. However, the transreligious theologian may decide to resist all forms of
anthropomorphism. This choice would lead to religious naturalism, with
ultimate reality conceived as the relatively characterless God Beyond God.
Comparative religion gives rise to another criterion the transreligious
theologian may find useful: deferring to the most sophisticated philosophi
cal understandings in the various traditions as offering a kind of religious
“expertise.” Ground-of-being models fit well with the expertise criterion.
They can accommodate a symbolic account of diverse religious ideas and
frame a metaphysics in which every viewpoint finds a natural place, even
if they are not all of equal value. The expertise criterion causes trouble for
agential-being models, whose insistence on a personal highest being as ulti
mate reality tends to lock theology into the single religion focused on this
particular God and to block the rich theological possibilities that take in the
truths from multiple faiths, including the venerable nontheistic traditions.
The expertise criterion, giving emphasis to the rich diversity of religious
ideas and practices, may point the transreligious theologian toward some
form of pluralism. The presence of plural religious practices and multi
ple divinities probably inspired the Upaniṣads, with their affirmation that
Brahman is One – behind, between, and beyond all, both identical with
the human spirit and utterly transcending it, grounding and uniting every
thing that is. The same vision powers the perennial philosophy’s attempt to
coordinate all models of ultimate reality into a hierarchy perfectly suited to
accommodate the vast range of spiritual personalities and inclinations, with
each soul driving toward the loftier, transpersonal models as it commutes
through the saṃsāric cycle of lives.3 A similar sensitivity to the perceived
limits of religious images and ideas (images in conceptual form) inspires the
apophatic declaration that ultimate reality is beyond all imagery and best
met in linguistic indirection or even silence. Apophaticism is a strategy for
speaking of ultimate reality by turning away from conceptual modeling,
and indeed away from every kind of ultimacy speech – but all of this in such
a way as to convey something indirectly about ultimate reality. There is a
great deal to say, and much theoretical intricacy to negotiate, prior to laps
ing into silence.
Whereas classical theism was always subject to conceptual stresses, the
supposedly personal and nonpersonal elements of ultimate reality were more
easily combined in past eras than they are now. The natural and social sci
ences have increased suspicions of the highly anthropomorphic default for
human cognition. The sciences are most easily reconciled with naturalism,
which either rejects all theological models as superstitions or invites new
models based on the overflowing resources of nature itself, within which all
human strivings, religious and otherwise, arise and find expression. Or, also
compatible with the sciences, the response can be apophaticism, which finds
the truest response to the divine, not in models, but in patterns of linguistic
indirection that yield to a profound silence.
One of the challenges of transreligious theology is how to think theo
logically beyond a single tradition. What are one’s materials, concepts, and
guidelines? Fortunately, comparative religion and comparative theology have
prepared an array of fruitful cross-cultural concepts, issues to be addressed,
and theological options to consider. Theologians working beyond the walls
now have ample resources for moving religious understanding forward.
Notes
1 With the help of Martin, this chapter reframes conceptual content from Wildman
(2017) in a way designed to be helpful to transreligious theologians.
2 A properly vague comparative category is a key concept within the Cross-Cultural
Comparative Religious Ideas project, the results of which are presented in three
volumes edited by Robert Cummings Neville (2001).
3 For example, see Smith (1992).
References
Neville, Robert C. 2001. The Human Condition, Ultimate Realities, and Religious
Truth. Albany, NY: SUNY Press.
Smith, Huston. 1992. Forgotten Truth: The Common Vision of the World’s Reli
gions. 2nd ed. San Francisco, CA: HarperOne.
Wildman, Wesley J. 2017. In Our Own Image: Anthropomorphism, Apophaticism,
and Ultimacy. Oxford: Oxford University Press. doi:10.1093/oso/978019881
5990.003.0002
12 Cognitive science of religion
and the nature of the divine
A pluralist, nonconfessional
approach
Johan De Smedt and Helen De Cruz
Introduction
Cognitive science of religion (CSR) indicates that people naturally veer
toward beliefs that are quite divergent from Anselmian monotheism or
Christian theism. Some authors (e.g., Shook 2017) have taken this view as
a starting point for a debunking argument against religion, whereas others
(e.g., Barrett 2009) have tried to vindicate Christian theism by appealing to
the noetic effects of sin, or the Fall.
In this chapter, we use a different approach: we ask what theologians
can learn from CSR about the nature of the divine by looking at the CSR
literature and what it identifies as commonalities across religions. We use a
pluralist, nonconfessional approach to outline properties of the divine with
reference to the CSR literature. We connect our approach to Hick’s religious
pluralism, Ramakrishna’s realization of God through multiple spiritual
paths, and Gellman’s inexhaustible plenitude.
The origins of religious beliefs and their justification

What can the origins of religious beliefs tell us about their justification? From
the eighteenth century onward, philosophers and scientists have considered
this question by outlining natural histories of religion. These accounts not
only examine the origins of religious beliefs but also ask whether those
beliefs could be rationally maintained in light of their origins. Typically,
eighteenth-century natural histories of religion (e.g., De Fontenelle 1728;
Hume 1757) emphasized the diversity of religious beliefs and expressed
skepticism about their rationality. For example, Hume (1757, 2) stated that
religious beliefs were so diverse that “no two nations, and scarce any two
men, have ever agreed precisely in the same sentiments.”
By contrast, other authors since the early modern period, such as John
Calvin and Pierre Gassendi, emphasized the universality of religion and
took this as a starting point for the truth of religious claims. For example,
Calvin (1559/1960, 43–46), following Cicero, made the empirical claim
that there is “no nation so barbarous, no people so savage, that they have
DOI: 10.4324/9780429000973-16
Cognitive science of religion 129
not a deep-seated conviction that there is a God” and concluded “it is not
a doctrine that must be first learned in school, but one of which each of
us is master from his mother’s womb and which nature itself permits no
one to forget.” Calvin appealed to an innate sense of the divine, a sensus
divinitatis, which instills religious beliefs in us. An influential updated ver
sion of this argument is Plantinga’s (2000) extended Aquinas/Calvin model,
which argues that Christian belief can have warrant, even in the absence
of rational argument, because it is produced by a properly working sensus
divinitatis that God implanted in us.
However, religious diversity threatens to undermine any straightforward
claim from universality to truth. If religious belief is universal, why do peo
ple across religious traditions hold mutually incompatible religious beliefs?
The Medieval Muslim theologian Al-Ghazālī worried about this question,
as he mused that children of Muslims tend to turn out Muslims, children
of Jews tend to grow up as Jews, and children of Christians tend to become
Christians. He proposed that everyone is born with the fiṭrah, a basic moral
sense and natural belief in God, which can give rise to authentic religion or
be perverted into false religions: “Every infant is born endowed with the
fiṭrah: then his parents make him Jew or Christian or Magian [Zoroastrian]”
(Al-Ghazālī, 1100/2006, 19–20). In this way, cultural influences can either
help properly cultivate certain religious beliefs or have a distorting influence
and give rise to false (in Al-Ghazālī’s view, non-Muslim) ones. Similarly,
Christian authors such as Calvin (1559/1960) and, more recently, Plantinga
(2000, 184) appeal to the Fall as an explanation for why people’s “natural
knowledge of God has been compromised, weakened, reduced, smothered,
overlaid, or impeded.” As a result of our sinful condition, we are not only
damaged in our cognitive structures, which hampers our knowledge of God,
but also in our affection, which fails to orient itself to God.
Any argument that takes the prevalence of religious beliefs as a starting
point to make claims about the existence and nature of the divine stum
bles on the problem of religious diversity. In order to address this problem,
authors from monotheistic traditions appeal to a sense of the divine com
bined with auxiliary principles such as the noetic effects of sin (Calvin and
Plantinga) or to cultural transmission (Al-Ghazālī) to explain why religious
beliefs are so divergent. For these authors, religious diversity is a problem.
But, as we will show later, religious pluralism celebrates the diversity of
religious beliefs, while at the same allowing for something akin to a sense
of the divine.
The cognitive science of religion

CSR can shed new light on why religious beliefs are widespread and diverse.
CSR is an interdisciplinary research program that uses findings from,
among others, developmental psychology, cognitive science, and anthro
pology. A unifying theme throughout this literature is the commitment of
130 Johan De Smedt and Helen De Cruz
CSR authors to the idea that religion is natural. This does not necessarily
mean religious beliefs are innate (although a few authors, e.g., Bering (2011)
have made this stronger claim), but that such beliefs come relatively easily,
with little formal instruction, as part of ordinary human development and
socialization (McCauley 2011). CSR also holds that religious beliefs are the
result of several cognitive processes, which are not exceptional but operate
in everyday life, such as discerning teleology, detecting agency, and think
ing about other people’s minds. Within different cultures, these cognitive
building blocks give rise to a wide range of religious beliefs. We will here
briefly review three lines of research in CSR scholarship: belief in super
natural agents and its connection to cooperation, teleological thinking, and
afterlife beliefs.
Across cultures, people believe in a variety of supernatural agents that
are concerned with moral or ritual violations. Such agents include powerful
gods such as Zeus or Kālī, the Hindu goddess who destroys evil, bestows
liberation, and protects her people. But they also include supernatural
agents with more limited capacities, such as the ancestors, place spirits, and
the Chinese Kitchen God, who reports to the Jade Emperor about how fami
lies behaved during the past year. There is increasing evidence that belief
in such supernatural agents enhances cooperation among members of the
same religion by providing a sense of social control: people are less likely to
behave antisocially (e.g., steal, cheat) if they believe they are being watched.
Social control is particularly effective if the agents who are watching have
the capacity to punish transgressions.
Initially, CSR authors believed that only very powerful creator gods, termed
high gods, could foster cooperation in this way, because only high gods
would care about moral transgressions. For example, Norenzayan (2013)
speculates that belief in high gods decreased antisocial behavior, thereby
enabling people to live in larger groups. However, more recently, there is
increasing evidence that belief in a broader range of supernatural agents can
motivate people to cooperate. For example, Purzycki et al. (2016) investi
gated whether people who believe in supernatural agents would be more
generous toward others who have the same religion as themselves but who
live far away. They let participants of a variety of supernatural faiths, includ
ing belief in garden spirits (horticulturalists from Tanna, Vanuatu), ancestor
spirits (Yasawa, Fiji), and spirit masters, local spirits who have dominion
over a small part of the landscape (Tyva, Siberia), play a game where they
could allocate money either to themselves or to a distant or close person
with the same religion. People were more generous to distant co-religionists
if the supernatural beings they believed in were more knowledgeable and
more able to punish moral transgressions. This supports broad supernatural
punishment theory, which holds that a wide range of supernatural beings,
not just supreme creators, can instill cooperation (Watts et al. 2015).
Cultural evolution, or potentially gene-culture co-evolution, is hypoth
esized as the driving factor in the cultural spread of the belief in specific
supernatural beings. If belief in supernatural agents who are morally con
cerned and able to punish ritual or moral transgressions increases coop
eration among people who hold the same beliefs, we can predict that such
beliefs confer a fitness advantage (Norenzayan and Shariff 2008). In groups
where belief in supernatural punishment by gods, spirits, or other supernat
ural beings is common, one could thus expect higher degrees of cooperation.
This would provide selective pressure at a cultural level for the maintenance
and spread of belief in supernatural punishment, and perhaps also help fos
ter biological adaptations that make us prone to believing in such agents
(Bering and Johnson 2005).
Teleological thinking is intimately tied to religion across cultures. Chil
dren and adults prefer teleological explanations for the origin of natu
ral beings, including biological and nonbiological natural kinds, such as
giraffes, tiger paws, and mountains. In a typical experiment, participants
are offered the choice between two kinds of explanation for why a given
object exists. Does it rain so that animals and plants can drink (a teleologi
cal explanation) or because water condenses into droplets (a mechanistic
explanation)? There is robust empirical evidence that young children up to
the age of ten prefer teleological over mechanistic explanations (Kelemen
1999). Moreover, when adults are put under time pressure, they are also
more likely to endorse false teleological explanations, for example, “the Sun
radiates heat because warmth nurtures life” (Kelemen and Rosset 2009).
PhD holders in the sciences and humanities are also liable to endorse false
teleological explanations under time pressure, albeit to a lesser extent than
the general population (Kelemen, Rottman, and Seston 2013).
There is a link between teleological thinking and religiosity. Kelemen
(2004) initially argued that children are intuitive theists because they attrib
ute teleological features of the world to an intelligent designer. But later
experiments cast doubt on this interpretation and indicate a broader con
nection between teleological thinking and supernatural beliefs and practices.
For example, Kelemen, Rottman, and Seston (2013) found that scientists
who tend to think of the Earth as having agency and caring for creatures
(so-called Gaia beliefs), as well as theist scientists, think more teleologically
than scientists who don’t believe in the Earth as an agent or in God. Simi
larly, ordinary adults from the United States and Finland who endorse either
Gaia beliefs or classical theist beliefs are more likely to think that objects
(e.g., a maple leaf, a mountain) were made purposively by some being
(Järnefelt, Canfield, and Kelemen 2015). Järnefelt et al. (2019) studied tele
ological beliefs in China, in a group of participants who mostly self-identify
as atheists. However, all participants engaged at least in some religious prac
tices, including revering ancestors, feng shui, and using lucky charms. They
found that the more participants engaged in such religious practices, the
more likely they were to endorse teleological explanations for nonbiological
natural kinds. The Finnish and Chinese studies tentatively suggest that tele
ological thinking might also lie at the basis of nontheistic religious beliefs
and practices. Indeed, research on teleology and life events suggests that
teleological thinking persists in atheists and agnostics (e.g., Heywood and
Bering 2014): when spontaneously reflecting on significant life events, athe
ists offer fewer teleological explanations than theists, but still suggest that
things happen to them for a reason, for example, claiming that the universe
wanted to give them a sign or send them a message.
CSR has also shown that afterlife beliefs are robust and cross-culturally
widespread. Belief in the afterlife probably is rooted in social thinking, in
our ordinary attributions of mental states to other agents in everyday life.
As Merleau-Ponty (1945/2002, 250) already suggested, it is hard to imagine
ourselves as no longer existing – it becomes intuitive and plausible to imag
ine ourselves in an afterlife, and any cultural scripts that propose an after
life (e.g., reincarnation) can easily spread. Moreover, we find it difficult to
imagine that others, especially those we interact with frequently, no longer
exist. We continue to attribute mental states to them, even if they are not in
physical proximity or if they are dead. Bloom (2004) characterizes humans
as intuitive dualists: young children already make an intuitive distinction
between people, using intuitive psychology to reason about them, and phys
ical objects, using intuitive physics to interact with them. However, Hodge
(2011) argues that our thinking about dead agents is not easily captured in
mind/body dualistic terms. Watson-Jones et al. (2017) found that Christians
in the United States think our psychology (personality, preferences, desires)
will survive after death, but not necessarily our bodies, whereas Christians
from Vanuatu (Melanesia) believe that our biological properties (bodies
and bodily functions) will survive into the afterlife, but not necessarily our
psychology. This indicates that within cultures and even within the same
religion, different belief scripts about postmortem survival may develop and
that Bloom’s (2004) intuitive dualism may be too simplistic.
What does CSR mean for knowledge of the divine?

CSR shows that religious beliefs are the result of universal cognitive dis
positions. Because these dispositions are underdetermined, religious diver
sity becomes inevitable. As we have seen, humans are naturally inclined
to believe in supernatural agents, but these are not necessarily monotheis
tic gods. We are inclined to ascribe teleology, but this is linked to a broad
notion of supernatural agency, including Mother Earth and ancestral spirits.
We tend to believe in an afterlife, but that afterlife takes a number of differ
ent forms.
What, if any, conclusions about our knowledge of the divine can we
draw from CSR? Shook (2017) takes CSR to claim that religious beliefs are
innate, a position most CSR authors do not endorse (but see Bering 2011),
and then subsequently takes the diversity of religious beliefs to spell bad
news for their justification. Teehan (2016) argues that CSR puts pressure
on theological views, such as that God would be omnibenevolent: religions
encourage in-group favoritism and out-group derogation, which would
entail that social evils such as racism and xenophobia would be part of
God’s plan. This would lower our belief that an omnibenevolent God exists,
and theodicies that appeal to the Fall do not solve this problem.
By contrast, Barrett (2009) appeals to the Fall and sinfulness to explain
religious diversity. If the cognitive dispositions we discussed earlier are God’s
way of instilling religious beliefs, why would they allow so much diversity?
One possible answer is that a perfectly adequate concept of God does

come as part of our biological heritage but that living in a sinful, fallen
world this concept grows corrupt as we grow. If not for broken relation
ships, corrupt social structures, flawed religious communities, and the
suffering that people inflict upon each other, perhaps children would
inevitably form a perfectly acceptable concept of God. The diversity in
god concepts we see is a consequence of human error and not divine
design.
(Barrett 2009, 97–98)
This approach, like Calvin’s and Plantinga’s appeal to the noetic effects of
sin, comes at a cost: on the one hand, there is an inference from religious
belief to the truth of those beliefs, but on the other hand, any religious
beliefs that do not fit the preconceptions of these authors are dismissed as
results of defective cognition. How can Barrett be sure what a “perfectly
acceptable concept of God” is, and how can he prevent those human errors
from bleeding out and casting doubt on all religious beliefs? This is a prob
lem he does not address.
We want to suggest an alternative approach: the dispositions outlined by
CSR do give us some insight into the divine, and religious diversity is not
the result of sinfulness or error. Such a proposal fits within religious plural
ism, the view that different religious beliefs provide knowledge (of some
sort) of God or a supernatural reality. Religious pluralism has been defended
by authors from different religious traditions, for example, the Christian
John Hick (2006), the Hindu Sri Ramakrishna (Maharaj 2017), and the
Jew Jerome Gellman (1997). A common starting point for proponents of
religious pluralism is the parable of the blind men and the elephant, accord
ing to which several blind men approach the pachyderm. One feels the trunk
and concludes an elephant is long and soft, another feels the tusks and con
cludes it is smooth and hard, yet another a leg and surmises it is broad and
firm. Each blind man captures something of the reality of the elephant, but
it would be a mistake for each to assume that their testimony is the best
description of the animal and to ignore the contradictions in the others’
depictions. Each blind man mistakes a part for the whole – rashly assuming
his knowledge of the elephant is the only and whole truth about it. In the
parable, it does not seem to occur to the blind men to talk to one another
or to move around the elephant to feel its other body parts in order to gain
a fuller understanding. Likewise, in real life adherents to different religions
rarely take each other’s views of the supernatural into consideration. Propo
nents of pluralism have provided divergent ways to flesh out how we come
to knowledge of supernatural reality.
Hick (2006) postulates an ultimate reality that is conceived of in differ
ent ways within various cultural traditions. This ultimate reality is real (not
a mere cultural construct), and religious practices and mystical perception
grasp something genuine about it. At the same time, Hick avers that the
supernatural remains ultimately unknowable. This Kantian perspective
draws a distinction between a noumenal transcendent reality and the objects
of devotion and religious practices that are mere phenomenal manifestations
that believers construct. Hick’s pluralism is not analogous to the situation
of the blind men and the elephant: the elephant is not an unknowable nou
menon, as much about the elephant is known by the individual blind men.
In the light of CSR, Hick’s account is unsatisfying, as it does not explain the
common threads across religious traditions, such as belief in supernatural
agents who care about what we do, belief that things occur for a reason,
and belief in an afterlife. These commonalities would have to be dismissed
because ultimate reality is unknowable. In Hick’s Kantian picture, it does
not matter whether religious beliefs are convergent to some extent (as CSR
suggests) or diverge without clear bounds, as they grasp at an unknowable
transcendent reality.
Ramakrishna was a Bengali Hindu mystic, originally a priest of the god
dess Kālī (see Maharaj 2017 for a comprehensive overview). After research
ing and mystically engaging with a host of other traditions, he advocated
the position that all religions are spiritual paths to the same divine reality,
which he called God. To explain apparent tensions between religions – for
example, that some see God as impersonal and others as personal, some see
God as immanent, and others as transcendent, some see God as having some
(anthropomorphic) form and others as formless – Ramakrishna argued that
God is infinite and illimitable: God is both personal and impersonal, God
is like a mother, but also like a father, a lover, a friend. Divergent paths of
devotion lead to the same divine reality. As such, Ramakrishna’s view aligns
closer to the parable of the elephant and the blind men than does Hick’s, as
it accepts that different religious traditions capture aspects of divine reality.
A similar concept is employed by Gellman (1997), who sees God as hav
ing an inexhaustible plenitude. God presents himself to mystics in different
aspects, including his nonpersonal aspects to nontheistic mystics. There are
some differences between Gellman’s and Ramakrishna’s proposals: Gellman
offers this as a speculative hypothesis, rather than as an experienced state
of affairs, and his account is focused on mystics rather than on religious
believers more generally.
CSR does not privilege a specific religion, but indicates that there are
common threads among religious traditions. This scientific claim is in line
with Ramakrishna’s pluralism. Why would God present himself in such var
ying ways? CSR indicates that religious beliefs arise as the result of an inter
action between cultural context and ordinary cognitive processes. Because
these cognitive processes allow for a wide range of religious beliefs, religious
diversity becomes inevitable. At the same time, CSR also predicts robust
cross-cultural similarities in religious beliefs and practices. Ramakrishna’s
views on religious diversity fit well with these predictions, as he saw differ
ent religions as multiple paths leading to the same supernatural reality. Con
trary to Christian exclusivist thinkers, he saw religious diversity as a result
of a deliberate divine plan, and not an unfortunate accident, because people
from different religious communities have different cultural backgrounds,
which make some religious views more palatable or plausible given their
worldview. Ramakrishna used the parable of a mother who prepares several
dishes to suit the different tastes of her children.
Suppose a mother has five children and a fish is bought for the family.
She doesn’t cook pilau or kalia for all of them. All have not the same
power of digestion; so she prepares a simple stew for some. But she
loves all her children equally [. . .] God has made different religions
to suit different aspirants, times, and countries. All doctrines are so
many paths; but a path is by no means God Himself. [. . .] Indeed,
one can reach God if one follows any of the paths with whole-hearted
devotion.
(Ramakrishna, cited in Maharaj 2017, 188)
Concluding thoughts
CSR shows that religions have substantial similarities. As we reviewed here,
CSR indicates that people across cultures believe in supernatural agents
who are concerned with what we do. They may be watchful garden spirits,
or ancestors, or powerful gods, but they care about ritual and moral vio
lations and thus discourage antisocial behavior. Moreover, those religious
agents have goals: they make things happen or create natural kinds for
some purpose or reason. Religious traditions suggest that humans will con
tinue to exist in some form after death, in a distinctive afterlife as revered
ancestors, souls in Heaven or Hell, or through reincarnation. This recurring
set of beliefs accords better with Ramakrishna’s religious pluralism that
acknowledges such beliefs as different ways of tracking supernatural real
ity than with Hick’s religious pluralism, which regards ultimate reality as
unknowable. The findings of CSR do not allow one to infer which theologi
cal position is correct, but they can be put to use by empirically engaged
theologians as they convey relevant information about the supernatural.
This chapter provides initial groundwork for such an empirically informed
natural theology.
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13 Love and desire, human and
divine
A transreligious naturalist
account
Wesley J. Wildman
Introduction
Love and desire are profound realities of the very greatest importance to
human beings and are critical to narratives defining the meaning of life for
our species. Science fiction has imagined self-aware, moral species without
love or desire, but they leave me cold. I prefer the passion and energy of love
and desire, even allowing for the accompanying problems. Why are these
concepts, and the corresponding experiences, so powerful for us, and why
do we feel they take us so deeply into the nature of the reality we receive,
create, and inhabit? It’s a fair question. After all, the cosmos doesn’t display
a lot of desire until biological complexity reaches a high order, and even
in the biological realm desire is a lot more widespread than love, which is
as rare in the big scheme of things as it is valuable. Why, therefore, do we
human beings sense that love and desire tell us something profound about
reality as a whole, rather than merely something profound about ourselves?
If there were a divine agent who deliberately created the world out of desire
and love, then there would be a basis for inferring something about ultimate
reality from human experiences of love and desire. But that line of thinking
is for other people to pursue. I’m interested in a transreligious, naturalist
account of love and desire, human and divine.
The divine part of such a story refers not to the thoughts, feelings, inten
tions, or actions of a divine being – not a possibility for the religious natu
ralist – but to the valuational depth structures and dynamic possibilities
of the natural world. Not all naturalists are interested in the axiological
(i.e., valuational) depths and flows of natural reality. Yet specifically reli
gious naturalists see in those depths the very ground of being, which they
understand to be the correct logical referent of claims that theists make
about gods (see Wildman 2017). It follows that peering into those depths
for an account of love and desire makes sense as an activity of transreligious
theological inquiry. There are touchpoints across the world’s religions for
such an enterprise, from shamanism of many types to varieties of African
traditional religion, from the mystical and philosophical strands within the
large religious traditions with sacred canonical literatures, to the formally
naturalist or atheist traditions of philosophical reflection.
DOI: 10.4324/9780429000973-17
Love and desire, human and divine 139
The human part of this story, of this transreligious-naturalist account of
love and desire, does not refer to the many abstract characterizations of
the human person and its destiny or purpose offered within the supernatu
ral worldviews of religions and other wisdom traditions. Rather, the ref
erence is to fully embodied human beings in social worlds realizing some
possibilities and foreclosing others in every moment of their fleeting lives,
driven by potent desire and its equally insistent companion, aversion. The
one universal language we have for communicating across the differences
of human bodies, for discussing shared human character under and within
human individual and cultural differences, is – no, not the language of love,
but the language of science (see Wildman 2009). That’s where I’ll start this
brief meditation, eventually working my way down to divine love and desire
in the depths of nature.
Human love and desire

For centuries, love has been the domain of poets, novelists, and musi
cians, and in many respects it remains the domain of luminaries within the
humanities. But in the last few decades, scientists have taught us a lot about
love – not only about the intricacies of the outworkings and failures of
love in individual lives but also about the brain and behavioral systems that
support the expression of love in the vast majority of human beings across
cultures, apparently in much the same way for the last 50,000 years or so
(Fisher 2004). These neural-behavioral love systems evolved in other species
first, and we see them active in many primate species, though very differ
ently than in human life. There are at least four relatively distinct brain and
behavioral love-and-desire systems, three of which are directly related to
what we human beings call romantic love (Fisher et al. 2002). Behaviors
corresponding to these systems have been discerned in all human cultures, in
some cases, and the vast majority of cultures, in other cases, with the excep
tions being accounted for by explicit cultural suppression. Never underes
timate the capacity of culture to fashion something novel from the givens
of biology! It is fair to assume we are talking about biologically universal
aspects of human bodies, despite the varied ways that cultures regulate and
give expression to them (the key anthropological study is Jankowiak and
Fischer 1992). On top of those powerful love-and-desire systems ride inten
tions that we employ to guide our behavior in accordance with, or possibly
in spite of, or even in resistance to, surrounding social norms for regulating
this intense domain of human life.
Probably the most fundamental love-and-desire system is maternal love,
which is nearly universal across half of each mammalian species. It is critical
for mammalian flourishing and, in human beings especially, it has significant
overlaps with two of the three types of romantic love and desire to be dis
cussed in what follows (Zeki 2007). Maternal love and sexual attraction are
probably the most evolutionarily primal of the four love-and-desire neural-
behavioral love systems – one erotic in nature and the other not. Because
140 Wesley J. Wildman
maternal love is (obviously) not universal in the human species, and because
it is fractionated and marshaled by the more romantic and sexual forces of
love and desire, I’ll set it to one side. In what follows, I focus on the other
three love-and-desire systems.
The first of these three love-and-desire systems is sexual attraction. The
sexual-attraction system is realized through a mesolimbic neural pathway
for which dopamine is the key neurotransmitter, but the sex hormones tes
tosterone and estrogen (and others) are key to activating and regulating this
system (Fisher, Aron, and Brown 2006). Love and desire as sexual attraction
has no fixed lifespan, but it peaks in late adolescence for males and in the
mid-30s for females, waxes and wanes during relationships, and gradually
abates through the aging process after the peak is passed. Testosterone levels
in human males spike when trying to mate and take a big hit when becom
ing a father for the first time, so the system reflexively adjusts to some life
circumstances. Love and desire in this case refer especially to pleasure seek
ing and pleasure giving through copulation. The opportunity to mate spurs
competition among males, and also among females when sex seems to be on
offer, and it spills over into other circumstances as well. In fact, the sexual-
attraction love-and-desire system is a specialized application of a more gen
eral testosterone system that figures in many parts of life, particularly when
people are young, and particularly among males, who have less developed
self-regulation capabilities than females until their mid-to-late 20s. The tes
tosterone system unleashes a potent set of drives and underwrites a lot of
human aggression; indeed, the part of it we call the sexual-attraction system
can also cross the line into violence. Unregulated, the sexual-attraction sys
tem has the potential to cause social chaos through aggressive rivalries and
pregnancies for which people are not ready. Unsurprisingly, this love system
is carefully regulated in all human cultures, though in very diverse ways.
The second love-and-desire system is infatuation. Although the tapes
try of mate choice is relevant to all sexually reproducing animal species,
the infatuation love-and-desire system appears to be a distinctively human
thread within that tapestry. The neurochemistry of infatuation within human
beings has several dimensions. The feel-good neurotransmitter dopamine
plays a critical role, giving us the feeling of intoxication. So does cortisol,
which produces anxiety and stress, at least for the first year or two, when we
tend to try hardest in new relationships. Higher dopamine is coupled with
lower levels of another neurotransmitter, which pushes serotonin down to
levels associated with people suffering from obsessive-compulsive disorder
and helps to explain why infatuation feels so much like an all-consuming
obsession. This neurochemical cocktail also deactivates regions in the fron
tal cortex that are responsible for being critically minded and able to evalu
ate evidence fairly, which accounts for the fact that “love is blind” very
often and can lead to poor judgment (Zeki 2007). Love and desire as infatu
ation, once activated in a relationship, has a lifespan of about seven to ten
years. A plausible evolutionary explanation for this timeline is that it is just
long enough to get a couple of children more or less independent and able to
help their mother gather protein and carbohydrates for survival. At the most
general level, dopamine neural circuits recruit our capacities for valuation,
for deciding what is important and directing the focus of our attention. The
infatuation love-and-desire system involves distorted valuation in a cloud
of longing, whereby we truly only see what we want and need to see in our
beloved. A friend could point out our error of judgment, even backed up
by solid evidence, and often enough we won’t believe it, saying that “you
don’t know my lover like I do” or some other gloriously and ecstatically
self-deluded rationalization for ignoring a lover’s well-established patterns
of behavior. In Western culture, this is what we mean by being in love –
immersed in feelings so overwhelming that we experience the desire to pos
sess and to be possessed comprehensively, knowing with certainty that this
state of bliss will fulfill all our longings. Of course, we are mistaken in this
intoxicated certainty, yet even the mistake bespeaks the depth of longing
in life to realize infinite possibilities within the inescapable limitations and
ambiguity of the finite.
The third love-and-desire system is bonding. The key neurotransmitters
in this case are oxytocin, the so-called “cuddle chemical,” and vasopres
sin; both are powerfully involved in romantic love and maternal love. They
are released in large quantities in orgasm and during breastfeeding, trig
gering potent feelings of closeness, and they are also released in roman
tic love (Zeki 2007). The bonding system has no lifespan and can actually
strengthen as we age, under the right circumstances. We can also destroy
progressive bonding with a partner through actions that undermine trust,
which is a critical element in maintaining close bonds. In application to
love and desire, the bonding love-and-desire system functions in a special
ized way to make two, or very few, people extremely tight-knit and loyal.
The same system has less specialized applications to groups, where crises
or rituals or other processes trigger intensified belonging and loyalty, while
underlining the distinction between the in-group, where investment of pre
cious resources in relationships is appropriate, and the out-group, where
such investment is inappropriate (Choi 2011; De Dreu et al. 2011). That is,
in solidifying closeness and loyalty, the bonding love-and-desire system also
solidifies in-group identification against outsiders and amplifies both sensi
tivity to betrayal perpetrated by in-group members and suspicion toward
strangers.
The fact that we human beings bear in our very bodies three biologically
distinct love-and-desire systems is extremely important in many domains of
human life, including the following four.
First, psychologically, these love-and-desire neurobehavioral systems are
emotionally powerful and directly relevant to our everyday worlds. For
example, it is critical to realize that the inevitable waning of infatuation need
not be the end of romantic love in the other two senses. Plenty of couples
experience incredibly potent feelings of shattered dreams, unmet longings,
and associated resentment and grief a few years into a relationship. Indeed,
across cultures permitting divorce, the peak divorce rate occurs four to five
years into marriage, which is about seven to nine years into the relationship,
as the last trace of infatuation evaporates (Fisher 1992). Instead of blaming
one another for not living up to the ridiculous expectations we built in a
haze of infatuation, it’d be smarter and kinder to recognize the inevitabil
ity of this process, to reset expectations, and to focus on strengthening the
bonding system and nurturing sexual attraction.
Second, socially, the very same systems that underwrite love also reinforce
in-group identities and support energetic monitoring of group boundaries to
protect in-groups from outsiders. That is, the flip side of the biochemistry
of bonding is xenophobia and racism. Both are biochemically spontaneous
processes within human social environments. We do not have to be slaves
to such emotional reactions because we can exercise determination and
empathy to behave differently. But we certainly are biologically predisposed
toward tight bonding with conspecifics and suspicion of strangers.
Third, politically, many of these dynamics operate silently, in nonro
mantic situations, including just below the surface of political conflict. For
instance, they render us vulnerable to lazy acceptance of the incompre
hensibility of our political opponents – “we’ll just never understand how
they could think that way, so there’s no point in even talking about it.”
The result can be the collapse of civility in our public discourse and the
damaging of our corporate problem-solving capacities. But some degree
of awareness of how these neurobehavioral systems work could mitigate
such problems.
Fourth, religiously, there are many ways of regulating or adapting these
potent biobehavioral forces. For example, some conservative communi
ties seem terrified of human bodies when it comes to managing the sexual-
attraction love-and-desire system, excoriating young people for making out
or masturbating, while simultaneously successfully activating the bonding
love-and-desire system to strengthen suspicion of outsiders and sparking
the infatuation system to apply to the many invisible beings of religious
devotion. Meanwhile, some liberal religious communities delusionally
pronounce their unlimited openness to all people, proclaiming universal
acceptance, while remaining utterly oblivious to the very real social and
psychological conditions for bonding and completely failing to see how
exclusionary their behavior seems to those who are more realistic about the
conditions for forming group identity, as many conservatives are. I’m pretty
sure the conservative religious grip on the human love systems does more
damage, if only because they’re the ones who bring the most people into
the world of their religious stories through activating bonding and infatu
ation circuitry for religious ends. Meanwhile, liberal religious communi
ties are uncomfortable with too much emotionality and rightly suspicious
of the dangers of in-group–out-group boundaries, so they refuse to avail
themselves of the biochemical pathways to congregational flourishing that
conservative communities employ. In our time, those liberal communities
are withering on the vine.
Those four applications of the human love-and-desire systems are suffi
cient to make the point that knowing about our three neurobehavioral love
systems matters. In particular, we need to understand that they are portable,
in the sense that they are applicable not only proximally to love but also dis
tally to out-group suspicion, religious devotion, purchasing patterns, voting
tendencies, and many other domains of life. They are multiply realizable, in
the sense that they are differently inflected by varied cultures, which take
the biologically given constraints and interpret and regulate them in diverse
ways. They are also socially potent, with huge economic and political impli
cations – just consider the extent to which the contemporary music industry,
the fashion and cosmetics industries, commercial films, and politics depend
on testosterone-powered aggression, dopamine-fueled infatuation, and
oxytocin-driven bonding and suspicion. It is no wonder that religious world-
views have always attempted to regulate love and desire and narrate them
in pro-social ways.
When cultural, often religious, narratives of love and desire work well,
people young and old cultivate virtuous patterns of behavior that support
group well-being. People internalize ideals that direct their intentions and
their powers of agency to loving and desiring in specific ways, typically
ways that match community expectations. To love otherwise than this is
to embrace pain and confusion and either triggers reversion to the norm or
else flight in search of a community with more compatible norms. The emo
tional potency of these love-and-desire systems is such that, when activated,
they help us detect the socially constructed character of the social norms we
employ to regulate love and desire. For instance, in a monogamous culture,
the man who is unfaithful to his wife soon confronts, privately or pub
licly, the cultural norm that regulates sexual behavior, and he must decide
whether to reject the norm or return to conformity with it. The woman who
loves another woman in a social environment inhospitable to homosexual
ity sees the heterosexual norm as a looming, oppressive reality and will be
forced to reject the norm secretly, reject the norm and relocate to a differ
ent community, or conform to the norm and suppress her natural feelings.
The person with fluid sexual identity senses the binary gender norms of the
home culture, whereas others may not even see them; the activation of love
and desire in this person begs for a new type of social order where gender
binaries are seen as unrealistic oversimplifications of a complex bio-psycho
social reality.
This neurobehavioral account of the human being’s biologically embod
ied and socially embedded experience of love and desire has important
implications for other classifications of love. Our diverse experiences make
it obvious that there are many kinds of love and desire, and we human
beings love to categorize difference in a never-ceasing quest to understand
ourselves. The biologically grounded classification I offer here is far from
the only way to look at things. Although it is true that all our experiences
of love and desire will connect with the bodily realities I have described,
and equally true that we are better off knowing than not knowing about the
various love-and-desire systems, the ways we love are socially constructed
and pull these pieces together in very different ways. Love of a pet, love of
a friend, love of a child, love of a spouse, love of a sports team, love of a
country, love of a moral ideal: it makes sense to pursue higher-order clas
sifications of these wildly diverse realities to reflect the complex ways we
put the atomic biological elements together in socially constructed patterns
of love and desire. There is no need for an invidious biological reductionism
here; biology constrains but does not determine human behavior. Likewise,
there is no necessity to deny or delegitimate what we have discovered from
the sciences about love and desire.
Similarly, there is no reason to think that the deliverances of the pro
cess of biological evolution in the form of the three (or four, if we include
maternal love) love-and-desire systems should be normative for us. Social
construction of reality includes social construction of the norms we rely on
to catalyze moral consensus, social order, and civilizational stability. We
can adopt norms that explicitly legislate against the reflexive outworking of
the three love-and-desire systems. For example, we can articulate a radical
form of agape love that explicitly resists the intensification of in-group–
out-group boundaries associated with the bonding love-and-desire system
(some neuroscientists even argue that unconditional love has not only a
distinctive neural signature but special neural circuitry; see Beauregard et al.
2009). We can create a culture that ridicules infatuation as an abandonment
of rational thought and a betrayal of our higher natures, thereby checking
the infatuation love-and-desire system while still enjoying the intoxicating
feelings it engenders in us. Or we can embrace a strictly celibate lifestyle in
which sexual arousal is transmuted into love of some endorsed religious
object and into loyalty to a fellowship of like-minded companions but ide
ally never expressed sexually, either physically or mentally. We establish
such ideals all the time, pushing back against some of the deliverances of
evolution and striving to realize imagined ideals that we deem superior to
nature unchecked, unregulated, and unimproved – and, of course, we use
what nature produces to refine what nature gives us as cognitive-emotional
defaults. We must fight hard to push against the grain in this way, but with
appropriate forms of social support and sufficient inner determination, we
can often do it.
Individual differences matter here, as well. Not everyone loves well,
or can love at all, in one or another sense of love. Men don’t experience
maternal love, for starters. Biological differences and psychological forma
tion through traumatic experiences and cultural learning can also limit an
individual’s ability to engage in some kinds of romantic love or to achieve
what some group might deem an ideal version of love. Just as personality
characteristics are distributed normally across a population, so the capacity
for love of various kinds varies from individual to individual. In relation
to the sexual-attraction love-and-desire system, some people are essentially
asexual, and love and desire do not operate in specifically sexual ways for
them. In relation to the infatuation love-and-desire system, some people are
too given to self-evaluation and judgment to surrender to the haze of delu
sional bliss on offer in the delirium of infatuation. In relation to the bonding
love-and-desire system, some people’s behavior patterns are so haphazard
and so lacking in self-control that they can never build the trust required
for bonding to grow. Every statement about human love and desire is a
generalization, abstracting from the intricate details of human biology and
psychology, yet rendering a serviceable approximation to messy reality. Just
as it is foolish to pretend to eschew abstractions, we forget the downside of
such abstractions at our peril.
Human beings are bad, often, as well as good, often. This is a serious con
sideration in love and desire. We desire things outside the boundaries pre
scribed by the social norms of our cultural worlds, creating internal psychic
tension and, when self-regulation fails, social chaos. We have it within us
to steal what we desire, love selfishly, and ruthlessly exploit people’s vulner
abilities around love and desire. Amazingly, emerging from the swirl of cul
turally varied norms on our planet are a series of deep insights into love and
desire that have the standing of widespread and nearly universal moral prin
ciples of love and desire that guide people away from the bad and toward
the good, as defined within the scope of these principles. These principles
show up in multiple wisdom traditions, despite being generated within cul
tures having distinctive behavioral and moral norms, confirming the depth
of the corresponding insights. For instance, we know we shouldn’t exempt
ourselves or some special subset of people from the moral expectations we
want to articulate. We know we should treat others the way we want to
be treated. We know we should learn self-regulation to control desire. We
know we sustain love by behaving in trustworthy ways. Monogamy might
occur in only about 3 percent of mammalian species (Fisher 1992), but we
know what behaviors promote happy monogamous relationships and what
behaviors don’t.
I employ the phrase “we know” here deliberately: these are forms of
knowledge accumulated empirically from personal experience and codified
in vast and long-lived traditions of moral wisdom. Knowledge of human
behavioral patterns across cultures does not establish the “ought” of moral
ity unaided – the slippery reasoning of the naturalistic fallacy is always near.
Additional assumptions lock in the normative “oughts” atop descriptive
information about human moral and immoral behavior we distill from
world cultures and life experience. When we notice that we sometimes
make exceptions – for instance, we exempt soldiers from certain widespread
moral norms – we become aware of this additional layer of norm-making
assumptions, which is almost invisible in most circumstances. Thus, neither
the behavioral patterns made natural for human beings within the process
of biological evolution within our planetary home, nor the moral princi
ples we detect emerging within a host of varied human cultures, can deter
mine moral norms by themselves. We can defer to them, but that deference
expresses normative assumptions about the moral authority of nature and
culture. We can resist them, but that resistance expresses normative assump
tions about the moral authority of the human imagination as it envisions
new ways of being human.
Divine love and desire

We have begun the promised shift downwards into the well of love and
desire in the depths of nature itself. What shows up for human beings with
regard to love and desire is one kind of guide to the axiological depth struc
tures and flows of nature, but scientific inquiry presents us with other kinds
of guides as well, as does critical theory from sociology and philosophy. Let’s
begin with critical theory’s formalization of long-standing human insights
into the social construction of reality.
Just as it is tempting to derive moral norms from descriptive informa
tion about nature (the naturalistic fallacy), so it is all too easy to impute to
the depths of nature what we find emerging in human moral worlds (the
projection fallacy). These two fallacies of moral reasoning are perpetually
close at hand because we hesitate to accept full responsibility for adopt
ing our preferred moral norms – indeed, we go to great lengths to evade
awareness of this responsibility. This was one of Friedrich Nietzsche’s pas
sionate points, and the point of several moral philosophers contributing to
our world’s large philosophical literatures: we feel existentially disoriented
with head-spinning nausea when we sense that the crystallizing of worldly
facts into moral norms is the quintessentially human activity – that we alone
bear responsibility for the moral norms we first create, then impose, and
ultimately embrace as if they were imposed on us by an Other, be it heaven,
God, or the spirits of the ancestors. This is the critical spine of the social
construction of reality, and it doesn’t apply merely to the emergence of traf
fic conventions; it has everything to do with the moral framing of love and
desire.
A central commitment of any naturalistic moral philosophy is to accept
this fact of human life and to embrace our responsibility for moral norms
with no convenient deflections of responsibility, no evasions of the meaning
of acts of norm creation, and no collapsing into either the naturalistic fal
lacy or the projection fallacy. We build our world, including the norms we
employ to orient ourselves within it. Norm building is a group activity, so
it is easy to miss the all-important element of human creation; it just feels
as though moral norms hit us from outside. And they do hit us from the
outside, of course, but only because we first externalized them and made
them objective by imposing them at the group level so that subsequently
they would be encountered as rules that we need to internalize in order to
operate successfully within our group. Critical theory taught us to see the
social construction of reality and generated irrefutable evidence of its pres
ence and functions, which both ramifies and surpasses the same insight in its
previous forms across cultures.
Do we make norms for love and desire? Yes, we do. We externalize behav
ioral expectations surrounding love and desire; we objectivate those expecta
tions in human groups, we internalize the now-objective externalized rules;
and we narrate the appearance of those norms in our lives as gifts from
heaven, commandments from God, or wisdom from ancestors. They may
be those things, in the demythologized, naturalistic sense of the phrases,
but they are ultimately our creations, our constructions, and signs of our
creaturely craving for control over anomic chaos. The raw materials for our
constructions are the three (or four) neurobehavioral love-and-desire sys
tems, along with the manifold culturally specific explorations of the multi
dimensional space of possibilities opened up by our biological natures. This
is the domain of the biocultural, where biology can’t be interpreted without
culture and culture can’t be understood without biology.
We are extremely creative in our biocultural constructions, no question.
But those constructions are never random. For a socially constructed reality
to survive the scrutiny that human beings reflexively apply to every act of
self-and-world narration, we are inevitably forced to acknowledge the non
deterministic constraints of biology, even if we finally decide to contest or
transcend those constraints. One day we may be able to deploy biotechnol
ogy to change our very brains and bodies so as to express the moral norms
we prefer; for now, biology conditions and constraints but does not dictate
or determine how we love and desire. Likewise, we are smart to respect the
cross-cultural consensus on wisdom in relation to love and desire, because
those discoveries were hard won and are probably as close to timeless
human wisdom as our species possesses, but we are also smart to be suspi
cious of unstable generalizations masquerading as the wisdom of averages.
Our journey through the multidimensional space of biocultural possibilities
related to love and desire shows us that the biocultural is incredibly fecund,
spawning pathways optimized for the survival and flourishing of groups
that journey along them. In the patterns of similarity and difference that
emerge as we compare those pathways, we detect the areas of strongest con
straint, where there is cross-cultural consensus on moral principles related
to love and desire, and the areas of weakest constraint, where the cross-
cultural diversity spreads in every direction like a veined network of river
remnants fanning out over a plain.
This line of interpretation roots the emergence of human love and desire
in the biocultural background of our species, going back millions of years.
A naturalistic account of this emergence requires no postulates of purposeful
teleologies or primal teleonomies or reflexive entelechies or gaiaic impulses
that draw the cosmos toward the realization of desire and love, as if the
process were designed or somehow guaranteed because of an ultimately
purposeful power at work in the cosmic environment. On the contrary, this
account of human wrangling with moral norms for love and desire makes
perfect sense even if the universe is wholly accidental, fundamentally ran
dom, deterministically fated, or utterly meaningless in some global sense.
We make meaning where we are, locally, and it is only our narrations of
meaning that we project into the cosmos in search of plausibility. If we don’t
check them too carefully, they pass muster and we can carry on, sensing that
our working norms for love and desire match the cosmos well enough for
us to feel at home there. This is delusional thinking, however, even when
it produces wonderful behavioral fruits. It can be challenged only by seek
ing comprehensive, unrelenting correction from what we discover about the
world around us.
Nature is neutral to us, affording us possibilities to exploit and presenting
dangers to navigate. Eat the wrong berry and we die, with nary a tear from
Mother Nature. A large asteroid will wipe out most life on Earth, as has
occurred several times before in the history of our planet, and there is no
cosmic or divine memorial service – not for the religious naturalist, at least,
and for the personal theist there is only a monumental, finally intractable
theodicy problem, as the fantasy of a personal deity smashes to pieces on
the rocks of reality. Suppose we narrate love and desire all the way into the
depths of nature, making the ground of being look a lot like our morally
normed human adventures in love and desire, and risking that appalling
theodicy problem. In that case, for the religious naturalist, we not only fall
prey to anthropomorphic wish fulfillment; we also minimize and neglect
the miracle of nature in which spontaneity mates with law-like regularity
to yield our planetary home and eventually human love and desire, in all its
complexity, and we effectively evade responsibility for the social construc
tion of love and desire in human life. Religious naturalism may be a false
worldview, I allow – and to repeat, that’s a debate for another place. But
in rejecting personalist framings of love and desire in the entire cosmos,
from its divine roots to its biocultural floral showings, the religious natural
ist is not rejecting the importance of love and desire. On the contrary, the
religious naturalist treasures love and desire all the more for rightly under
standing the miracle of their emergence, the miracle of their biocultural
conditions, and the miracle of our ability to create norms to conform with
and to confound the default cognitive-emotional-behavioral love-and-desire
impulses of our species. That kind of realism is all too rare in religion, and
that kind of resistance to invidious reductionism is all too rare in religious
and antireligious philosophy.
But might there be evidence beyond the questionable findings of needful
human projection for something deep in nature that beckons cosmic real
ity to manifest love and desire? The pre-Socratic philosopher Empedocles
discerned two fundamental dynamic principles in nature: love and strife.
Might not he be correct, all these centuries later? Empedocles was right
about the pair of dynamic principles, which we today would call attraction
and repulsion, thinking especially of the electromagnetic force, but also of
the other fundamental forces by analogy. But in naming the two fundamen
tal forces love (philotes) and strife (neikos), Empedocles directly tied them
to phenomena in the human sphere, which is misleading. Electromagnetic
attraction and repulsion are conditions for atoms, molecules, chemistry, and
biology, and thereby for love and desire–aversion, but it is an instance of the
projection fallacy to impute to atomic and subatomic forces human-like feel
ings and motivations. We have had plenty of anthropomorphism in human
efforts to ground love and desire in the wider cosmos – enough already.
The micro-level forces that function as conditions for the emergence at the
biocultural level of complex harmonies, and even of unruly chaos, should be
appreciated without anthropomorphic distortion. What those fundamental
forces are, ontologically speaking, is a first-rate mystery, but we get further
by constructing empirically testable mathematical theories of them and run
ning experiments to evaluate those theories than we do by giving free rein
to our imaginative powers, piling trope upon trope in a desperate attempt
to give cosmic significance to human experiences of human love and desire.
For the religious naturalist, therefore, love and desire have cosmic signifi
cance not because they were in some sense always there, within a creator
God or any kind of natural entelechy, but because they emerge without col
lusion or design within the biocultural realm as a sign and an instance of
the potent axiological possibilities in the very depths of nature. In this inter
pretation, there is no evading responsibility for the all-too-human construc
tion of norms to manage love and desire. Nor is there any dimming of the
luminous possibilities that lie before us. We can choose what love and desire
will mean for us, constrained but never determined by biocultural givens,
and inspired by pictures of an ever more just and verdant world.
References
Beauregard, Mario, Jérôme Courtemanche, Vincent Paquette, and Evelyne L. St-
Pierrea. 2009. “The Neural Basis of Unconditional Love.” Psychiatry Research
172 (2): 93–98. doi:10.1016/j.pscychresns.2008.11.003
Choi, Charles Q. 2011. “A Love-Hate Relationship?: ‘Feel-Good’ Oxytocin May
Have a Dark Side.” Scientific American, January 12. www.scientificamerican.com/
article/a-love-hate-relationship.
De Dreu, Carsten K.W., Lindred L. Greer, Gerben A. Van Kleef, Shaul Shalvi, and
Michel J.J. Handgraaf. 2011. “Oxytocin Promotes Human Ethnocentrism.” Pro
ceedings of the National Academy of Sciences of the United States of America 108
(4): 1262–1266. doi:10.1073/pnas.1015316108
Fisher, Helen E. 1992. Anatomy of Love: The Natural History of Monogamy, Adul
tery, and Divorce. New York: W.W. Norton and Company.
Fisher, Helen E. 2004. Why We Love: The Nature and the Chemistry of Romantic
Love. New York: Henry Holt.
Fisher, Helen E., Arthur Aron, and Lucy L. Brown. 2006. “Romantic Love: A Mam
malian Brain System for Mate Choice.” Philosophical Transactions of the Royal
Society of London B: Biological Sciences 361 (1476): 2173–2186. doi:10.1098/
rstb.2006.1938
Fisher, Helen E., Arthur Aron, Debra Mashek, Haifang Li, and Lucy L. Brown. 2002.
“Defining the Brain Systems of Lust, Romantic Attraction, and Attachment.”
Archives of Sexual Behavior 31 (5): 413–419. doi:10.1023/A:1019888024255
Jankowiak, William, and Edward F. Fischer. 1992. “A Cross-Cultural Perspective on
Romantic Love.” Ethology 31 (2): 149–155.
Wildman, Wesley J. 2009. Science and Religious Anthropology: A Spiritually Evoca
tive Naturalist Interpretation of Human Life. London and New York: Routledge.
doi:10.1111/j.1467-9744.2010.01171.x
Wildman, Wesley J. 2017. In Our Own Image: Anthropomorphism, Apophati
cism, and Ultimacy. Oxford: Oxford University Press. doi:10.1093/oso/97
80198815990.003.0002
Zeki, Semir. 2007. “The Neurobiology of Love.” FEBS Letters 581 (14): 2575–
2579. doi:10.1016/j.febslet.2007.03.094
Part IV
Theologizing in a
multireligious world
Introduction
Jerry L. Martin
We now live in a global village that puts within reach a rich array of religions
and worldviews. This situation poses a number of challenges: Can we really
understand people and belief systems quite different from our own? How
can we manage our religious lives in such a diverse religious landscape? Can
we appreciate multiple religions and theologize globally without losing our
own distinctive religious identity? And what about those who have been
so shaken from their religious moorings that they do not identify with any
tradition at all, even when they still think of themselves as spiritual?
In addressing such questions, J. R. Hutwit draws on hermeneutics, with
close attention to his own “lived experiences” that have led him to several
theological hypotheses. First, “the sacred, whatever its form(s), is a natural
presence, equitably available to all communities.” Second, one’s “linguistic
cultural background” binds one to a community and limits what one
understands. Third, what a person understands can be “enlarged” through
dialogue. Fourth, “the pursuit of truth is the end, not the beginning, of
dialogue.” These points suggest that “the only way to do theology is to do
it transreligiously” and “to follow the truth, even if it takes one beyond the
limits of her home tradition.” To do so will require dialogue, through which
we will “appropriate” (in a benign sense) novel ideas and practices. This
process “smuggles content into my horizon,” while “differences explode its
boundaries.” Dialogue “traces the boundary that joins human language and
the prelingusitic sacred.” It proceeds in “the eschatological hope” for “an
ever more complete model of the world.”
How are we to live religiously among a plentitude of traditions? In the
West, which has a tradition of “strong religious borders,” this is a challeng
ing question. Not so, in the East, according to Paul Hedges. The Chinese,
for example, engage in what he calls “strategic religious participation” in a
“shared religious landscape.” “Doing ‘religion’ ” is not seen as adhering to a
set of beliefs, but as way of making use of religious traditions, ritual experts,
and practices to fit the need in a particular situation. Similar patterns may
be occurring within Western contexts. Transreligious theology “no longer
DOI: 10.4324/9780429000973-18
152 Jerry L. Martin

becomes a perilous venture bordering, at best, on illicit syncretism, but
rather may be seen as a perfectly legitimate employment of resources” in
a multiply religious setting. Theology “may need to play catch-up with the
wider world.”
Can one theologize without walls and simultaneously affiliate with a
particular religious tradition? Yes, answers Jeanine Diller, because “TWW
affiliators are expanding their knowledge of the thing that that affiliation
has put them in touch with (which I will call ‘the Ultimate’).” After clarify
ing the relation between affiliation and propositional beliefs and between
affiliating with a tradition and identifying with it, she takes up three chal
lenges. First, why seek truth outside one’s affiliation in the first place? One
is “logically required” to look beyond one’s own experiences of the Ultimate
so as not to commit the fallacy of hasty generalization. Second, what if
outside beliefs contradict some of one’s home beliefs? Indeed, “if we are all
meeting the Ultimate,” why do we have “such different things to say about
it?” Drawing on an analogy with Spinoza, she takes different religionists to
be “in touch with different attributes of the Ultimate.” She calls this view
“partialism,” because no one religion grasps all attributes of the Ultimate.
Third, even if the core ideas of the different religions are consistent, won’t
they weaken one’s affiliation? When that happens, there is a genuine loss,
akin to the loss of one’s home or first language, but there is also “a genuine
gain, a new way to see the Ultimate all over again.”
What about those who have been so shaken from their religious moorings
that they do not identify with any tradition at all? Do the spiritual but not
religious (SBNR) even need to “theologize”? Yes, says Linda Mercadante,
they, too, “need to understand what they believe, why they believe it, and
how this functions in their lives.” They are highly diverse, such as Mer
cadante found in her landmark study, Belief without Borders; they agree
on what they don’t believe: a self-determining, transcendent, personal God;
the drama of human resistance to God; human-made religious institutions;
and an afterlife governed by divine judgment. Nevertheless, SBNRs often
see themselves “on a spiritual quest, journey, or path, seeking such things as
spiritual experience, greater understanding of the self, authenticity, ancient
wisdom predating religion, cosmic energetic transmissions, holism, or
harmony.”
Can SBNRs’ faith seek understanding? Yes, concepts they use provide
starting points for theologizing. For example, rejecting a transcendent deity,
they see themselves in what Charles Taylor calls “the immanent frame,” yet
they do propose a kind of “horizontal transcendence,” something larger
than themselves, perhaps a universal “oneness.” They have beliefs in favor
of “the authentic self” but against “ego,” and in favor of love and compas
sion. They regard terms like “good” and “bad” as judgmental and insist
that “everyone is born good.” SBNRs are exceedingly individualistic and yet
seek community and even to be of service. These are all issues with concep
tual and existential stresses that beg to be thought through.
14 Dialogue and transreligious
understanding
A hermeneutical approach
J. R. Hustwit
There is no common ground from which all theology should be derived.

Every theologian is thrown into the middle of things – her family, educa
tion, cultural location – and makes her way from there. Heidegger describes
this universal condition as having-been-thrown-ness (Geworfenheit). Every
person comes to consciousness shaped by a world that she did not create.
The result is that each person is situated differently, with different pressures,
questions, and projects. For some theologians, beginning with the Gospel
makes the most sense, because God created humans and their experience.1
For others, beginning with human experience makes more sense because
human experience created our narratives about God. I confess that the lat
ter approach makes more sense to me. The situation into which I have been
thrown has led me to several theological hypotheses. First, the sacred, what
ever its form(s), is a natural presence, equitably available to all human com
munities. Second, a person’s linguistic-cultural background binds them to a
community and limits the possibilities of what they understand. Third, the
scope of what a person can understand may be enlarged, especially through
dialogue. Fourth, the pursuit of truth is the end, not the beginning, of dia
logue. When these four hypotheses are considered together, they suggest
that the only way to do theology is to do it transreligiously – to draw on the
experiences of more than one religion and to follow the truth, even if it takes
one beyond the limits of her home tradition.
Hermeneutics is the study of how humans interpret various objects in
the world: texts, persons, actions, events, nature. Though originally applied
only to legal or sacred texts, hermeneutics has been promoted to a uni
versal scheme of human understanding. Everything is always interpreted.
There is no such thing as an unambiguous and objective meaning. Theology,
from my situation, appears to be a species of interpretation. At the same
time, theology is a public and constructive task that aims at the production
of metaphysical truth claims, salvific practices, and proper virtues. There
is considerable tension between these two descriptions. As interpretative,
theology is prone to disagreement. Radically particular backgrounds will
lead to divergent perceptions of God, nature, and humanity. But as pub
lic and constructive, theology aims at universality. A person’s theological
DOI: 10.4324/9780429000973-19
154 J. R. Hustwit
conclusions are not true only in a personal sense, or for her community,
but true for all persons – true full stop. In order to reconcile these divergent
aspects, a theology must acknowledge its private origins and public aspira
tions. That journey from private to public is accomplished by a never-ending
process of comparative dialogue with difference. Individuals are only able
to offer a narrow selection of possible experiences. The way to avoid falling
into a debilitating relativism is to compare finite human perspectives to see
if they converge on any commonalities. Through collaboration, theologians
may strive to combine religious interpretations into an ever more refined
model of human existence, the ultimate(s), and the world.
An available God
In the spirit of the private striving for public legitimacy, I offer a few bio
graphical anecdotes to illustrate how my own private experience has served
as evidence supporting theological conclusions. At seven years old, I was liv
ing in Texas. I spent a lot of time in my head, because I was not athletically
talented. Two influences competed for my attention: first, the fairly bland
nondenominational Christianity taught at my new private school and sec
ond, my love for superheroes. I was not alone. Most of my classmates – it
was an all-boys school – were interested in comic books, aliens, or anything
that was strange. I remember there were lots of discussions involving slime,
blood, claws, and laser swords.
Say what you will about parochial schools, this one was pretty tolerant of
diversity. There were Jewish students who sat next to me during the manda
tory chapel services. However, I ended up crossing a line that startled the
normally tolerant administration. I was given an assignment. The assign
ment was to draw what I thought God looked like. I am pretty sure that
even at seven, I had been asked to do this before. I knew that drawing an old
man with a beard would be the predictable answer. And I knew that at least
four other boys would draw a glowing ball of light – almost as predictable
as the old man. As I racked my brain about what to draw, I suddenly had an
idea. It wasn’t profound, and I did not take the assignment very seriously,
but I did love to draw. I put my crayon to work.
The next day my parents sat me down and told me that Sister Rachel,
headmistress of the Lower School, had asked to speak with them. She was
slightly concerned about my drawing of God. The large piece of manila
paper had been folded into fourths to fit into my desk. They unfolded it and
asked me to explain what I had drawn. It was a male torso, unreasonably
muscular, with the head of a stag. I’m not sure if Sister Rachel was more
concerned with my poor grasp of how many abdominal muscles humans
possess or if she worried that my family were neo-pagans who honored
the King of the Hunt. Honestly, if you ask a room full of seven-year-old
boys to draw something they’ve never seen, I think you should expect some
weird stuff. But my parents had promised Sister Rachel they would talk to
Dialogue and transreligious understanding 155
me about it. So they asked me why I drew God that way, like a deer-man.
I was a little bit afraid of being in trouble, but I also sensed that for my
parents there would be no wrong answer, and this gave me space to give an
impromptu explanation for my deer god.
I said, “If God is the God of all creation, then He is just as much non
human as he is human.” My parents awkwardly nodded, and the picture
was never mentioned again. Upon reflection, I was surprised to discover
that I meant what I said. An intuition about God’s universality had crystal
lized into what was probably my first theological conviction. The divine
produces nature, of which human beings are only a small part. Of course
humans would claim that they are in the image of God. My little sister also
claimed to be the center of the universe, but she, I knew, was not a credible
source. At age seven, the propositions “We are made in God’s image” and
“We make God in our image” both made sense. Even deer, in so far as they
are capable, must experience the deity in their own ungulate way. And if
they can imagine God, they probably imagine a being with antlers. Except
for the cheeky deer who shock their parents by describing an anthropomor
phic God.
As I learned about other religions, my early intuition about God’s abiding
presence developed. How could it be moral for God to answer the prayers
of some communities and not others? If God is just, God would be equally
available to all humans, or even all creatures. All creatures are equally sub
ject to the forces of gravity and electromagnetism. All should be equally sub
ject to the divine as well. A loving and just God would be uniformly present
to all of creation, so that all have relatively equal chance of experiencing the
divine relative to their species. I would describe this intuition as something
like egalitarian religious naturalism. Regardless of how or when God acts in
history, the presence of God is a permanent feature of the natural world – a
divine piece of metaphysical furniture. And though God cannot be reliably
perceived with the five senses, God is able to be experienced with diverse
mystical and contemplative practices.
Now I am not sure how firmly I would hold this hypothesis today. Of the
four propositions in this chapter, I hold this one with the least confidence.
If pressed, I would probably add a qualification. Despite God’s equitable
presence to all human communities, individual persons may have clearer or
more obscured perceptions of God as the result of spiritual practices or dis
tractions. This qualification, which rejects God being closer or further with
communities but grants that God may be closer or further for individuals,
is itself a very modern and liberal intuition. It allows for relationship and
consequences for individuals, but not for groups. Nevertheless, it seemed
the most adequate model of God’s presence at age 7, and still does, despite
my doubts, at age 39.
If God is natural furniture, this implies a negative corollary: God is
equally mediated to human beings. That is to say, because humans are inter
pretation machines, God’s presence is always hidden behind the perceiver’s
156 J. R. Hustwit
biases and expectations. And this is equally true for all humans. The Aleu
tian Islander is just as alienated from the true nature of God as the Ibizan.
Getting God somewhat wrong is part of human nature. Theologians may
be more or less optimistic about how thickly or thinly human subjectivity
mediates the presence of the divine, but there are no human communities
that are a priori excluded from or central to the task of theology.
Word is bond
If the divine is uniformly present to all humans, it should be the case that
nearly all human beings have displayed some sort of religious sensibility. And
this has more or less been the case historically. But what is really remarkable
are the patterns of variation in how religious ultimates (e.g., Yahweh, Shiva,
nirvana, or nirguna Brahman) are described. A survey of human beings
would show that although there is no universal agreement about religious
matters, there is a good deal of piecemeal consensus. Agreement concerning
belief and practices clump together historically and geographically. Scholars
of religion have attempted to classify these clumps into “religions,” and
the most common classification is that there are five large clumps: Judaism,
Christianity, Islam, Hinduism, and Buddhism. There are also a number of
smaller clumps: Sikhism, Jainism, Celtic Neo-Paganism, Shinto, Confucian
ism, etc. This convenient canon of world religions is by no means a perfect
representation of human religiosity and needs to be continually interrogated
and revised. Nevertheless, it does reveal an important fact about human
religious experience. The way that the divine is experienced correlates to
human communities. Presbyterians are not scattered across the continents
in a perfectly random distribution. They emerge from a group of people
who are able to share a way of life. Religious experience clumps together
because communities clump together. And language is the primary clumping
agent. Language emerges co-originally with a community of human beings
who require a common set of signs in order to effectively communicate. But
language is not just a code humans use to translate thoughts into sounds and
back into thoughts again.
Every category of being that I use is language inherited from my family
and community. When I entertain light, the concept is not speciated, but
simple. Light is light. I can attribute adjectives to it. The light is bright. The
light is pink. But I do not distinguish light into distinct kinds. However, I do
make distinctions between kinds of pastry. A Chelsea roll is not just a swirly
generic pastry; it is a kind of pastry with a definition that excludes kolaches
and knish. Chelsea roll, kolache, and knish are completely distinct classes of
objects in my mental filing system, unlike light, which does not admit any
kinds. The simplicity of light and speciation of pastry is an arbitrary lin
guistic convention. Some may argue that sunlight is a different kind of thing
than fluorescent light. A colleague once told me that my office’s fluorescent
lights will eventually kill me and I need incandescent bulbs. I don’t think
that way – light is light – but I can understand his worldview. Conceptual
speciation, and language in general, precedes discursive thought, speech,
and writing. Because it precedes even the will, many hermeneutic philoso
phers have noted that though human beings create language, the reverse is
also true.
The influence of language upon religious experience becomes apparent
when I reflect upon my early experiences in the church. Like many adoles
cent Methodists, I was sent to summer church camps, where I would culti
vate a close relationship with the Almighty. In my experience, church camp
was a week-long exercise in channeling hormones into a fervent piety. Eve
rything was emotionally intense: the awkwardness of living with strangers,
the ritualized behavior at mealtimes, and evening devotionals held at night
on the top of a hill. One night, at the end of the week, I remember being
instructed to pray to God – or Jesus. Honestly, it was never entirely clear
to me to whom I should pray. But pray I did. I asked God, if He2 existed,
to show me an unmistakable sign. As I prayed, the sky lit up with flashes
of lightning, right on cue. There were no storms – this would have been
described as “heat lightning.” But the timing was unmistakable. I prayed,
and the lightning flashed. God was listening. I was certain.
Even though this event relied on acts of nature, it was human language
that made this religious experience possible. What counts as a sign from
God are culturally transmitted criteria. There is certainly a natural spectacle
to lightning: it is vast, above, bright, intense, fleeting. But these traits are
meaningless without a history of association. The shopping mall parking
lot seems vast, the ceiling fan is above, the sun is bright, vinegar is intense,
and birthdays are fleeting. None of these objects signify the divine in my
home clumps. Conversely, it would be absurd for me, given my clumps,
to find a sign from God in an unusually quiet toilet flush or a surprisingly
stale donut in an unopened package. Toilets and stale food do not have a
history of association with God in the texts of Christianity, nor more imme
diately in the popular culture of my childhood. Scripture, novels, television
shows, and comic books all repeat certain linguistic signs: the lightning bolt
is divine, a tool of the sky father, weapon of Zeus and Thor. But it is possible
to imagine a culture that had a different tradition in which the stories sur
rounding the divine involved the silencing of troubled waters. For that cul
ture, a quiet faucet, or even a flush might signify the presence of the sacred.
My intention is not to reduce all religious experience to cultural projec
tion. But rather to point out that whatever religious experience humans
can understand is always clothed in language. I do believe there is a real
nonhuman component to many types of religious experience, because that
is the most plausible explanation for the amount of similarity between reli
gious experiences. But if there are any naked undigested alien epiphanies,
they do not last for long. Our brains do not work that way. As experience
comes to consciousness, it is interpreted into linguistic concepts and cat
egories. Untangling the contributions of the divine from the contributions
158 J. R. Hustwit
of human culture is tricky business. How much is authentic revelation and
how much is contributed by my own preunderstanding? Is it 50/50? 20/80?
I do not think there is an easy or certain way to determine that. Neverthe
less, I continue to search for the presence of the sacred behind the cliché of
the lightning.
I struggle with discerning the purity of religious experience. Our inability
to step outside of our own perspective to see the matter “objectively” is
precisely why interreligious dialogue is necessary. We may be too embedded
in our own experience to judge the authenticity of our own experiences,
but by having authentic dialogue with persons embedded in different tradi
tions, we may detect patterns amid the interference, signal amid the noise.
But authentic dialogue is not as it easy as some may assume. Communica
tion within a clump of common meaning encounters fewer incidents of
problematic meaning, but understanding between clumps is problematic.
Because I was raised to look for lightning, I will not notice when the toilet
is quiet.
In defense of appropriation
So far, I have given a few experiences that support my own hypotheses for
the basic theological situation of human beings. First, the sacred is, on the
whole, equally available to all humans. Second, all persons experience the
sacred in terms of a finite linguistic community, and this finitude routinely
causes conflicts of interpretation both in and among communities. These
first two hypotheses have several implications. If the sacred is equally pre
sent and equally mediated to all cultures, more than one religious tradition
may disclose truth (propositional or salvific) despite incompatibilities of
doctrine and practice among them. This is not to say that all religious tradi
tions are equally good, or even partially good. It is perfectly possible that an
entirely bogus religion may arise and perpetuate into an enduring tradition.
Bogus religions aside, some theological claims are truer than others. Some
are more fruitful or coherent. Interreligious dialogue is that process that
allows theologians to make comparative judgments about religions. But in
order for this to happen, for transreligious theology to get its legs, humans
must be able to expand the horizons that constrain possible meaning. Every
person only sees the divine through the lens of her cultural categories, but
that lens can be polished, enlarged, and bent by talking with others. A third
hypothesis is necessary: one’s worldview is not set at birth or at some later
point in childhood. The lens changing occurs through an ongoing process
called appropriation. This is not a controversial hypothesis. People learn
new things every day. But some learning simply combines elements of a
worldview in a new way, and some learning introduces genuine novelty into
the worldview. Theologians are able to understand new and other religions
because they are able to appropriate novel ideas and practices and make
them relevant to their own situations.
School, ideally, should provide many easy examples of appropriation.
Having left the private boys’ school for a public high school, I was for
tunate to participate in a humanities curriculum, which combined history,
art, literature, and philosophy into a single course that lasted two years
and covered Europe from the sixth century BCE to the present. During the
ancient Greek unit, the class was divided into five or six polises, and we
were encouraged to adopt the culture of the polis and stay in character. Our
research was fairly shallow, so for us, this meant that the Spartans knocked
down everyone else’s temples and the Corinthians pretended to drink a lot.
Because the role playing was immersive, we were not learning history at one
time, then doing art at a later time. The subjects were all mixed together –
because life in ancient Greece was all mixed together. It slowly dawned on
me that the practice of learning subjects in isolation from each other was
at odds with the natural state of things. Art does not exist in isolation from
science, and neither is immune to politics. This caused a relatively dras
tic transformations in my conceptual categories. My worldview had been
one that had received the school disciplines uncritically (i.e., as unrelated
skills to facilitate a future career). Suddenly, there was a problem reconciling
those distinct disciplines with the newly perceived messiness of the world.
From then on, every course seemed to me like a compromised endeavor – a
failure to mirror the real world.
Though this class was not what anyone would typically think of as inter-
religious dialogue, it was structurally the same. I experienced a new way of
dividing the world of experiences, which was gradually adopted. This was
not a revelatory bolt, but a process of comparing my new insight, “world
resists disciplinarity,” with a previous assumption, “world facilitated by dis
ciplinarity.” I had appropriated something from my teachers, and it had
caused discomfort, followed by an appropriation of a new idea. Phenome
nologically, appropriation is an oscillation between my own horizon and the
alterity of the object of interpretation. Philosopher Paul Ricoeur describes
it as a three-part cycle of guessing, validation, and then comprehension
(Ricoeur 1976, 75–88). And the process of guess–validation–comprehen
sion repeats. Endlessly. A new meaning of the world – “world resists disci
plinarity” – was guessed, then tested for coherence with the text (i.e., the
structure of the course I was taking). Once the differences between my own
worldview and the alterity of the text had been negotiated, I understood the
text as applicable to my world. I did not assent to “world resists disciplinar
ity” as a sterile fact, but as a quality of the world in which I make plans and
love things. In order for something to be understood, it must matter to the
person. For this reason, Heidegger describes the world of our experience as
characterized by my-own-most-ness (Jemeinigkeit). We are only aware of a
thing when it serves a purpose for us.
And because hermeneutics is cyclical, I was not done with the notion of
disciplinarity resistance. Later experiences would cause me to re-examine it
and adjust its application to my own-most world. As a university student,
160 J. R. Hustwit
I had been assigned the Dao De Jing. I confess to not reading much of it,
but I did notice its argument against formal education. Take, for example,
Chapter 32:
The Way is forever nameless.

Unhewn wood is insignificant, yet no one in the world can master it . . .
When unhewn wood is carved up, then there are names.
Now that there are names, know enough to stop!
To know when to stop is how to stay out of danger.
(Ivanhoe and Van Norden 2011,
32, 178–179)
Unhewn wood, representing the cosmos as it truly is (i.e., uncomplicated by

distinctions), is here contrasted with human conceptualizations. Such con
cepts, which formal education reinforces, inevitably chop up the wholeness
of the Dao. The result is distorted thinking and, the Dao De Jing argues,
human misery. My own appropriation of this text was based on the previ
ous understanding of disciplinarity resistance from my earlier humanities
course. Ah-ha! The Dao De Jing is saying something similar to what I had
already understood. “Names” are like “disciplines.” “Unhewn wood” is
like “life outside of the classroom.” There is a similarity-in-difference. In
that respect, appropriation is thoroughly metaphorical. When we appropri
ate a term, we use similarities to analogize the foreign to our own experi
ence, while maintaining a tension with the differences. The goal is to suss
out the interaction between resemblance and difference. The similarities
are the vehicle that smuggles content into my horizon, and the differences
explode its boundaries, enlarging the possibilities I may imagine.
The word “appropriation” is frequently criticized in discussion of cultural
appropriation. When a person adopts the fashion or customs of another cul
ture without sufficient understanding of the meaning, we argue that they do
violence to the culture by appropriating it. But in these cases, we should say
that the insensitive person has malappropriated the custom. For all under
standing is appropriation, and it can be done skillfully or clumsily. The
term “appropriation” ought to be rehabilitated, much as Gadamer sought
to rehabilitate the term “prejudice” (Vorurteil; Gadamer 2000, 277–306).
Appropriation itself is inescapable and only a vice if we fail to validate the
meaning we have guessed against the structure of the text. We cannot com
placently assume that we have correctly guessed the meaning of another
religion when we see the first resemblance.
It is crucial for me, as a Christian, to note that the Dao De Jing’s idea
of nature is quite different from what I may imagine. Likewise, the Dao
De Jing’s claims about human nature and the ability of the mind to per
ceive the world probably differ from mine. All of these points of difference
must be maintained along with the similarities. If I neglect the differences
between religions, I assimilate the other religion into my own. If I neglect the
similarities between religions, I am unable to comprehend anything unfa
miliar. But if we grant that our worldview is changeable, then we have the
ability to expand it to appropriate other religions. Healthy appropriation
is always in danger of collapsing into assimilation or exoticization, but if
the sacred is disclosed in other religions, it is worth our while. Understand
ing other religions is required to live together in peace, but also required to
judge truth claims as “better” and “worse” hypotheses.
Truth deferred
Not everybody loves to argue. I have been slow to come to this realization.
I love to argue. I love to be right. I sometimes spend too much time trying
to poke holes in the arguments of others. There are a couple of cultural-
linguistic facts that could explain why I tend to behave this way. The most
immediate cause is probably the years studying for a philosophy degree,
which enculturated me to focus on argumentation and logic. I was taught
that philosophy is mostly a critical task and rarely constructive. Philosophy
courses, until the advanced stages of the degree, present a text to the stu
dent, ask the student to distill an argument from the prose, and then require
the student to criticize the argument. After so many years, this training leads
to a particularly critical temperament – a tendency to look for the weak
nesses of things first. My classmates and I were great at tearing things down,
but not very good at building things on our own. Although critical analysis
is an essential skill, it is not the only skill worth developing.
But why is philosophy taught this way? Without going into an elaborate
intellectual history, I think Christian theology deserves much of the blame
for why I am no fun at parties. Christianity has always placed an emphasis
on orthodoxy, or correct belief. Believing certain propositions to be true
and others false has the chief criterion for determining Christian identity
and value. The first seven ecumenical councils of the Christian church are
striking examples. A tremendous amount of time and mental energy went
into deciding exactly which propositional truth claims should be endorsed
and which should be condemned as heresy. It is no coincidence that Chris
tian theology has historically focused on doctrine much more than practice,
dialogue, or affect. So, the Christian theology that dominated the medi
eval university as “queen of the sciences”3 passed on its preoccupation with
propositional truth claims to the teaching of philosophy, first in Europe and
then its colonies. So even for those philosophers today who consider them
selves to be completely divorced from Christian belief and practice, Chris
tianity has shaped their academic discipline, their cognitive training, and
thus their temperament. And that is one reason why they – and I – argue
too much.
With this temperament as a liability, I took a job teaching religion at
a small university in the American South, and with encouragement from
the administration, began an interreligious club for students. This was
162 J. R. Hustwit
challenging. Though our student population contains a relatively high pro
portion of international students, our domestic students tend to be fairly
sheltered and uncurious. The result was a lot of potential for expanded hori
zons for those who participated and a lot of resistance to those programs
from those who would not participate.
My first attempts at getting college students to sit together and talk were
based on my idealized vision of what interreligious dialogue should be: a
round table of persons steeped in their own traditions, arguing over meta
physical claims in good cheer until everyone agreed about the nature of
reality. I invited a number of students to gather over some pizza and threw
down some of my most combustible debate kindling: “Is the sacred personal
or nonpersonal?” “Is the universe infinite or discretely bounded?” Nothing.
Awkward silence. Polite thanks for the pizza and excuses to be somewhere
else.
My vision of interreligious dialogue could not have been further from
how dialogue – on any topic – actually begins. My students are not steeped
in their own traditions, much less anyone else’s. They frequently come from
secular families, and when they do have a background in religious participa
tion, they are hesitant to speak for their tradition. Even if they were informed
and willing, they would not be interested in doing so. My own project of
transreligious theology does not matter to my students. What they do value
highly (besides food) is relationships. Ultimately, I found that if I organized
a social event, like a halal potluck during Eid al Adha, attendance was much
higher. By the end of the school year, after a series of well-attended social
events, the students had organized their own small interreligious discussion
group in the evenings.
I think that in the situation of interreligious dialogue, whether one’s
dialogue partner is a human, a written text, or some other symbol, care
precedes knowledge.4 That is to say, human beings cannot understand a
thing unless it first has a place in their own-most concerns. This is why it
is a mistake to begin interreligious dialogue with a contest of truth claims.
Truth-directed inquiry requires concern, which manifests as goodwill, open-
mindedness, and curiosity about other religions. Dialogue does not require
its participants to agree beforehand, share a worldview, or even like each
other. But it does require an openness to the legitimacy of the other and an
interest in the message of the other. Dialogue begins with a mutual recogni
tion of humanity and only later takes up competing truth claims.
Of course, we may find ourselves in a contest of truth claims with some
one we have just met, with no established relationship. But even when we
argue with strangers about religion, this is not a case of truth questions pre
ceding relationship. Rather, the stranger is assigned a relationship status as
the argument commences. This status may have been assigned even before
the stranger appeared. We may have an imaginary adversary in some matter,
and we project it on to the person before us. It is precisely because there has
been so little time for the relationship with the stranger to develop that these
encounters usually end unhappily.
My experience with students and student organizations has moderated
my hard-nosed philosophical instincts and taught me that relationships of
some kind are necessary before arguments can be entertained. Practically
speaking, the truth is a concern for advanced stages of dialogue. Philosophi
cally speaking, the truth should be a heuristic device. It guides and regulates
the process of dialogue even if it is never permanently achieved. For no
matter how firm my conviction, there is always another dialogue partner
around the corner.
Conclusion
So, I am left with four theological hypotheses: 1) The Ultimate is equally
available and equally mediated to all humans. 2) This mediation is largely
due to the conceptual schemes that emerge from communities of humans. 3)
Human conceptual schemes are routinely enlarged or transformed through
the act of appropriation, which is a species of interpretation. Finally, 4)
the adjudication of truth claims submits to the demands of an existential
relationship and not vice versa. Taken together, the claims suggest to me an
infinitely long process for theology. It is almost Hegelian. We should engage
the other – person or text – in interreligious dialogue. The dialogue is usu
ally productive. It produces an enlarged horizon, a new synthesis, which
then is brought into the next dialogue. But unlike Hegel, this process does
not unfold according to the logic of Absolute Spirit. Instead, it traces the
boundary that joins human language and the prelinguistic sacred. There is a
pessimistic interpretation of transreligious dialogue, that while it may foster
goodwill among religious communities, it is a metaphysical goose chase.
However, there is an eschatological hope that it is more than that. As we
perpetually dialogue with otherness, we trace an ever more complete model
of the world.
Notes
1 Experience should be understood widely, not as just experience gained through
the five sense organs. Theology employs a wider range of experience than just the
five senses. Ethical intuitions, aesthetic sensibilities, emotive states, and recogni
tion of authority are also modes of perception, though more susceptible to idio
syncratic interpretation than the five senses.
2 In the language of my church community, the masculine pronoun was always
used to refer to the divine. This set up my own uncritical expectation of God’s
masculinity. In fact, I remember imagining that God probably looked a lot like my
grandfather: dark oily hair, olive skin, a large nose, and pale yellow golf shirt with
a chest pocket. The shirt was by far the most vivid part of the image.
3 Here, science is defined broadly. It is derived from the German Wissenschaft,
which is perhaps better translated as a method of production of knowledge.
164 J. R. Hustwit
4 This insight is present throughout the hermeneutic tradition, but is most clearly
articulated by Heidgger. Care (Sorge) is the fundamental mode of being in the
world. Metaphysical truth claims are but one species of existential concern.
References
Gadamer, Hans-Georg. 2000. Truth and Method. trans and edited by Joel Wein
sheimer. 2nd rev. ed. New York: Continuum.
Ivanhoe, Philip J., and Bryan W. Van Norden, eds. 2011. Readings in Classical Chi
nese Philosophy. 2nd ed. Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing.
Ricoeur, Paul. 1976. Interpretation Theory: Discourse and the Surplus of Meaning.
Fort Worth, TX: Texas Christian University Press.
15 Strategic religious
participation in a shared
religious landscape
A model for Westerners?
Paul Hedges
Introduction
Can one person participate in the rituals and beliefs of more than a single
religion? For most modern Westerners, this seems almost like a non-question.
Of course not! You are either Buddhist, Christian, Sikh, or Muslim. You
cannot, in any coherent sense, do the rituals of a certain tradition one day
and then engage in the rites of another the next day. However, this common
sense Western norm has not been the standard global pattern through most
of history. People have, and still do, participate in, belong to, and identify
beyond the boundaries of a single religious tradition – and in many places
this is perfectly normal and acceptable.
Moreover, in the West today, many people are engaging in what is often
termed multiple (or dual) religious belonging (or identity). However, this
is generally seen – by scholars, religious professionals, and many of the
public – as some form of spiritual dilettantism or illegitimate syncretism. It is
frequently frowned on or dismissed as lacking seriousness or credibility. The
argument of this chapter is that we should not so readily dismiss these prac
tices and that we may simply be looking at a different way of doing religion.
To this end, we will explore the traditional way in which such boundary
crossing between religions has occurred in the Chinese context (and beyond),
which I have elsewhere described as strategic religious participation (SRP)
in a shared religious landscape (SRL). My argument is not to suggest that
Westerners should start copying East Asian patterns of religiosity. Rather,
it is to suggest that patterns of religiosity may now be occurring within
Western contexts. We are simply doing religion differently. As such, rather
than dismissing this as illegitimate, some form of spiritual pick’n’mix, or
superficial dabbling it is actually a way of doing religion that is credible,
serious, and profound. If an individual, family, or community can use one
tradition for marriage, another for death, a third for meditation, and so
on, why should we not see this as normal?1 It is certainly increasingly com
mon and arguably has implications not just for the people doing it but also
for scholars of religion studying the phenomenon and for Christian (and
other) theologians and religious professionals who are thinking about what
DOI: 10.4324/9780429000973-20
166 Paul Hedges

religious identity, belonging, and participation mean. Does it even have
implications for thinking about a transreligious, or interreligious, theology?
In this chapter, I will briefly address the way that Western scholars have
typically thought about multiple religious belonging and the paradigm for
thinking religion that informs this. I will then describe in general terms the
East Asian context of SRP in an SRL.2 I will then briefly address some ways
in which this phenomenon could describe some contemporary Western
trends found in America, Europe, and elsewhere concerning the way that
people are engaging with multiple religious traditions. Finally, I will address
at more length some potential consequences from this about how we may
come to think about theological issues in light of this.
The West: the world religions paradigm and

strong religious borders
Why do we assume that people cannot belong to more than one religion
at any one time? Nor participate in the rites and rituals of different tra
ditions? Such activity is often spoken of as a transgression of “natural”
boundaries, or even compared to some form of spiritual adultery.3 It is seen
as something that goes against what religion is or truly should be. All these
attitudes come from a context in which what are often termed the Abra
hamic monotheisms (Judaism, Christianity, and Islam) have been predomi
nant. Especially in certain forms, including the Protestant strands that have
dominated North Western Europe and North America for the last couple of
centuries, singular and exclusive identity and belonging are affirmed. Strict
creedal confessions of belief demarcate each religion, even each denomi
nation or sect within each religion, such that seeking to belong to more
than one seems intellectually incoherent. It also violates the strict teachings
and representations of these religions. Given several centuries of Western
colonialism, and over the last couple of centuries a military and economic
dominance that has ensured cultural and intellectual global hegemony, this
has become the predominant model. Without entering into the intricacies,
the models of what religion is within Western Protestant religious imaginar
ies have been taken by scholars and others as defining and definitive of the
very essence of religion. It has shaped what has come to be called the world
religions paradigm (WRP).
Within the WRP, each religion is imagined to exist as a clearly demarcated
monolith. It has distinctive and unique beliefs, as well as its own defining rit
uals and practices. It claims sole allegiance of its members, who must adhere
strictly to the confessions set out in the foundational books, which state what
it says. If you have done any courses in religion, you may well have been
taught according to this kind of “world religions” model, which presents
each religion in turn by a set of common criteria: beliefs, scriptures, priests,
history, rituals, etc. Each religion becomes a distinct and bounded entity of
belonging and belief. However, although this – to some extent – maps out
Strategic religious participation 167
some dominant trends within the Abrahamic traditions, it is far from nor
mative or representative of the world’s wider religious landscape.
In short, the way in which one part of the world does religion has become
a pattern and map to presume to say how all religion works, or should
work. It is a deeply colonial, or orientalist, set of presuppositions, which has
taken a Western model and applied it globally. We shall see, though, that
this model is far from normative in the East Asian context, where we will
focus on China but also look broadly.
The East: strategic religious participation in a

shared religious landscape
If you wandered into a traditional Chinese temple across much of Asia,
you may be surprised that inside you would find statues of such figures
as the Buddha, the bodhisattva Guanyin, Confucius, figures from Chinese
folk tradition such as Sun Wu Kong (the Monkey King), and Daoist deities,
including perhaps the popular Eight Immortals, or maybe the Jade Emperor.
How to reconcile that one temple (even if nominally Buddhist or Daoist)
may contain figures from seemingly four different “religions” (Buddhism,
Daoism, Confucianism, and Chinese folk religion)?
Our question perhaps only seems strange because of where we are view
ing it from. In the East Asian Sinitic world (i.e., primarily China but also
those territories affected by Chinese cultural mores), what we may term SRP
in a SRL has been the norm. Let us break this down into its two component
parts to discuss it. First, SRP. This denotes that doing “religion” in East Asia
has not primarily been about belonging to a particular tradition, nor adher
ence to a set of doctrines and beliefs (creedal statements) that define what
it means to be a member of one religion as opposed to any others. Rather,
one will make use of religious traditions, ritual experts, and ways of doing
religion as are useful and appropriate. For instance, Buddhists are known
for doing funerals and so may be called upon for such services, Tianshi Dao
(Heavenly Master Daoist tradition) Masters were often considered the best
exorcists and so may be sought out for this, and any passing itinerant monk
may be asked to do services at the local village temple as and when the need
arises. Meanwhile, in some rituals, Daoists, Buddhists, and local ritual (folk
religion) priests may all have a role in some contexts. Religion is therefore
not about believing and belonging to a single tradition. Rather, one will stra
tegically employ the services of whichever tradition(s) and its (their) ritual
experts that are available, suitable, or customarily required for certain acts.
This is what is meant by SRP. We should also note that in imperial China,
the three dominant traditions (Buddhism, Confucianism, and Daoism) were
often seen as complementary, in what was termed the sanjiao (three tradi
tions) teaching. This was variously understood by different figures at differ
ent times, but as one way of conceiving it: Buddhism dealt with our eternal
concerns and certain rituals; Confucianism deals with our outer relationship
168 Paul Hedges
with family and society; and Daoism concerns our personal bodily/spiritual
cultivation.
SRL meanwhile signifies that despite considering several different tradi
tions, a fairly common cosmological system underlies it all. This, in the Chi
nese context, may be concerned with the fact that everything is composed of
qi (often translated as breath, but signifying also psycho-spiritual matter: it
is the stuff that everything is made of), a belief in the interaction of yin and
yang and the so-called five agents (or sometimes five elements), and often
reincarnation. These were taken, to a large degree (even if sometimes con
tested), as a common ground, such that the different doctrinal teachings of
the varying traditions could be seen as not significant differences compared
to what was held in common. As such, mixing traditions or taking bits from
each was not typically seen as violating core doctrinal systems or some illicit
form of mixing.
It may be objected, as has been argued by some, that this context of SRP
in a SRL may have been a common grassroots viewpoint but was rejected
by elites, who demanded strict allegiance to only one tradition and fiercely
rejected the others. However, this does not do justice to the context. First, at
the most elite level – in some senses – of imperial decrees, the sanjiao teach
ing was often pronounced and officially taught. Second, although strong
disputes and even vehement rejection of the other traditions was heard at
times, it is not the whole story. Confucianism, when it adopted meditational
teachings (in the Neo-Confucian tradition) borrowed directly from Daoism
and Buddhism, even while often derogatorily condemning those traditions
(as it, in some ways, became more like them). Confucian scholars would
be known in retirement to go live in Buddhist or Daoist temples, without
any sense that they stopped being a Confucian. Third, in training, Daoist
masters would often send their disciples to Buddhist monks (and vice versa),
believing they had particular skills they could learn. All of this is only possi
ble because of a sense that all lived within a SRL. It even shows elite practice
and acceptance of SRP. Notably, we could expand examples, and these are
only mentioned here as indicative.
Eastern ways in Western landscapes: crossing

boundaries and multiple belonging
Arguably, in the contemporary Western context, we are seeing people
engaging in what looks like SRP in a SRL. In the West, because of the WRP,
such crossing between traditions has traditionally been viewed as at least
difficult, if not deeply problematic, and even illegitimate. Certainly, much
of the literature suggests this. Nevertheless, particularly among millennials
the sense that what is often termed multiple religious belonging (MRB) is
neither problematic nor some form of dangerous syncretism. It is consid
ered perfectly fine to learn or borrow, rituals/techniques from such places
as Hindu yoga, Buddhist meditation, Christian and Jewish rituals, Native
American traditions, etc. Scholarship in the study of religion, not to men
tion Christian theologians, have often condemned this. However, the Chi
nese and East Asian context suggests that we should not be so troubled.
Although some ways of doing or thinking about religion make this seem
illegitimate, other ways of doing or thinking about religion make it seem
natural and expected. The issue is that engaging in MRB is often misunder
stood, so the question becomes: How this can be changed in our ways of
conceiving the religious field?
Interreligious streams: transgressions and

interventions in the religious fields
What implications does this have for the way that we do theology today
and think about spirituality and religious performance? I would argue that
for those exploring what we may term transreligious or interreligious the
ologies, the implications are immense. First, as should be clear, it to some
extent tears up the rule book. Scholars have argued, for many years, that
doing MRB or engaging in rituals across traditions is not simply theologi
cally illegitimate (which, arguably, in some traditions it may be) but that it
is also doing “religion” wrong. These, we should realize, are two entirely
separate issues. What regulations cover what religious leaders say is legiti
mate within their tradition is not coterminous with what religion is or what
it should look like. Indeed, here we should note that the very term and
concept of “religion” itself is one that has a particular Western and colonial
backdrop that has shaped how we envisage it (and, for some, is even why
we envisage such a thing exists);4 as such, we speak of “religion” here not
as a “thing” but as a social reality.5 This is an important caveat, because it
means that we cannot even speak of there being a right or wrong way of
understanding “religion” or regulating the way we see it. Those parts of
society that we see as religious vary due to various social and cultural fac
tors that have shaped them.
Second, and following from our first point, we can see the regulation of
whether religious worldviews permit some form of MRB or SRP in a SRL
as socially and culturally determined. They are not set in stone. As such,
the parameters that have made the Abrahamic traditions seem less liable
to MRB or SRP in a SRL are not prescriptive. Indeed, knowing that worlds
of religious understanding give different perspectives on this also suggests
that these different ways are not getting it wrong, but have equal validity. It
can thus lead to a rethinking of how we think about the “natural” barriers
between religions, and even whether we should see them as such. Further,
the notion of the complementary nature of traditions or what disagreements
may mean can also be seen through different lenses.
Third, doing what we may term a transreligious or an interreligious theo
logical task no longer becomes a perilous venture bordering, at best, on
illicit syncretism. Rather, such ventures may be seen as a perfectly legitimate
170 Paul Hedges
employment of resources in a SRL. Much of the literature not just on MRB,6
but also on inter-riting (the sharing of rituals across religious boundaries;
Moyaert and Geldhof (2015)), and on interreligious encounters and theolo
gies in general,7 has tended to come from Western contexts and is reflective
of the WRP as normative. However, for those who come from a context
where SRP in a SRL is normative, this may seem irrelevant. Whether in the
East Asian context8 or in today’s Western context, doing transreligious or
interreligious theology is not a marginal or dangerous pursuit, but rather
arguably the new norm. We are still certainly a long way from this, certainly
in ecclesial contexts or academic theology and understanding; nevertheless,
the situation on the ground may be more fluid and changing faster. As is
often the case, theology may need to play catch-up with the wider world.
Notes
1 A recent exploration of such patterns in the US context is found in Bidwell (2018).
2 The first two parts of this chapter will draw heavily from my paper, Hedges
(2017). Readers are encouraged to go there for references and further resources
on the issues discussed.
3 See Knitter (2009).
4 On such debates see King and Hedges (2014, 1–30).
5 See Schilbrack (2017, 161–178). This is explored further in Hedges (Forthcoming,
chapter 1).
6 See e.g. Cornille (2002, 1–6) and Berthrong (2000).
7 See Hedges and Race (2008) and Harris, Hedges, and Hettiararchi (2016) as two
overviews on the typical theology of religions literature,
8 However, it has been noted that although this has reflected historical practices
and understandings influenced by Western norms and the hegemonic imposition
of the WRP standard, we are seeing a change in understanding in East Asia and
elsewhere to a context where singular belonging and identity in religion is being
enforced.
References
Berthrong, John. 2000. The Divine Deli: Religious Identity in the North American
Cultural Mosaic. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis.
Bidwell, Duane. 2018. When One Religion Isn’t Enough: The Lives of Spiritually
Fluid People. Boston, MA: Beacon Press. doi:10.1353/scs.2019.0018
Cornille, Catherine. 2002. “Introduction: The Dynamics of Multiple Belonging.” In
Many Mansions? Multiple Belonging and Christian Identity, edited by Catherine
Cornille, 1–6. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis.
Harris, Elizabeth, Paul Hedges, and Shantikumar Hettiararchi, eds. 2016. Twenty-
First Century Theologies of Religions: Retrospective and Future Prospects. Lei
den: Brill.
Hedges, Paul, and Allan Race, eds. 2008. Christian Approaches to Other Faiths.
London: SCM Press.
Hedges, Paul. 2017. “Multiple Religious Belonging After Religion: Theorising
Strategic Religious Participation in a Shared Religious Landscape as a Chinese
Model.” Open Theology 3 (1), 48–72. doi:10.1515/opth-2017–0005
Hedges, Paul. Forthcoming. Understanding Religion: Method and Theory for Study
ing Religiously Diverse Societies, Chapter 1. Berkeley, CA: University of Califor
nia Press.
King, Anna, and Paul Hedges. 2014. “What Is Religion? Or What Is It We’re Talking
About?.” In Controversies in Contemporary Religion, edited by Paul Hedges. Vol.
I, 1–30. Santa Barbara, CA: Praeger.
Knitter, Paul. 2009. Without the Buddha I Could Not Be a Christian. Oxford:
Oneworld.
Moyaert, Marianne, and Joris Geldhof, eds. 2015. Ritual Participation and Interre
ligious Dialogue: Boundaries, Transgressions and Innovations. London: Blooms-
bury Academic. doi:10.1558/firn.32269
Schilbrack, Kevin. 2017. “A Realist Social Ontology of Religion.” Religion 47 (2):
161–178. doi:10.1080/0048721x.2016.1203834
16 How to think globally and
affiliate locally
Jeanine Diller
Can one theologize without walls and simultaneously affiliate with a par
ticular religious tradition? Or, as Jerry L. Martin phrased the question in
conversation: Can a transreligious theologian take account of spiritual
truths outside their confession, or would they have to give up or loosen
their affiliation to do this?
I will argue that it is not a contradiction in terms to affiliate and do
Theology Without Walls (TWW), both in a serious way. It is possible to
do both. Why? In short, it makes sense to affiliate and do TWW because
through TWW, affiliators are expanding their knowledge of the thing
that their affiliation has put them in touch with (which I will call “the
Ultimate”). That is, despite appearances, they are not undoing what they
have found from affiliation by thinking outside it; they are rather adding
knowledge to it.
This “expanding knowledge” sentiment is all well and good, you might be
thinking, until an affiliator tries it and finds their search for more exploding
into confusing and contradictory news about the Ultimate that challenges
their affiliation’s view of It. True. The burden of this chapter will be to state
more carefully this and two other specific challenges that TWW seems to
present for affiliation and then to identify views on religious diversity that
address them.
Preliminaries: TWW, affiliation, and belief

TWW seeks the truth of ultimate matters by drawing on the resources of
multiple traditions. Because it is about seeking truth, TWW focuses on the
propositions associated with religions. To think there is a tension between
TWW and affiliation thus seems to assume that affiliation is also, at least in
part, about propositions (i.e., that affiliation entails belief). Though I will be
assuming for the bulk of the chapter that affiliation does entail belief, I want
to explain why this is not obvious as we begin.
By “affiliating with” a religion, I will mean here either belonging to it
or identifying with it. Belonging to a religion is generally a joint act of the
person who is presented to belong and leaders within the religion granting
belonging to them under certain conditions. For example, an individual goes
DOI: 10.4324/9780429000973-21
How to think globally and affiliate locally 173

through jukai to enter a Buddhist community, baptism to enter a Christian
one, etc. These processes may be more or less elaborate, depending on the
religion or community, but for most religions1 they require a leader. This
fact makes belonging to most religions an invite-only affair, though most
religions are very free with the invitations. In contrast, identifying with a
religion is decided by the individual himself or herself. All identity entails is
that one considers oneself involved with the tradition enough to call oneself
a “Daoist,” a “Muslim,” etc. Though this analogy borders on the sacrile
gious, identifying oneself with a religion is as easy as becoming a fan of a
sports team. Nobody except me decides that I am a University of Michigan
football fan, and I can choose to live out my fanhood with as much or as
little devotion as I please.
The wide welcome for belonging and even wider welcome for identify
ing makes affiliation relatively easy. The complex nature of religion makes
it even easier because one can affiliate by participating in only some of a
religion’s many dimensions, e.g., creed, code, community, and cult, to use
Scott Appleby’s gloss. The relevant question here is: Can one affiliate while
dropping creed in particular? Sometimes no; sometimes yes. I know first
hand of several Christian communities where a fair number of beliefs are
required for belonging, and of a Jewish community whose rabbi stated was
about “deed, not creed.” Still, to guard against setting up a straw man here,
I will follow Samuel Ruhmkorff in taking religions “to involve a core area
of doctrine even cluster concepts cannot bypass”2 and focus on communities
that take belief to be necessary for affiliation. Even there, I will argue, one
can still affiliate and do TWW.
Three challenges to affiliating and doing TWW

But how exactly can one affiliate and do TWW? Doesn’t seeking truth out
side one’s tradition challenge the beliefs one affirms inside it?
It does, in at least three ways:
Challenge 1: Why seek truth outside one’s affiliation in the first place?
Challenge 2: If I do seek truth outside my affiliation, some outside beliefs
seem to contradict some of my home beliefs. That risks a denial of the
home beliefs, thereby wearing away at affiliation.
Challenge 3: Even for new beliefs that are consistent with home beliefs,
adding new beliefs shifts one’s focus away from home beliefs. That
shift weakens one’s affiliation.
Both Challenges 2 and 3 arise from how beliefs within and outside one’s
tradition might relate to each other. There are three possible relations, pic
tured in Figure 16.1:
1 The outside beliefs might confirm a home belief: for home beliefs a and
b, one can rediscover b outside.
174 Jeanine Diller
Home Outside
a b c
not a
Figure 16.1 Home and outside beliefs
2 The outside beliefs might contradict a home belief: for home beliefs a
and b, one finds not a outside.
3 The outside beliefs might add to the home beliefs: for home beliefs a and
b, one finds c outside.
Confirmation of a home belief from the outside as in 1) is all good: it

suggests anew that what one thought was true is true, at least according
to the outside tradition too. If anything, such confirmation deepens one’s
affiliation. For example, imagine I had always believed that the Ultimate
was good and then found that same belief in another religion. That makes
me even more sure that I was right about the Ultimate’s goodness all along.
However, if an outside belief contradicts a home belief as in 2), which
belief should one take to be true? If one chooses the outside belief and loses
the home belief, this is a hit to one’s affiliation – a “loosening” of it, as
Martin says. Say I am a Christian who believes in the Trinity and become
concerned by a Muslim view that it constitutes polytheism and should be
dropped. I become less Christian, it seems, if I drop it. Contradiction and its
attendant risk of possible loss of belief is Challenge 2.
Finally, even an outside belief that does not require subtracting but merely
adds to the home beliefs as in 3) still distracts from the home beliefs. This
loss of focus on, perhaps even loss of love for, the beliefs of one’s affiliation
is Challenge 3. I had thought for some time that contradiction was the hard
est challenge TWW presented for affiliation but, oddly, dwelling on outside
beliefs turns out to be an even deeper threat in the end, as we shall see.
Challenge 1 and some preliminary reasons to

step outside one’s affiliation
One affiliates presumably because, among other things, one is convinced of
the truth of the core doctrines of one’s religion. So why go elsewhere looking
for truth? This is a very fundamental question, and I think many affiliators
never get past it. I think of one colleague who said: Why not look to another
religion for truth? Because I might go to hell, that’s why!
My main reply to this challenge, and my main point of this whole piece
as intimated at the start, can be summed up with what Bilbo writes to
Frodo at the start of the movie version of The Hobbit: “You asked me once
if I had told you everything there was to know about my adventures. And
while I can honestly say I have told you the truth, I may not have told you
all of it.”
Long-standing affiliators with a religion are like Frodo and the Ultimate
is like Bilbo in this quote. Their affiliation has brought them in touch with
something they perceive as Ultimate. Due to the renowned magnetic attrac
tion of the Ultimate – a “to-be-pursuedness” about it, as J. L. Mackie has
said about the good – affiliators may have a keen desire to know everything
there is to know about the Ultimate. As they live out their affiliation, they
come to know truths about the Ultimate. But in this very process, they also
may glimpse how vast the Ultimate is, how it transcends human thought. So
they may come to think that, though they have heard the truth from their
religion, they may not have heard all of it. So, ironically, it is touching the
Ultimate through affiliation that can ready someone to go outside it.
In fact, it is not only natural but also logically required to look beyond
one’s own experiences of the Ultimate in order to generalize about It, on
pain of committing the fallacy of hasty generalization. As Toulmin, Rieke,
and Janik (1984) say well:
We commit fallacies of hasty generalization when we (1) Draw a con

clusion from too few specific instances, for example, basing the gen
eral statement “All Audis are lemons” on a few individual reports from
friends who have happened to have trouble with their own Audis, or
alternatively when we: (2) Draw a conclusion from untypical examples,
for example, concluding that we do not care for Woody Allen movies
(which are normally comedies) on the basis of our reaction to The Front
(one of [his] rare serious films). . . . Though the relevance of the data
to the claim being made is beyond question, there simply isn’t enough
data available for making the sweeping claim that is alleged to follow
from it.
(151–153, emphases theirs)
It is fallacious to generalize from one’s own experience to the way the whole
world is. So also it is fallacious to generalize from our own personal experi
ence of the Ultimate to claims about the way It actually is. The move from,
for example, “I experience the Ultimate as kind” to “the Ultimate is kind”
commits the fallacy. To avoid the fallacy, we need to look further for 1)
more examples that will help us 2) determine whether our experiences are
atypical, as Toulmin says. The more examples we find, the surer we can be
about the Ultimate in general.
176 Jeanine Diller
Challenge 2: meeting contradiction
Still, it is genuinely puzzling why, if we are all meeting the Ultimate, we have
such different things to say about it. It is easy to understand how I might hear
from another religion about a belief that is different but adds, as belief c in
Figure 16.1 illustrates. If I know someone and you do too, it is not unusual
that you know things about them that I don’t, so I can learn new things about
them from you. But the beliefs that are different and contradict as belief a
and not a are in Figure 16.1 – especially numerous such beliefs that contra
dict – are confusing. If I hear from you that this person is not like I thought
and then from several others as well, I start to wonder: Am I wrong? Are you
wrong? Are we all wrong? Should we just call the whole thing off?
These questions are the stuff of Challenge 2, and I have asked them over
and over again as I, affiliated with one religion, listen to people from other
religions talk about the Ultimate. Interestingly, it turns out, there are many
ways theorists are meeting Challenge 2.
The landscape of views of religious diversity

The many ways to understand contradictions between the world’s religions
are “theologies of religious pluralism” – or what I call “views of religious
diversity.”3 It will help to talk about these views in the more subtle ways
that Perry Schmidt Leukel’s view of them allows. He reads views of reli
gious diversity as answers to the question: How many religions “[medi
ate] salvific knowledge of ultimate/transcendent reality?”4 Because this is a
“how-many” question, the answers define the usual range with numbers:
exclusivists answer “1”; inclusivists answer “1 but others work or help in
some way”; pluralists answer “more than 1” (n.b. pluralists need not say
“all”; as Ruhmkorff (2013) says wonderfully, they are allowed to think
“there are some sketchy religions out there”). To complete the logical range,
let’s add the answer “0” for those who think that no religions mediate salv
ific knowledge of the Ultimate – either because no religion is good at that yet
or because no religion ever can be, say if such knowledge is beyond us or if
there is no Ultimate to know in the first place.
The range of views on religious diversity is often displayed with moun
tains. In Schmidt-Leukel’s phrasing, the top of the mountain is “mediating
salvific knowledge of the Ultimate” and the arrows represent various reli
gions’ ability to do that (see Figure 16.2). On the exclusivist mountain, only
one religion makes it to the top while all the others have false starts. On the
inclusivist mountain, though only one religion makes it all the way to the
top, others might help in the foothills, for example, the Dalai Lama’s view
that even if it turns out that only Buddhism has saving truths, other religions
have partial truths useful for working toward salvation. On the pluralist’s
mountain, multiple religions make it to the top, and on the error theorist’s,
none of them do.
salvation salvation salvation salvation

R2
R1 R3
Error theory Exclusivism Inclusivism Pluralism

0 1 1+ 2+
Figure 16.2 Soteriological diversity in Schmidt-Leukel
Ruhmkorff noticed that we can convert Schmidt-Leukel’s question into a

form of a “how-many religions x” question and thereby produce different
diversity questions with different fillings for x. So one can ask Schmidt
Leukel’s instance of the form (put more simply): “how many religions lead
to salvation?” (a soteriological question); or other instances, such as “how
many religions have true claims about the Ultimate?” (an alethic question);
“how many religions provide experience of the Ultimate?” (an experiential
question); etc.5
The key point is that someone might not answer each of these questions
with the same number. For example, think of Kierkegaard’s lovely saying
that it is better to pray to a false God truly than a true God falsely. Kierkeg
aard might hold an alethic exclusivism, that the fundamental claims of only
one religion can be true (there is a true God and there are false Gods) mixed
with an experiential pluralism, that nevertheless faithful adherents of many
religions actually experience the divine (God honors their true spirit of
prayer). If so, it would be misleading to call Kierkegaard “an exclusivist” or
“a pluralist,” full stop, because which word applies depends on the diversity
question at issue. So people do not hold a single, all-purpose view of reli
gious diversity. They hold views on religious diversity. To picture someone’s
view, you would be obliged to draw the whole range multiple times, once for
each question with the telos it discusses at the summit.
As if Ruhmkorff’s insight doesn’t complicate our lives enough, S. Mark
Heim and John Cobb have expanded the range of options even further by
noticing that each of the views discussed so far assumes there is just one
mountain with one top – one salvation, one Ultimate, etc. – which none,
one, or more religions might reach. To lay bare this assumption, Heim and
Cobb each decided to ask not only the questions of the form “How many
religions x” but also questions of the form “How many x’s are there in the
first place?” In particular, to “How many religions lead to salvation?” Heim
has added “How many salvations are there?” And to “how many religions
involve veridical experience the Ultimate?” Cobb has added: “how many
kinds of religious experience are there? And how many Ultimates are there
to experience?”6
178 Jeanine Diller
As Griffin noted, Heim’s and Cobb’s new questions have the effect of dis
tinguishing the original views earlier as all “identist” because they assume
there’s just one mountain top (e.g., one salvation or one kind of religious
experience or one Ultimate). In contrast, the “differentialist” views assume
there are irreducibly multiple salvations, religious experiences, Ultimates,
etc., thus multiple mountain tops. Though Heim and Cobb both seem to
be differentialist pluralists, it is in principle possible for someone to be an
error theorist, exclusivist, inclusivist, or pluralist about differentialism just
as people are about identism. Such views, though possible, might sound
odd, for example, a differentialist exclusivist would believe there is one very
handy religion that helps you reach theistic salvation and nirvana and mok
sha simultaneously!
Putting the old and new questions together makes the landscape of views
of religious diversity contain two kinds of mountain ranges, that is, the iden
tist range that answers “1” to the question “how many x” (where x is sal
vation, the Ultimate, etc.) and the differentialist range that answers “more
than 1.” Both ranges display various answers to the “how many religions do
x” in the usual exclusivist, inclusivist, etc., terms. And both ranges need to
be redrawn for each diversity question that gets asked. To illustrate the new
shape of the resulting landscape, I have drawn it in Figure 16.3, just for the
question Heim asks about salvations.
Now we can talk more exactly about these theorists’ varying views of reli
gious diversity. Take Hick (2004). He’s an identist pluralist about salvation:
he thinks there is one salvation he calls “Reality-centeredness” (identist) and
How many religions x (lead to salvation, etc.)?
0 1 1+ 2+
error theory exclusivism inclusivism pluralism
S S S S
How 1
many x’s Identism
(salvations,
etc.) are
there?
2+ S1 S2 S3 S1 S2 S3 S1 S2 S3 S1 S2 S3
Differ
entialism
R1 R2 R3 R1 R1 R1 R2 R1 R1 R2 R3
Figure 16.3 Example of soteriological diversity after Heim and Cobb

that every major religion can help you get from self-centeredness to Reality
centeredness (pluralist, so first row, last box). But Hick is not an identist
pluralist about truth. As Ruhmkorff says well, for Hick “claims made by
different religions about the Real are noumenally false (because they do
not describe the Real as it is in itself) but phenomenally true” because they
describe “the Real as mediated by their religious and cultural understand
ings.” So Hick is an identist error theorist about noumenal truth: no religion
has true claims about the one Ultimate as it is in itself. He is simultane
ously an identist pluralist about phenomenal truth: each religion succeeds in
knowing the one Ultimate (identist) phenomenally, because there is nobody
better than the perceiver to report their perceptions of It (pluralist).
Or consider Heim. He is a differentialist pluralist about salvation: he
thinks there are many salvations, for example, nirvana, moksha, and the
istic salvation are each different spiritual summits (differentialist), and the
many religions train you to reach those salvations, for example, vipassana
helps you reach nirvana; the yogas, moksha; prayer, salvation (pluralist,
so second row, last box). At the same time, if I read him right, Heim is a
Christian identist inclusivist about truth: he is a realist who thinks there is
only one Ultimate to be known (identist) and that only Christianity’s funda
mental claims are true about It, though other religions know it in part, too
(inclusivist).
Finally, consider Cobb and Griffin’s complementary pluralism, which
focuses on at least two different topics in religious diversity. First, they
are impressed by how deeply different religious experiences are, expressed
well by a quote they offer from Steven Katz: “There is no intelligible way
that anyone can argue that a ‘no-self’ experience of ‘empty’ calm is the
same experience as the experience of intense, loving, intimate relationship
between two substantial selves” (Griffin 2005, 46), or the same experience
as a sacred experience of the cosmos (49). Inspired by Katz, Cobb is a dif
ferentialist pluralist about religious experience. He looks at the wide sweep
of human religious experience and sees three durable, radically different,
irreducible kinds of religious experience that he calls “theistic, acosmic, and
cosmic” (49, differentialist), and he thinks multiple religions help you reach
these experiences (pluralist). Specifically, he thinks the theistic religions such
as the major monotheisms and some forms of Hinduism involve theistic
experiences; the acosmic ones such as Buddhism and other forms of Hindu
ism involve acosmic experiences; and the cosmic traditions such as Daoism
and Native American spiritualities – and the sciences, I would add – involve
cosmic experiences.7
Cobb’s second move is even more radical. As Griffin says, Cobb “finds
it unilluminating to claim . . . that . . . radically different kinds of experi
ence are experiences of the same ultimate reality. ‘[The] evidence,’ suggests
Cobb, ‘points to a different hypothesis’ ” (2005, 47). He believes there are
three different kinds of religious experience because there are three different
Ultimates getting experienced. Theistic experiences are experiences of the
180 Jeanine Diller
Supreme Being, “in-formed and the source of forms (such as truth, beauty
and justice),” variously named and understood as God (the monotheistic
traditions), as Amida Buddha (Buddhism), as Saguna Brahman (Advaita
Vedanta in Hinduism), etc. (47). Acosmic experiences are of Being Itself,
a formless ultimate reality, again variously understood as Emptiness (Bud
dhism), as Nirguna Brahman (Advaita Vedanta) and as the Godhead (Eck
hart in Christianity) (47). Cosmic experiences are of the Cosmos, variously
understood as the Dao (Daoism) and other cosmic sacreds in Native Ameri
can spiritualities and more (49). So in addition to being a differentialist
pluralist about veridical religious experience, Cobb is a differentialist plu
ralist about the Ultimate: he thinks there are multiple Ultimates to reach
(differentialist), and that multiple religions and spiritualities are doing the
reaching (pluralist). So I read him as a differentialist pluralist about knowl
edge of Ultimacy: the contact with the three Ultimates in the three kinds of
religious experiences provides at least some true beliefs about them, though
it is an open question whether he would take these beliefs to be merely
phenomenally true (“I know that the acosmic ultimate felt thus to me”)
or noumenally so (“I know that the acosmic ultimate is thus”). Table 16.1
summarizes the views relayed in this section.
How views on religious diversity help meet

Challenges 1 and 2
Here I want to show how holding certain combinations of views on reli
gious diversity can make doing TWW and affiliation natural. I will be using
my own current combination of views as a case in point.
About religious experiences: Like Cobb and Katz, I suspect that there are
truly distinct experiences of the Ultimate by people from various religions
(differential pluralism). My own forays into Christianity and Buddhism
and what I know of reports of religious experiences confirm their view that
there are at least two different kinds of experiences of Ultimacy that are dis
tinct and possibly irreducibly so, viz., the theistic and “empty calm” kinds.
It may be that experiences of the cosmos are a distinct third kind. That
would explain, for instance, why my long-distance experiences of the silent
expanse of outer space and my actual experiences of the spiritually moving
places on earth feel so very holy.
I also gravitate toward Heim’s differentialist pluralism about salvations.
Heim makes sense of the undeniably advanced spiritual states, which adepts
in the many religions reach, and does justice to their substantial differences
in a way that Hick’s identist pluralism famously does not.8
So let’s assume there are radically different religious experiences and irre
ducibly multiple salvations. Why do we have this deep diversity of experi
ences and salvations? My guess is that they are genuine responses to one
Ultimate as Hick and Heim say, not to multiple Ultimates as Cobb says. The
empirical facts alone actually underdetermine this choice: in philosophical
Table 16.1 Summary of views on religious diversities in Hick, Heim, and Cobb
Soteriology How many religions lead to salvation?
How many 0 1 1+ 2+
salvations error theory exclusivism inclusivism pluralism
are there? 1 Hick
Identism
2+ Heim
Differentialism
Knowledge How many religions have true claims about Ultimacy?
How many 0 1 1+ 2+
Ultimates are error theory exclusivism inclusivism pluralism
there? 1 Hick for Heim Hick for
Identism noumenal phenomenal truth
truth
2+ Cobb
Differentialism
Religious How many religions involve veridical religious experience?

experience
How many 0 1 1+ 2+
irreducible error theory exclusivism inclusivism pluralism
types of 1
religious Identism
experience 2+ Cobb
are there? Differentialism
182 Jeanine Diller
terms, either one or multiple Ultimates could be the “truthmaker” of these
deeply diverse experiences; both theories explain the data. Still, I gravitate
toward the one-Ultimate hypothesis for a few reasons. First is an empirical
reason complicated enough that I am relegating it to a footnote.9 Second
is Ockham’s razor, an old workhorse in theory choice: all else being equal,
“entities should not be multiplied beyond necessity.” The third reason
comes from thinking of multiple ultimacy itself. Imagine for a moment that
the Cosmos, the Supreme Being and Being Itself are distinct Ultimates. They
might, or perhaps must, bear some relation to each other. If so, whatever
that totality of Ultimates relating to each other is, why that would be the
whole truth, and thus the most total Ultimate (singular), perhaps.10
Though the one-Ultimate view seems right, it actually heightens the prob
lem of contradiction mentioned in Challenge 2. That is, I cannot say, like
Cobb, that it is no wonder we make different claims about Ultimacy: we
are talking about different Ultimates! On the one-Ultimate view, we are all
talking about the same thing, so why do we contradict each other? To make
matters worse, Hick managed to find a way to resolve the contradictions
even with just one Ultimate, but I can’t use his way either, because it trades
on his idea that no religion involves genuine knowledge of the Ultimate and
I think multiple religions do (he is an identist error theorist about knowl
edge and I am an identist pluralist). I agree with how Hick begins: we each
experience the Ultimate through our religious and cultural traditions. But
I disagree with how he ends: so none of us are describing the Ultimate as
it is in Itself. His ending avoids contradiction because all claims including
contradictory ones are relativized to a religion: “Jesus is God” is true about
God as Christians experience God, “Jesus is not God” is true of God as Jews
experience God. I, on the other hand, suspect that, if there is an Ultimate
and if we are having experiences of It, we sometimes are describing the Ulti
mate. We almost always fail, because the Ultimate is beyond us in kind and
in scope, for example, as Leibniz’s cosmological argument shows deeply.
Still, as Maimonides has helped me see, I think we can know some very lim
ited truths about It (e.g., about its actions and some disjunctive claims about
Its nature that those actions entail).11 If so, we are in these limited ways (big
breath!) really accessing the Ultimate.
These commitments leave me still saddled with the contradictions that
Cobb and Hick avoided: How can it be that different religionists say con
tradictory things about the Ultimate if they are each really accessing It at
least sometimes? I can think of at least three ways to read such contradic
tions given all my commitments earlier. First, because it is so hard to say
true things about the Ultimate, sometimes I may be wrong, or you may be
wrong, or we may both be wrong, and it may be decades or another lifetime
until we know which. If at least one of us is wrong, the contradiction is
defused.
Second, sometimes our claims about ultimate things may not be literally
true, but rather, for example, a metaphor for, an allegory for, or an instance
of some universal truth. This is the stuff of myth that Mircea Eliade and
Joseph Campbell and others have spoken of so eloquently. For example, the
Christian belief that Jesus rose again from the dead to save us from sin may
be an instance of a universal truth that, for example, the forces of good are
stronger than the forces of death. Perhaps a Hindu might deny that story
about Jesus but affirm the story that Prahlad survived Holika’s fire, and per
haps the Prahlad story is also an instance of that very same universal truth.
If so, what is contradiction at the particular level is actually agreement at
the universal level, so the apparent contradiction is defused in an important
sense.12
The third way to defuse contradiction is inspired by Baruch Spinoza’s
thought about what he calls “God” – an Ultimate that is read sometimes
monistically, sometimes panentheistically. Though I will not aim to stay true
to Spinoza here, he has a wonderful idea of the infinite attributes of God.
He reads each attribute as a different way we can perceive God’s essence,13
each of which is “complete” in itself and “incommensurate” with the other
attributes. Roger Scruton explains Spinoza’s attributes with a really helpful
analogy:
Imagine two people looking at a picture painted on a board, one an

optician, the other a critic. And suppose you ask them to describe
what they see. The optician arranges the picture on two axes, and
describes it thus: “At x = 4, y = 5.2, there is a patch of chrome yellow;
this continues along the horizontal axis until x = 5.1, when it changes
to Prussian blue.” The critic says: “It is a man in a yellow coat, with
a lowering expression, and steely blue eyes.” You could imagine these
descriptions being complete – so complete that they would enable a
third party to reconstruct the picture by using them as a set of instruc
tions. But they would have nothing whatever in common [incommen
surate]. One is about colors arranged on a matrix, the other about the
scene that we see in them. You cannot switch from one narrative to
the other and still make sense: the man is not standing next to a patch
of Prussian blue, but next to the shadow of an oak tree. The Prussian
blue is not situated next to a coat sleeve, but next to a patch of chrome
yellow.
(9–10, emphases mine)
Though Spinoza most definitely did not put his attributes to work in this
way, I take different religionists to be in touch with different attributes of the
Ultimate, just as the optician and critic are in touch with different attributes
of the painting. This view captures at once both my differentialist plural
ism about religious experiences (like Cobb’s) and my identism about ulti
macy (like Hick’s): some religionists experience the acosmic attribute of the
Ultimate; others, the cosmic, and still others, the theistic, but these are all
experiences of the same Ultimate, just different attributes of It. Unlike Hick,
184 Jeanine Diller
R1 R2 R3
Figure 16.4 Partialism about knowledge of the Ultimate
these experiences of the attributes can produce knowledge of the Ultimate

itself. In the same way that both the optician’s and critic’s accounts of the
painting are actually true of the painting – it really does have those colors
in that order and it really does contain that scene – so also each religionist’s
account of the Ultimate can be actually true of it. Call this Scruton-Spinozistic
inspired view “partialism,” and give it a place between inclusivism and plu
ralism on the identist mountains in the question about knowledge of the
Ultimate (the second question in Table 16.1).
Partialism addresses Challenge 1. Because the Ultimate has multiple
(maybe infinite) attributes and each religion grasps just one of these, no
religion has full knowledge of the Ultimate solo. Affiliators must go outside
their affiliation and pool their knowledge with other affiliators to know the
Ultimate more fully (see Figure 16.4).14
Partialism also addresses Challenge 2. Different religionists can seem to
contradict each other, but that is because they are describing different attrib
utes of the Ultimate. We can see that the contradiction is merely apparent
when we relativize the religionists’ claims to their respective attributes, just
as Hick did when he relativized claims to their respective phenomena.
Challenge 3: a change of heart

There remains Challenge 3, the risk of adding new beliefs that, though con
sistent with the home beliefs, distract a person from the home beliefs and
thereby weaken affiliation.
Challenge 3 is embodied in the story of the one-time Henri Le Saux
turned Swami Abishiktananda. Born in France in 1910, he began his formal
spiritual journey as a Christian Benedictine monk who eventually felt called
to India to seek an even deeper contemplative life. Over decades of life in
India, his attraction to Hindu over Christian forms grew so much that by
the last year of his life in 1973, he wrote: “The discovery of Christ’s ‘I AM’
is the ruin of any Christic ‘theology,’ for all notions are burnt within the fire
of experience” (said in 1973, see 2019). Swami Abishiktananda seems to
have failed Challenge 3, for worse or for better. His focus on Hindu truths
outside his Christianity, though not formally inconsistent with it, eventually
transformed his focus and spirit enough that he lost his Christian affiliation
altogether.
Even though such loss of affiliation can happen in the face of new truths
from an outside tradition, it also can not happen. In fact, in many of the
other cases I have read of people who have gone out seriously enough to
other affiliations that they identify with a hybrid or double belong, the per
son has kept their home affiliation.15 They are living proof that it is possible
to affiliate seriously and do TWW seriously.
Conclusion
To return to our initial question: “Can a transreligious theologian take
account of spiritual truths outside their confession, or would they have to
give up or loosen their affiliation to do this?” There are three good reasons
to think that one cannot retain affiliation while doing TWW: one’s affilia
tion should be truth enough; going beyond affiliation risks being persuaded
by outside beliefs that contradict one’s affiliation; and being distracted by
them, too. Though the story of Swami Abishiktananda shows us that these
three challenges are real, we also confirmed that they all can be and some
times are met. In particular, if one adopts partialism and thinks that one’s
own religion is a way of coming to know just one of the possibly infinite
attributes of the Ultimate, and that other religions are too, then an Ultimate-
besotted affiliator may well venture out to other religions to get a fuller
picture of the Ultimate she loves. With partialism, she also expects contra
diction on the way: perhaps one of us is wrong, or perhaps there is some
more universal truth we both believe here, or perhaps we are talking in
incommensurate ways, you tracing one of the attributes, I another. Finally,
if in this process of learning she should fall for another religion’s path, and
though this disaffiliation is a genuine loss – akin to loss of one’s home or first
language – provided there really is an Ultimate, and provided both religions
are dwelling in Its attributes, then the genuine loss gives way to a genuine
gain, a new way to see the Ultimate all over again.16
Notes
1 Islam may be an exception, because it requires only saying the Shahadah three
times earnestly, not necessarily even in the presence of another Muslim, let alone
an imam or other leader.
2 I also follow Ruhmkorff in thinking this applies just to “core” propositions,
however these may get identified, because “it would be absurdly stringent to
insist that all propositions associated with a religion be true.” That would, for
example, rule out denominational differences and more.
3 “Views of religious diversity” drops the etymological reference to God in “the
ology” and drops the word “pluralism” to make it clear that the views under
consideration do not all talk about God and are not all species of pluralism –
whatever exactly that might be (see Griffin (2005, chapter 1) for the ambiguity
of “pluralism”.
186 Jeanine Diller
4 My exposition here is taken from Ruhmkorff (2013).
5 In the first section, he writes: “We can think of the debate between pluralism,
exclusivism, and inclusivism at the level of salvation (are only faithful adherents
to one tradition saved?), rationality (are only faithful adherents to one religious
tradition rational?), doctrine (are the fundamental claims of only one religion
true?), religious experience (do members of only one tradition experience the
divine?), and so on.”
6 These questions are my paraphrases. Heim’s question is a major point in Salva
tions. Apparently Cobb had this same idea before Heim, see Griffin (2005, chap
ter 2). Both have good company in the other. See Cobb’s additional questions
laid out in Griffin (2005, chapters 1 and 2).
7 Note that an identist about religious experiences would think that human reli
gious experience across time and place is really all the same. Such a view may
sound like a nonstarter, given the differences between individuals, but think of
it as close to the way many people read the experience of seeing green (to couch
one vexed topic in the terms of another!). An identist view of seeing green would
say that the experience of seeing green is the same among humans, given our
similar biologies and the fact that green things emit light at the same wavelength
worldwide. That sameness is there, someone might say, even if it expressed in
different words and reactions across cultures. So also, perhaps, with religious
experiences, given our similar needs for the Ultimate and the Ultimate’s con
stancy across space-time.
8 I wonder if the fact that I am a differentialist pluralist on both counts follows
from a genus–species relationship between religious experiences and salvations
respectively, e.g., if salvation necessarily involves a religious experience that
ushers in a new spiritual way of being, then the salvations would be multiple
because they involve religious experiences that are.
9 Cobb’s own description of the experiences indicates that it is not unusual for
a single person to have multiple kinds of religious experience at one go: “The
religious experience of Western mystics seems to be at once of theistic and
acosmic reality – one might say that it is of the theistic as embodying the acos
mic reality or of the acosmic as qualified by the theistic reality” (Griffin 2005,
50). Although these double experiences could be genuine responses to two
Ultimates that are really there to be experienced (I see the painting while hear
ing the clock tick), it seems more likely that they come from a single Ultimate
complex enough to produce both at once (I see the hands on the clock and hear
it tick). Otherwise, we need the two Ultimates to coordinate in a way that per
mits multiple mystics over centuries and across the globe to keep being able to
access them both simultaneously. That sort of relation between the Ultimates
and constant co-access by the mystics is guaranteed if the two Ultimates are
one thing.
10 There is a deep metaphysical question here: What is the difference really
between three separate Ultimates and a single Ultimate that has three parts?
Perhaps the difference is the kind of unity in the single Ultimate. If it is merely
formal – that all we are doing is drawing a circle around the three Ultimates
and saying their unity consists in being able to be “setted,” as it were – why
then the difference between the One and the Many is not real, at least not
concrete. But if the unity consists in something substantial, e.g. if they bear a
relationship of love to each other as in social Trinitarian views, and if this love
is itself a “thing” they bring forth in the universe, above and beyond the Ulti
mates themselves, why then there is a real difference between a single Ultimate
and the three distinct Ultimates, and in this example you can even name it. It
is love.
11 See Leibniz (2017) in Clark and Maimonides’s The Guide of the Perplexed, as
well as Diller (2019) for more.
12 I used to think the move to the abstract level was a last gasp – that if a claim was
not literally true, it was false in the most important sense. But lately I have been
thinking that a claim that is universally true is true in the most important sense
because such claims hold everywhere and everywhen, not just at one point in
space-time.
13 Spinoza wrote: “By attribute I understand what the intellect perceives of a sub
stance, as constituting its essence.” (D4 in his Ethics)
14 All three of these views are echoed in Martin’s (2016) God: An Autobiog
raphy: “‘One of the things I put into the universe, one of the things I am, is
the natural order . . . There is a frequency . . . and I am it. This is one way
I make myself available to men and animals.’ . . . ‘And the Chinese were
adept at picking up the signal?’ ‘Of course. . . . People cannot take every
thing in at once. They have to specialize and the Chinese have specialized in
this.’ [Cobb’s cosmic experience]. ‘With little or no sense of a personal God
[Cobb’s theistic experience], didn’t they lose a lot?’ ‘Everybody loses a lot.
No one gets it all [partialism about knowledge]. That is fine. They all help
me realize, express Myself. They are all part of the big story’ ” (chapter 29,
196–197, unpublished manuscript).
15 Francis Clooney is a good example of someone who maintains his Christian affil
iation in Hindu-Christian hybridity. Robert Kennedy, SJ, and Paul Knitter are
both good examples of double-belongers who maintain their Christian affiliation
while adding a second Buddhist affiliation to it. For explanations of hybrid
ity and double belonging, see Diller (2016), especially the section on Religious
Orientations.
16 My sincere thanks to Jerry Martin and Linda Mercadante for their helpful com
ments as this chapter took shape.
References
Diller, Jeanine, 2016. “Multiple Religious Orientation.” Open Theology 2: 338–353.
Diller, Jeanine. 2019. “Being Perfect is Not Necessary for Being God.” European
Journal for Philosophy of Religion. 11 (2): 43–64.
Griffin, David Ray, ed. 2005. Deep Religious Pluralism. Louisville, KY: Westminster
John Knox Press.
Heim, Mark S. 2006. Salvations: Truth and Difference in Religion. Maryknoll, NY:
Orbis Books. doi:10.1163/157254397x00313
Hick, John. 2004. An Interpretation of Religion: Human Responses to the Trans
cendent. 2nd ed. New Haven, CT: Yale Press.
Knitter, Paul F. 2013. Without Buddha I Could Not Be a Christian. Croydon, UK:
Oneworld.
Leibniz, Gottfried W. 2017. “On the Ultimate Origination of Things.” In Read
ings in the Philosophy of Religion, edited by Kelly James Clark. Peterborough,
Ontario, Canada: Broadview Press.
Martin, Jerry L. 2016. God: An Autobiography. Doylestown, PA: Calladium Pub
lishing Company.
McEntee, Rory, and Adam Bucko. 2016. The New Monasticism: An Interspiritual
Manifesto for Contemplative Living. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books. doi:10.1017/
hor.2016.103
188 Jeanine Diller
Ruhmkorff, Samuel. 2013. “The Incompatibility Problem and Religious Pluralism
Beyond Hick.” Philosophy Compass 8 (5): 510–522. doi:10.1111/phc3.12032
Scruton, Roger. 1999. Spinoza. New York, NY: Routledge.
Swami Abishiktananda. 2019. “The Call of the Self.” www.abhishiktananda.org.in/
html/life-of-swami-abhishiktananda.php (accessed February 9, 2019).
Toulmin, Stephen, Richard Rieke, and Allan Janik. 1984. An Introduction to Rea
soning. 2nd ed. New York: Macmillan Publishing Company.
17 Theology Without Walls
Is a theology for SBNRs
possible?
Linda Mercadante
Sheer numbers are enough of a reason to suggest a theology for the “spir
itual but not religious” (SBNR). The SBNR population now comprises more
than a quarter of Americans and is slated to keep growing. Already their
numbers are greater than the total of all types of Protestants in the United
States.1 There is also a more critical reason. In a globally challenged, polar
ized, violence-ridden, climate-endangered world, the tasks we face are so
critical, so massive, and so vital to world survival that some common spir
itual and social principles are needed to foster cooperation. Yet the common
principles and networks of relationships that have long helped society func
tion are dwindling.
In other words, America is losing much of its social and spiritual “capi
tal.” Social capital is the fruit of community. It is the links that join us
together as a society, fostering trust, cooperation, and mutual productivity.
Traditionally, social capital has been greatly fostered by religion. In fact, it is
estimated that half of America’s social capital comes from religion (Putnam
2001, 66). Spiritual capital are those nonmaterial factors that arise from
religious practices, beliefs, institutions, and relationships. These provide
behavioral norms; a sense of meaning for life; and even economic, social
and political effects.2
This means that the loss of religious attendance, belief, and practices is
not just a loss for actual religion. This also does not bode well for American
society in general. It follows that even SBNRs and secularists should under
stand they benefit from religion. But they also can benefit from practicing a
form of “theology.” Why is this so, when “theology” seems so deeply linked
with organized religion? For even the nonreligious need to understand what
they believe, why they believe it, and how this functions in their lives. This
could make this rapidly expanding population a force for good in society,
rather than simply a disjointed societal sea-change with unclear effects.
The difficulties are real

The difficulties of suggesting a theology for SBNRs must be acknowledged
up front. First, SBNRs are hard to characterize and are often maligned,
DOI: 10.4324/9780429000973-22
190 Linda Mercadante

especially by religious people. They are sometimes stereotyped as “salad
bar spiritualists”; proudly eclectic; “poachers” of other cultures’ spiritual
practices; New Agers; and shallow, self-serving individuals. Although these
are often exaggerations, this does not sound like a population that would
attract the efforts of theologians.
Second, SBNRs are not really an integrated identifiable group. Instead,
they are more of a “demographic” or “gerrymandered set.” As philosopher
Jeanine Diller explains, this means: “It’s not clear that there is anything
every member of the set has in common; there is no governing principle
for why they are all in the set.”3 What they have most in common, I would
add, is what they are “not,” that is, religious. Even many of those who still
actively participate in organized religion now identify as SBNR.4
In addition, SBNRs are a self-selected set with a somewhat exclusivist
quality. Its activities require both time and resources, which many people
don’t have. Thus, there is an aspect of “spiritual privilege” to the SBNR
designation. As Stephen T. Asma says: “The dismissal of religion . . . is
often a luxury position of prosperous and comfortable groups. . . . Perhaps
they have not suffered much. . . . For the rest of us, religion is vital to our
well-being.”5
Third, the definition of the phrase “spiritual but not religious” is far from
precise. The nutshell description implies that spirituality is personal and
heart-felt, whereas religion consists of human-created doctrines, institu
tions, and outward rituals. But in the diverse SBNR population, this sharp
divide does not always hold. The SBNR set can include secular human
ists, atheists, and those who simply do not identify with any religion: the
“nones.” It encompasses people who draw on aspects of “metaphysical reli
gion,” read popular works on the topic, create rituals, and revive others.
Alternatively, it includes those who focus primarily on alternative health
practices, energy work, and self-authenticity, often with a basis in what is
“natural” or of the earth. Thus, what it means to be SBNR often includes a
hybrid or syncretic assembly of spiritual practices and beliefs.6 Increasingly,
it also includes growing numbers who retain some practices, beliefs, and
even regular participation in organized religion.
Fourth, as I demonstrated in my book, Belief without Borders: Inside the
Minds of the Spiritual but not Religious, the most common denominator
for a majority of SBNRs is not simply that they are not religious. It goes
further than that. For I found SBNRs, as diverse as they are, to have an
impressive agreement on the specific concepts in which they don’t believe.7
The rejected beliefs include such things as a self-determining, transcendent,
personal God; humans created in God’s image but with a propensity to turn
their backs on this God; spirit-infused, yet human-created, institutions; and
some kind of afterlife dependent upon God’s judgment. Not surprisingly,
because SBNR is more a boundary-setting rhetoric than a clear-cut set of
positions, many of these beliefs are the hallmarks of religion, in particular,
Christianity.
Fifth, although the SBNRs are not without an array of guides, at present
they are without any agreed-upon texts, leaders, or groups. There are no
widely recognized programs to promote intellectual and ethical harmony or
solidarity outside the revolving door of trends and teachers. Although there
are some widely respected teachers – such as Thich Nhat Hanh, the Dalai
Lama, and Pema Chodron (who actually represent traditional religions) –
and a few common principles, such as compassion, tolerance, or goodwill to
all, these have not yet led to organization. Instead, they have bred a culture
in which this growing population learns its catechism in yoga studios, fitness
programs, self-help books, television shows, and internet sites.
Sixth, the vested interests of theologians and religious leaders would likely
not be served by this task. As counterintuitive as this may sound to clergy, it
is probably unrealistic for religions to consider the SBNR population a new
“mission field.” Perhaps religious leaders would do better to promote the
positive teachings and values of their respective faiths and correct what has
led to misinterpretations.8
Is creating an SBNR theology useful when it might be more effective to
focus on the fact that “real religion is about human flourishing” (Asma
2018, 1)? After all, sociologists project that certain characteristics of this
group – especially their anti-institutional bent – make it unlikely that they
will lead to a reformation for organized religion or the creation of a new
religion.
As Mark Chaves concludes in American Religion:
This growing segment of the population is unlikely to reenergize exist

ing religious institutions. Nor will it provide a solid foundation for new
kinds of religious institutions or new religious movements. The spiritual
but not religious should not be seen as yearning people ready to be
won over by a new type of religion specifically targeted to them. They
may provide a market for certain kinds of religious products, such as
self-help books with spiritual themes, but they probably will not create
a stable, socially and politically significant organizational expression.
The spiritual-but-not-religious phenomenon is too vague, unfocused,
and anti-institutional for that.
(Chaves 2017, 40)
Can we use the word “theology?”

As hinted earlier, the word “theology” can present another problem if by
that we mean theos logos, words about God. Most of the hundreds of SBNRs
I interviewed for my book Belief without Borders scrupulously avoid using
the word “God.” Although this appears to be happening culture-wide and
even in some religious settings, it is more explicit and intentional among
SBNRs.9 Even if they believe there is some primal source, ultimate reality, or
universal energy, they largely reject the idea that it is a divine personal being
and transcendent/immanent spirit. Although they may search for some type
of “bottom line” or ultimacy, they generally do not believe in a God who is
personally involved with humans, one who creates, acts, relates, controls,
persuades, sets goals, makes promises, judges, communicates, or works for
individual growth and continuity.
The theological focus on normativity, truth, and questions of good and evil
also becomes problematic, because SBNRs protest religious norms, hold back
from declaring things good or evil, and find truth to be relative.10 In addi
tion to resisting the authority of any religious doctrine, tradition, leadership,
sacred text, or organization, they increasingly identify religion with right-wing
politics and harmful conservative agendas. Religious morality, standards of
behavior, communal mission, and other practical facets of organized religions
hold little import. These many factors are what SBNRs consider retrograde,
backward looking, repressive, and lacking in creativity about organized reli
gions, even if they grant that religions do some good things now and then.
Some traction is gained if we define theology more generally as “faith
seeking understanding.” Oftentimes SBNRs see themselves on a spiritual
quest, journey, or path, seeking such things as spiritual experience, greater
understanding of the self, authenticity, ancient wisdom predating religion,
cosmic energetic transmissions, holism, or harmony. Although this may be a
place to start, it does not yet provide a sufficient theological basis. It is not
clear what or whom this faith is in, how to reach understanding, and what
that would mean.
But cynicism is not wisdom, and hope takes courage. Lending a hand is
a hopeful move that people who think for a living can do. Religious intel
lectuals, in particular theologians, are equipped to suggest cognitive tools,
historical and philosophical principles, and the wisdom of great mystics and
theologians. They can promote common ethical standards, organize socially
helpful projects, and propose missions that take all humanity under those
umbrellas. They stand on faith traditions that live in hope for the human
race, the Earth, and the entire universe. Even if the ground of their hope is
questioned by SBNRs, they bring that hope to the task anyway.
In fact, the designation “spiritual but not religious” suggests a false
dichotomy. SBNRs are not without ties to traditions, religious thought, and
other influences. Although they borrow and adapt at will, this population
is not totally eclectic and negative. SBNRs do not just disbelieve, disaffili
ate, and distrust. There are some common affirmative factors in the SBNR
movement that can give theologians starting places. In my interviews with
SBNRs, I discovered that there are clusters of beliefs that they hold in com
mon, especially around the four major concepts I examined: transcendence/
immanence, human nature, community, and afterlife.
Common concepts
The hundreds of SBNRs I interviewed were not trained in theological
inquiry. In fact, many had scant exposure to basic religious education. Even
so, they routinely raised issues ripe for theological engagement. I found that
an array of common concepts emerges as one talks with SBNRs.
Transcendence/immanence
Their near-unanimity on transcendence and immanence was striking.
Although they rejected a fully transcendent deity who personally interacts –
thus seeing themselves entirely in what Charles Taylor calls “the immanent
frame” (Taylor 2007) – they did propose a kind of horizontal transcend
ence. That is, they felt connected to something larger than themselves, be it
the human race, the Earth, or an ultimate universal “oneness.”
They leaned toward “monism” and professed “all is one.” Thus, when
proposing a connecting principle, many suggested that some kind of “uni
versal energy source” permeates everything. Sometimes the SBNR inter
viewees spoke of “the Universe” in a way similar to how others speak of
God, but more often they saw this as an impersonal, benign, constantly
flowing source of guidance, help, and empowerment. They leaned toward
a “re-enchantment” of the world such that more goes on under the surface
than mere scientific materialism can reveal.
Human nature
Most felt confident when I asked them about human nature. In spite
of their implicit monism, most did not see individuality as an illusion.
Although a few echoed their attraction to Eastern religions by insisting
the ultimate problem was “the ego,” most felt individuality was impor
tant and lasting. Freedom of choice and authority lodged in the self were
sacrosanct principles, as was a belief in unlimited human potential. Some
claimed immanent divinity resided in the depths of the self, with a few
saying, “I am God.”
Common goals included finding one’s “authentic self” and clearing the
energy blocks that make self-fulfillment difficult. Many agree that individual
spiritual experience, unmediated by religious tradition – and especially as
felt in natural settings – is the key to these things. Yet SBNRs often hope
to find an ancient, primitive, or more “natural” spiritual tradition that pre
dates organized religion. SBNRs lean towards a type of “perennialism,” a
contemporary assumption that each of the world’s religions converge on a
few common principles, whether that is love, compassion, “brotherhood,”
or others. They often feel proud to have outgrown the imprisonment of
these principles in particular religions.
To them, what is most important are their individual thoughts and
choices. Many insist they can stay in tune with the universal energy by prac
ticing “positive thinking,” drawing to themselves what they project from
their minds. However, many avoid using terms like “good” and “bad,”
insisting that these are relative and judgmental. Ironically, however, during
the interview process nearly 100 percent began their comments by saying,
“Everyone is born good.” They explained that individuals only slip into dys
function when something has damaged them therapeutically or biologically,
such as bad parenting or mental illness.
Community
As for community, many SBNRs I meet seek it out from time to time, but
most do not find long-standing commitment essential for spiritual growth.11
When I asked interviewees who supports them spiritually, many answered,
“I do.” Some hoped to find a group where everyone could believe and prac
tice as they chose, without peer pressure. However, the anti-institutional
bent meant that few had found – or felt they needed – a group of like-
minded people for the long haul.12
In spite of the individualism, this is not a population of “lone rangers.”
Many will commit to causes, participate in charitable or political-action
groups, and be motivated to serve, even if only on a case-by-case basis.
Rather than the seedbed for a new spiritual organization, however, this is
a developing subculture without, as yet, an identifiable center. Its ethos is
passed around through low-cost or no-cost things, such as informal discus
sion groups, popular books, internet sites, 12-step and therapy groups, and
alternative spiritualties such as Reiki. It also is disseminated on the back
of capitalism through such businesses as yoga classes, fitness studios, boot
camps, and self-improvement programs. These feed on and spread the gos
pel of individual self-fulfillment, sometimes with other participants encour
aging each other’s personal spiritual journeys.13
Afterlife
When I ask SBNRs about their views on afterlife, the theme of individu
ality and self-fulfillment usually shows up again. In fact, some insist they
have access to their “past lives” and/or expect ongoing continuation of
their individuality after death. Although a few insist that death is the end of
everything, many others have a general belief in reincarnation. It is a very
American brand, however, promising endless lives of progress. SBNRs also
mention karma – the idea that “what goes around, comes around.” It is
seen as a process that regulates harm, replacing a God who judges or the
universality of human sin.
One may hear, in the SBNR ethos, echoes of earlier themes in Ameri
can religion, such as theosophy, transcendentalism, spiritualism, positive
thought, romanticism, Swedenborgianism, etc. However, the SBNRs I meet
are not consciously adopting or are in touch with these traditions. Even so,
this growing group could be called the new “metaphysicals” or the “limi
nals” because they sense a fragile place between material and spiritual real
ity.14 No matter what term is used, however, the SBNR ethos provides some
footholds for a theology.
Theological footholds
It is beyond the scope of this chapter to determine whether a systematic
theology for SBNRs is feasible, much less to develop one. Yet there are a few
theological starting places, as well as issues needing further development,
that can provide room for the insights of religious thinkers.
Spiritual experience
The focus on spiritual experience gives a likely foothold. Exploring those
times when a sense of fullness or peace or deep connection happens can
put words to experience without automatically invoking religious doctrine.
SBNRs seek a sense of “cosmic consciousness,” seeing it as the location
of internal divinity. They often equate feelings of awe, wonder, mystery,
and gratitude with spiritual experience. One connecting point, then, can be
something like Schleiermacher’s “feeling of absolute dependence” or Til
lich’s understanding of “ultimate concern.” At least one theologian is try
ing to bridge this gap by developing the concept of “love beyond belief”
(Thandeka 2018).
On the other hand, theologians can explain that unmediated experience
of any kind is an impossible goal, because everything is filtered through bod
ies, contexts, and history. After all, we all swim in a sea of culture. The fact
that many SBNRs – sometimes with puzzlement – claim to feel inspired by
religious architecture and music is one way to make this point. Theologians
can contribute by discussing the ideas and beliefs behind these inspiring
creations – and the sensations they evoke – especially because SBNRs often
value artistic creativity.
Moreover, it must be asked whether spiritual experience is an end in itself
or a route to something greater? One way to explore this question would
be to examine the recent interest in dramatic bodily practices to see whether
self-transcendence, self-fulfillment, or sheer stimulation is the experience
sought. This could include such things as extreme sports (such as free climb
ing and BASE jumping), ideologically based dietary regimens, self-imposed
pain or markings (such as tattoos, piercings, or body suspension on hooks),
or pilgrimage treks (such as the Camino de Santiago in Spain).
The natural world

A starting place with wider appeal is the natural world, especially the envi
ronment and its nonhuman inhabitants. For SBNRs, nature is very often
revered as a likely site of spiritual experience, with assertions like, “I find
more spirituality in a sunset (out on a hike, at the ocean, etc.) than I do
in a religious service.” The increasing focus on domestic pets can some
times function as spiritual source for SBNRs as well. Although SBNRs are
unlikely to understand the natural world as God’s creation, they do sense a
sacredness in the Earth. This links well to their sense of holism and oneness
and the energy that permeates everything.
Perhaps because of this, SBNRs are often quite concerned with the degra
dation humans have caused the Earth. Sometimes their response is restricted
to dietary and lifestyle changes. But this is limited. Instead, this concern can
be linked with their often-expressed belief that the common ground of all
religions is compassion. Having compassion for the Earth and all its inhab
itants can motivate to action, for there is no expectation that a savior will
come to rescue humans from their mess.
Yet the Earth crisis also forces us to realize that we all have erred in some
way, becoming unconsciously complicit in the Earth’s suffering. This moves
the discussion beyond a simple assertion that “we are all born good” and
individual freedom as the highest value. Instead, it raises issues of the real
ity of evil and human wrongdoing beyond a mere therapeutic explanation.
It opens the door to exploring the different approaches religions take on
human finitude, fallibility, and vulnerability.
Thinking about the Earth’s suffering – and how that affects humans – sug
gests that we have inherited wrongdoing, catching it like a disease. Often
without realizing it, we perpetuate it, but at times, we also knowingly coop
erate with harm or fail to act in the face of it. This would not necessarily
push SBNRs to a theological idea such as original sin, although it could be
analogized with the genetic determinism of popular views on alcohol addic
tion. Instead, connecting the Earth’s suffering with the SBNR focus on indi
vidual responsibility and the power of positive thought can lessen feelings of
powerlessness and inspire action.
The authentic self

The SBNR focus on the authentic self, rather than socially imposed roles,
can also link with many religions’ emphases on the false self versus the
true self. This, too, may help promote responsible activism. Beyond that,
if SBNRs believe they can connect with cosmic consciousness or allow the
universal energy to propel action, so much the better. One need not go as far
as proposing God’s grace or the Holy Spirit as this consciousness or energy,
but pointing out the similarities might help SBNRs better appreciate religion
and promote solidarity in action.
Issues needing work

Attention must be paid to the important issues needing further develop
ment. A few key ones can be mentioned here. One is the SBNR paradox
between control and conformity. Do individual thoughts control reality in
an interesting twist on “you reap what you sow?” Or must one conform
to – become one with – the cosmic or universal energy source by removing
blocks, clearing pathways, and staying attuned?
Another is the tension between individual and group. If individual author
ity is primary yet one seeks holism, oneness, and compassion for all, how
does this tension get resolved in real life? This paradox has not been lost
on advocates of the SBNR ethos, even if they are secular humanists. One
leader of a humanist group affirmed the need for life-meaning beyond self-
absorption and mundane goals. He stressed the need to inspire “nones” to
move toward altruism and community. The problem to be overcome, he
said, is “relative absence of inspiration, of potent means to climb out of our
self-centric existences to something greater than ourselves, something more
edifying than me, here, now.”15
The perennialist attitude towards world religions also needs more work.
Although advocating tolerance, this view does not recognize the deep par
ticularities of each religion. In addition, tolerance is more “live and let live”
than deep reconciliation or mutuality, factors that could promote solidarity
and cooperation in the face of current crises. One could even consider the
random borrowing from practices, rituals, and/or beliefs of other religions –
without permission, firsthand knowledge, or a legitimate guide from the
particular religion – to be akin to “poaching” or stealing. SBNRs need to
reflect more deeply on this practice. Does it reflect hubris, privilege, simple
tolerance, a colonialist sense of entitlement, or an actual effort to embrace
the “other?”
In addition, SBNR alternative spiritualties often pay insufficient atten
tion to the very hard questions of life, issues such as imposed suffering,
victimization, cruelty, abuse, and other harms that seem more intentional
than inadvertent. Affirming that all individuals are born good or that we
should keep a positive attitude is not an adequate formula that reaches the
depths of actual or unexplainable evil. As an example, when the internet
was formed, many assumed it would automatically be a force for connec
tion and good. Where were the conversations about its unexpected “sor
cerer’s apprentice” type effects, such as election manipulation, the spreading
of lies, or its potential to enhance human division?
Finally, more work needs to be done on ideas of afterlife. Is there a trajec
tory for this, an endpoint? Do humans endlessly and individually progress,
or do they ultimately get absorbed into the oneness? If individuals transi
tion into and out of life and a new body takes the place of the old one, if
the brain dies with the body, how does reincarnation really work? If karma
keeps order and restricts random harm – and if its cold justice extends to
all – where is the place for compassion, love, forgiveness, or mercy, themes
that SBNRs insist are common wisdom?
New grounds for dialogue

It is possible the SBNR movement indicates many are becoming fed up with
the pervasive cynicism, irony, and suspicion of genuine emotion that per
meates contemporary culture (Mercadante 2017a). As SBNRs take more
seriously what they are for, rather than simply against, they may be willing
to reconsider the hope and truth-claims found in religions. By working on
the hard questions suggested earlier and seriously grappling with human
frailty, willfulness, and vulnerability, they may realize it is the cracks that let
the light in.16 But this will not happen automatically. Theological tools are
needed. Therefore, it is important to recognize the footholds available for
envisioning a theology for SBNR people.
It is also critical to include faith communities in this work. Historic reli
gious traditions, writings, and informed participants contain a wealth of
millennia-old reflection, showing both meaning and mishaps, offering wis
dom, cautions, and the long lived experience of putting beliefs into action.
Rather than eschewing belief and focusing on experience, the starting
point of an SBNR theology should be, as Philip Sheldrake contends, “to
actually have the courage and ability to make our implicit beliefs and values
more explicit and balanced and then to live a principled and harmonious
life more effectively” (Sheldrake 2012, 120). The first task of theologians,
then, is to help SBNRs excavate their buried beliefs and recognize that a dis
harmony here often hinders fulfillment, community, and spiritual growth.
At this moment, the focus on self-authority, individualism, and distrust
of institutions stands in the way of creating an SBNR theology that could
be widely accepted. However, history shows that oftentimes things happen
that make humans realize they have to organize, agree, and rally to the same
vision. Hopefully, this will not be some cataclysmic event, but will come
about organically as we try to save our home the Earth, promote peace
instead of violence, and increase our respect for “the other.”
Notes
1 The Pew Forum is replete with articles and statistics on the rise of SBNRs and
“nones.”
2 For more on spiritual capital, see the Spiritual Capital Research Project (2018).
3 Thanks to Jeanine Diller for pointing out that this is more a “gerrymandered
set” or “demographic” than an actual cohesive group. Email correspondence
Dec. 27, 2018.
4 I found much evidence for this in my qualitative research. See Mercadante
(2014).
5 This has been noted before, e.g., see Asma (2018, 3): “The dismissal of reli
gion . . . is often a luxury position of prosperous and comfortable groups. . . .
Perhaps they have not suffered much. . . . For the rest of us, religion is vital to
our well-being. There are many forms of suffering that are beyond the reach of
any scientific or secular alleviation. Religion is a form of emotional management,
and its value does not lie in whether it is true or false, but whether it consoles and
humanizes us.”
6 See, e.g., Mercadante (2017b), DeGruyter.com
7 For a full rundown of beliefs rejected and proposed see Mercadante (2014).
8 Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel said as much: “Religion declined not because
it was refuted, but because it became irrelevant, dull, oppressive, insipid. When
faith is completely replaced by creed, worship by discipline, love by habit . . .
when religion speaks only in the name of authority rather than with the voice
of compassion – its message becomes meaningless” Heschel (1976), Kindle
location 325.
9 I’ve noticed this problem even in seminaries, but as for the wider culture, see e.g.,
Merritt (2018).
10 This obviates an excellent definition of the work of theology and culture: “the
process of seeking normative answers to questions of truth, goodness, evil, suf
fering, redemption, and beauty in the context of particular social and cultural
situations” Lynch (2005, 36).
11 Some earlier New Agers are quite harsh in condemning this SBNR feature. See,
e.g., Brian Wilson’s summary of the change from New Age communal solidar
ity, such as characterized by the Fetzer Institute, to the current emphasis on the
self: “From the beginning the Fetzer Institute’s mission was . . . global spiritual
transformation . . . [but this] has fallen out of step with more recent develop
ments within the New Age movement. . . . The New Age moved on . . . to the
point that many contemporary observers see it as a shorthand for spiritual shal
lowness and reject the label outright. Many prefer instead the label ‘spiritual but
not religious’ . . . although SBNRs tend to be just as hyper individualistic and
shallow as the New Agers they decry” Wilson (2018, 211–212).
12 There are some exceptions, such as the Fetzer Institute, or popular retreat cent
ers, such as Esalen in Big Sur, California.
13 See, e.g., the marketing of the fitness studio “System of Strength.” Its website
proclaims: “The System™ was created and a community of inspiring, like-
minded badasses was built. . . . We’ll sweat together. We’ll struggle together and
we’ll leave feeling proud, together.”
14 See, e.g., Parsons (2018) and Bender (2010). A history of this can be found in
Albanese (2007). Another history traces the foundation of this emerging popula
tion in liberal religion – see Schmidt (2012).
15 Krattenmaker (2017); also phone conversation 10/9/18. Krattenmaker is on the
board of the Yale Humanist Community.
16 From Cohen’s (1992) lyrics in “Anthem”: “There is a crack in everything. That’s
how the light gets in.” From the 1992 album The Future. Columbia.
References
Albanese, Catherine L. 2007. A Republic of Mind & Spirit: A Cultural His
tory of American Metaphysical Religion. New Haven: Yale University Press.
doi:10.2307/25094968
Asma, Stephen T. 2018. “Religion is Emotional Therapy.” Tikkun, September 16.
www.tikkun.org/religion-is-emotional-therapy-by-stepen-t-asma
Bender, Courtney. 2010. The New Metaphysicals: Spirituality and the American
Religious Imagination. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Chaves, Mark. 2017. American Religion: Contemporary Trends. 2nd ed. Princeton:
Princeton University Press.
Cohen, Leonard. 1992. “Anthem.” The Future. Columbia.
Heschel, Abraham J. 1976. God in Search of Man: A Philosophy of Judaism. New
York: Farrar, Straus, Giroux.
Krattenmaker, Tom. 2017. “The New Secular Moment.” TheHumanist.com, Febru
ary 21. https://the humanist.com/magazine (accessed October 19, 2018).
Lynch, Gordon. 2005. Understanding Theology and Popular Culture. Malden, MA:
Blackwell Publishing.
Mercadante, Linda. 2014. Belief Without Borders: Inside the Minds of the Spir
itual but Not Religious. New York: Oxford University Press. doi:10.1093/acprof:
oso/9780199931002.003.0008
Mercadante, Linda. 2017a. “ ‘Cheesy’ and the Church: Cultivating Space for
Authentic Emotion.” Bearings Online, Collegeville Institute. July 20. https://col
legevilleinstitute.org/bearings/cheesy-and-the-church/.
Mercadante, Linda. 2017b. “How Does It Fit? Multiple Religious Belonging, Spir
itual but Not Religious, and Dances of Universal Peace.” Open Theology 3 (1):
10–18. doi:10.1515/opth-2017–0002
Merritt, Jonathan. 2018. “It’s Getting Harder to Talk About God: The Decline in
Our Spiritual Vocabulary Has Many Real-world Consequences.” The New York
Times, October 14. www/nytimes.com/2018/10/13/Sunday/talk-god-spirtuality
christian.html (accessed October 20, 2018).
Parsons, William B., ed. 2018. Being Spiritual but Not Religious: Past, Present,
Future(s). New York: Routledge.
Putnam, Robert D. 2001. Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American
Community. New York: Simon and Schuster.
Schmidt, Leigh E. 2012. Restless Souls: The Making of American Spirituality. 2nd ed.
Berkeley: University of California Press.
Sheldrake, Philip. 2012. Spirituality: A Very Short Introduction. Oxford: Oxford
University Press.
Spiritual Capital Research Program. 2018. “What is Spiritual Capital?” www.
metanexus.net/archive/spiritualcapitalresearchprogram/what_is.asp.html (accessed
December 28, 2018).
Taylor, Charles. 2007. A Secular Age. Cambridge: Belknap Press of Harvard
University.
Thandeka. 2018. Love Beyond Belief: Finding the Access Point to Spiritual Aware
ness. Salem, Oregon: Polebridge Press.
Wilson, Brian C. 2018. John E. Fetzer and the Quest for the New Age. Detroit:
Wayne State University Press.
Part V
Expanded confessional
theologies
Introduction
Jerry L. Martin
Even the most open-minded, interreligiously educated theologian may feel

adrift without the boundaries of a well-defined tradition. Moreover, there
may be potential, both tapped and untapped, within a confession for accom
modating experiences and ideas from other traditions. “Without walls”
means without distorting the insights from the other traditions by forcing
them to conform to the grids of one’s own confession. In Theology Without
Walls discussions, expanded confessional theologies have always been rec
ognized as one of the options.
No one has done better in accommodating insights from other tradi
tions – even accepting their diverse “salvations” – while placing them within
a confessional frame than S. Mark Heim in The Depth of the Riches. In
the present piece, he poses sharp questions about any attempt to “give full
credit” to “all religious data” with a “simultaneous, impartial, and com
parative assessment.” “Who knows what all the data are,” he asks, “and
what it means to consider them appropriately?” Can one approximate a
“blank slate” in an “unrestricted field of hypotheses and sources”? Does
Theology Without Walls (TWW) exclude those already practicing particular
paths? In seeking “the maximally comprehensive and practicable religious
understanding,” TWW assumes that “this maximal integration does not
yet exist.” In fact, openness to the full range of religious data is intrinsic to
the universal intent in each confession. “The God believed in is the God of
all.” “The horizon of universality can only be approached by transforming
engagement with the other religions,” which honors their diversity. This
activity is “animated by confidence that Christian understanding can expand
to accommodate and be transformed by insight and truth in other religious
sources.” “Clear where it is working from,” Heim concludes, “such com
parative theology has no predetermined limit on where it might go.”
Francis X. Clooney’s sensitive, nuanced studies of Hindu and Christian
texts have provided models for comparative theology, virtually defining the
field. Here he argues forcefully that the Catholic tradition already provides
“a solid foundation for finding God present in the wide world” precisely
because of “a distinctive Catholic dynamic: the universal in tension with the
DOI: 10.4324/9780429000973-23
202 Jerry L. Martin

particular (the Catholic and the catholic), a hierarchical tradition with set
tled doctrines, a commitment to rational and systematizing inquiry along
side openness to the imaginative and intuitive, the freedom of the individual
amid a strongly ordered community.” Clooney reminds us of the Church’s
history of “accommodation and engagement with cultures,” rooted in a
“Logos theology” attesting that God’s wisdom is “everywhere implicit in
the human reality, which is therefore intelligible and accessible to reasoned
inquiry.” The Catholic sense of sacramentality suggests that “particular
things and actions can be sites of the sacred,” inviting us to “recognize God
in the particulars of other traditions.” Setting aside doctrine does not neces
sarily make us “more open.” We might just become “directionless, aimless.”
It would be a mistake to give up on doctrine for the sake of an “idealized
complete, unlimited openness to everything.” “What is needed,” he con
cludes, “is a theology with walls, a home with foundations and walls and
windows and doors, a roof held up by the walls and – why not, a welcome
mat at the entrance.”
Christianity is not the only religion with a capacity for teaching beyond
its walls. Perhaps all religions can. Here Jeffery D. Long argues that the
Vedanta tradition of Ramakrishna is already a Theology Without Walls.
The founding figures of multiple traditions – such as Jesus and Buddha –
might be avatars. Universal in its aspirations, Vedanta remains one tradition
among others. It affirms universal ideas, such as “a divine reality which
manifests Itself to human beings” but renders this idea concrete in, for
example, Ramakrishna as the avatar of our current historical epoch, whose
mission is “to teach the harmony and the ultimate unity of all religions.”
The aim of Vedanta is the realization of the divine in every being. Accord
ing to Sri Aurobindo, the Buddha is a divine incarnation who chooses to
set aside his divinity in order to show us the path to realizing our inherent
divinity. Jesus, too, is regarded as divine. Perhaps the Jesus who says, “I am
the way, the truth, and the life; no one comes to the Father but through
me” is the same “I” who, as Krishna, says, “In whatever way living beings
approach me, thus do I receive them; all paths lead to me.”
Rethinking a religion through cultural forms different from those in
which it was originally articulated may create unanticipated possibilities.
Christian theology developed in part by articulating the Jesus event through
the categories of Greek and Roman philosophy. As Christianity has settled
into Asia, it is beginning to articulate itself in different cultural forms. Wit
ness the remarkable story of Hyo-Dong Lee. Born in South Korea, Lee’s
spiritual life began in an atmosphere of “diffuse religion” – ancestor venera
tion and spirit worship alongside Buddhist, Confucian, and Daoist prac
tices. Becoming an evangelical Protestant in his youth, Lee was still attracted
to Daoism, but saw no way to reconcile the two. Influenced by Rahner and
Moltmann, his thinking came to have “a decisively pneumatocentric orien
tation,” which led him to Hegel’s Absolute Spirit and then back again to
Daoist thought and neo-Confucian metaphysics, with reality as the dynamic
Expanded confessional theologies 203
interaction of psychophysical energy (qi) and pattern (li). Lee discovered
the Korean philosophy of qi of Yulgok and Nonmun, which envisioned the
ultimate as a kind of, using Spinoza’s term, natura naturans, as “the Daode
jing did.” Incorporating insights from Whitehead, Deleuze, and Catherine
Keller, he turned to the Korean tradition of Donghak, or Eastern Learning,
according to which Ultimate Qi is also a personal deity, Lord Heaven, who
is both within and outside the human self and, when encountered, makes
one a “bearer of Lord Heaven” with democratic, egalitarian, and liberation
ist implications. Lee’s chapter, he says, could well be called “My Path to a
Confucian–Daoist–Donghak–Christian Theology of Qi.” That characteri
zation signals the creative possibilities of Theology Without Walls.
18 More window than wall
The comparative expansion of
confessional theology
S. Mark Heim
Is it possible to do a “Theology Without Walls” (TWW) in any meaningful

sense while existentially or conceptually committed to a particular religious
path? Is it not precisely the limitations of such adherence that free-range
religious inquiry seeks to escape? Such incompatibility is certainly the case,
if we conceive of TWW as an omnibus totality, an “all at once” performance
that somehow combines awareness of and openness to all religious data
with a simultaneous, impartial, and comparative assessment of it. Stated so
flatly, this theoretical extreme seems as unrealistic in practice as an extreme
particularist approach seems uninterested in principle.1 Who knows what
all the data are and what it means to consider them appropriately? Jerry L.
Martin says “ideally the theologian without walls gives full credit to all reli
gious data, to all spiritual epiphanies, whatever their source or auspices.”2
Does this mean that such a theologian treats all such data ab initio as grist
for the mill of assessment, all boundaries as only circumstantial artifacts, on
the way to reaching some specific and located spiritual conclusion? Or does
it mean that such a theologian must end as well as begin with a perspective
that resembles or relies upon no existing religious perspective more than
another? A settled religious conviction can bring a distorting lens to unfa
miliar sources and perspectives. But the fragile innocence of an intensely
interested but entirely undecided approach to the complete set of religious
phenomena is both hard to attain and difficult to preserve.
If we apply the “full credit” assumption in the candidacy phase of per
sonal decision making, it describes a necessarily transient phase of spir
itual and intellectual practice – one that must quickly give way to at least
some working judgements and theories reflecting one’s own experiences
and reasoning. TWW stands apart from strictly descriptive and academic
comparative study by virtue of its frank normative interests and personal
engagement. Its major purpose is to seek to make sense of and give mean
ing to the data from a specific interpretive stance, one that implies personal
application and commitment. Any emerging TWW would build by selec
tion and evaluation. Its practitioners end by themselves constituting part
of the “data,” adherent to and participant in some particular religious
approach, however traditionally or nontraditionally defined. From this
DOI: 10.4324/9780429000973-24
206 S. Mark Heim

view, TWW is a novelistic religious journey, more about the traveler than
the destination.
What of those who cannot pretend to approximate a blank slate starting
point or a dramatically composite one? It would be odd if a search whose
premise is an unrestricted field of religious hypotheses and sources were in
some way to exclude those already seriously practicing any of the particular
paths within that field or those whose quest had led them to some operative
conclusions. We could take the “full credit” dimension of TWW as pointing
not so much to a departure point as to a horizon. It is an aspiration to inte
grate all of the religious data within the most maximally comprehensive and
practicable religious understanding. What distinguishes TWW from exclu
sivists in current religions or individuals with a definitive syncretic solution
to religious diversity is the conviction that this maximal integration does
not yet exist. It is not evident that it can be had simply by making a choice
among existing religious options as they stand, nor among academic inter
pretations as they stand. TWW is energized by the possibility of a new, col
lective, religious option for thought and practice. It seeks an interpretation
that sees or elicits something new in the religions, a perspective of under
standing and practice not fully on offer elsewhere, one that is unrestrictedly
open for all to adopt. In this sense, it is not only an additional perspective on
the religious data but a new addition to them. This is TWW as pioneering
discovery, more about the destination than the traveler. In this respect, it is
parallel to the origination of certain religions, like Ba’haism or Sikhism or
(by some historical accounts) Islam, which explicitly understood themselves
to be an integration of other existing religions (as known in their context).3
In fact, there is no reason that the horizon point should not turn out to be a
new version of an existing faith: a revitalized Ba’haism, an inclusive Hindu
ism, an expanded Christianity or Islam.
If we consider TWW in this light, it need not preclude participation by
people as soon as they have drawn any religious conclusions. Some of the
most developed works of thought prototypical of TWW – the writings of
Robert Neville, or Keith Ward, or Raimon Panikkar – have a particular
ist profile (their thought begins from a Christian background) but “come
down” on many controverted issues among the religions without neces
sarily conforming to Christian authorities. Such works have a somewhat
indeterminate constituency, in that their thought does not “belong” to a
specified religious community or correspond to the practice of any. The key
emphasis in TWW is not on neutrality, but on the effort to build thicker,
deeper, and presumably more comprehensive religious perspectives. This
constructive work can be done from a specific location, because its constant
effect (and aim) is to produce a more richly specified religious perspective
from which the process then continues. We need not exclude confessional
forms of TWW if we think of TWW less in terms of a binary state that is
on or off and more in terms of incremental approximations.4 No theology
lacks walls, as no complex organism lacks a body plan and no cells lack
More window than wall 207
membranes. Many theologies may be distinctive and fruitful by virtue of
their removal of some walls.
A Theology Without Walls might measure itself by the assumptions that
it removes, dropping exclusive appeal to scriptures from one religion, or
definitive appeal to reason and logic as defined in one cultural tradition
rather than another. But it can also develop through the expansion of hori
zons. The impetus within a confessional religious perspective that drives
toward consideration of the full range of religious data stems from the
intrinsic universal intent in that faith. On one side, that universal intent
expresses itself in a mode of witness, the missional conviction of Buddhists
or Christians or Muslims that the truth they know is available and relevant
to all people. On another side, that universal intent is expressed as “faith
seeking understanding.” This is less the sharing out from the tradition to
others than the working in of the truth, beauty, and wisdom whose real
ity “outside” the tradition requires connection with that inside. The God
believed in is the God of all. Understanding of that God through revelation
and reflection extends to all aspects of the world. A living confessional faith
hopes to more fully understand truth that one already partially grasps, to
understand new things that one had not previously grasped, and to discover
coherence across a more and more comprehensive field of human and natu
ral phenomena. In fact, this hope is part of a larger eschatological imagina
tion and expectation for what is not yet manifest. An existing life of faith
can throw up barriers of prejudgment. But it is also a powerful instrument
of tacit knowledge in the process of understanding others, a defining part
that suggests an unrealized whole.
Christian revelation and faith are understood as integral steps in the flour
ishing and realization of the world meant (in addition to their healing and
liberating effect) to make the world more intelligible and to be most fully
intelligible themselves in the most comprehensive context of human experi
ence. This conviction is often a matter of tension, but theology has largely
been defined by the universal project it defines, whether the wider context
was provided by Greek philosophy, historical analysis, or modern science.
Though people often speak of religious faith “walling itself off” from the
results of, say, historical study or scientific investigation, theology in prin
ciple holds there can be no wall between truths in one area and those in
another. Religion might be thought to be the one exception to this, the one
area where Christian theology has all the answers and no questions. But the
matter is quite different if one understands the religious sphere as a realm
of God’s providential engagement. “In many and various ways God spoke
of old” and “The Spirit blows where it will.”5 Before the rise of separated
distinct disciplines of historical or scientific study, what we call religion
and philosophy were the primary realms in which this search for universal
breadth and correlation was exercised. To leave the religions aside would be
to default on the “faith seeking understanding” conviction about the com
prehensive character of that understanding.
208 S. Mark Heim
Plainly, the extension of the theological quest into the religions depends
in major part on convictions adopted within that part of theology called the
theology of religions. There are theological teachings that discourage any
expectation of value in the study of other religions and those that encour
age or even mandate it. Even theological authorization or encouragement of
such learning is no substitute for the actual demonstration of it. This vision
of a permeable framework is what John Cobb called a picture of “mutual
transformation” between the religions. The horizon of universality can only
be approached by transforming engagement with the other religions. And if
“universality” itself is a dangerous ideal without diversity and complexity,
then the effort to approach it comparatively from various located, confes
sional spaces has a decided virtue: it works with and honors that diversity.
Comparative theology is the best current concrete demonstration of
that learning and the best example of TWW as an expanding confessional
perspective.6 It might be considered a bilateral Theology Without Walls, a
“reading together” of sources from two (or more) religious traditions, typi
cally one from a “home” tradition and one from another tradition in which
one has some level of learning or participation. A comparative theologian
embraces their confessional location, seeking to enrich and expand the truth
found there. One “passes over” into immersion in the study of another and
returns with enriched perspectives to be shared with the home commu
nity.7 What distinguishes such activity from TWW is clearer in theory than
in practice, largely defined by the hypothetical depth of the change that
may result from comparative study. In its contemporary form, compara
tive theology practitioners are predominantly Christians, operating from an
acknowledged Christian confessional or even institutional standpoint, but
scholars from other traditions increasingly take part as well.8
A comparative theologian typically identifies with one religious tradition
and undertakes intensive study of a particular source in their own tradi
tion and some particular source in another. For a Christian, this work is
part of a search for the most universal shape of Christianity. It is animated
by confidence that Christian understanding can expand to accommodate
and be transformed by insight and truth in other religious sources.9 And
it is animated equally by humility: the recognition that this fuller under
standing does not yet exist. God’s nature far exceeds our categories, and the
religions resist assimilation into our existing forms precisely because they
contain truth about the divine and the world not sufficiently grasped by our
operative terms. Such comparative theology is driven less by the apophatic
conviction that God so exceeds description as to make distinctions between
religions meaningless and more by the positive impetus suggesting that what
we have known of God draws us to the expectation of a fuller coherence.
Comparative theology is a kind of “retail” TWW. It does not address
walls in general, only in particular. Its most common format is concrete and
limited. It does not compare Christianity and Hinduism, but reads together
two specific texts – for instance, the Essence of the Three Auspicious
Mysteries by the Hindu writer Śrī Vedānta Deśika and the Treatise on the
Love of God by St. Francis de Sales, to take an example from the work of
Francis X. Clooney.10 This encounter is impossible without some attention
to the fact that de Sales is a Catholic, not a Protestant; French and not
English or Spanish; and that this text is both similar and different to his
more famous work Introduction to the Devout Life. All these bear upon
an understanding of the text. Likewise, one must attend to the fact that
Vedānta Deśika was a Vaishnavite, not a Shaivite; wrote in a variety of
Indian languages; and was an artist as well as a teacher. In other words,
there are countless specific things that distinguished each of these writers
from others of the same “religion” in their time and after, as well as the
things that united them. And there are elements – images, topics, language –
that resonate with each other across the two texts, as well as things that
contrast or that simply fail to connect. These mazes of similarity and differ
ence disarm our conceptual generalities.
Rather than erasing an entire border between two entities, “Hinduism”
and “Christianity,” the theologian has pierced one specific wall: the one
separating the backyards of these two individuals, the convention that had
meant the readers of one text were never readers of the other. Despite their
irreducible specificity, each of the writings is also woven into a wider frame
work, looking back to earlier texts in their traditions and drawing upon
prior commentators and practices in forming their own voices. A Christian
reader who wants to follow Vedānta Deśika’s line of thought must look
sympathetically with him through the lens of prior Hindu writers toward
the Vedas and their assumed subjects. In both traditions, reading is itself
a religious act. To attentively take up the Essence of the Three Auspicious
Mysteries is in some measure to participate in that act with its writer. Fran
cis X. Clooney called his early studies “experiments,” whose results could
be gleaned only after the fact, in assessing how his Christian attitudes and
insights had been permanently shaped by exposure to the comparative text.11
A different work of comparative theology, by Clooney or another scholar,
will lower yet another specific wall and beat a small path of conversation
and questioning back and forth across that line. And so on. This process
may or may not be accompanied by an extensive theological statement on
the principle of treating revered texts of other religious traditions as theo
logical sources. As liberation theology puts primary emphasis on praxis, so,
too, does comparative theology in its way. Its practice is focused on repeat
edly crossing very concrete boundaries, breaching small walls. Clear where
it is working from, such comparative theology has no predetermined limit
on where it might go or on how much the theology and faith of the home
tradition may be transformed.
Comparative theology will necessarily include work of wider scope than
I have just described, though more limited than the large-scale projects of
writers like Neville. An example would be my own recent work drawing
upon a classic Buddhist text to develop an extended comparison between
210 S. Mark Heim
the path of Christ and the path of the bodhisattva (Heim 2019b). Such
“middle-level” discussions are necessary if key learnings are to be incorpo
rated into the doctrinal source code of a religious tradition and that tradi
tion transformed into a more universal version of itself by means of the
TWW dynamic.
Comparative theology is not, in practice, the omnibus enterprise that
TWW can appear to be. It is never global, in the sense of addressing “all
religious data” at once. It addresses that “all” in a slow, cumulative manner.
It is dialogical and concrete, considering not what all religions, or even two
traditions, as such have to say about divine–human relationships, but what
it is like to read particular Christian hymns to Mary in connection to some
particular Hindu hymns to specific goddesses or what it is like to see the
work of Christ in light of the path of the bodhisattva.12 This concreteness is
further specified in that one end of the comparison is always located closer
to “home,” in one’s own tradition, though not necessarily in what one has
hitherto taken as its most prominent or central sources. Comparative theol
ogy is particular theology seeking a steadily greater universality.
A TWW could be taken to be a theology with no “inside,” no shape
or structure to frame it or to order a life lived in accordance with it. But
in truth as TWWs develop – whether in individual scholars or as collec
tive endeavors – they will necessarily either take on some such structure or
inherit and maintain it. A comparative Christian theology is a home with
plentiful windows, and new ones being constantly added. Such an expansive
confessional theology, one that seeks its newer and more universal form,
could be taken by those outside to be “walled in,” with no true access to
the widest religious world. And critics within the confession in question will
warn that the expansion constitutes a drastic renovation and threatens the
load-bearing integrity of the entire structure. My hope is that these cautions
prove to be similar to the assumptions of a pre-gothic architecture, assump
tions that could be definitively reversed only with the actual realization of
buildings that are more window than wall. Comparative confessional the
ologies of this ilk have an important role to play in the TWW discussion.
Notes
1 More could be said about this as a reservation or question for TWW as a whole.
See Heim (2016).
2 Jerry Martin, in a personal communication, August 10, 2018.
3 On Islam, see Donner (2010).
4 In this chapter I focus on the extent to which Christian theologians might par
ticipate in a Theology Without Walls, but many of the observations may hold for
other locations as well.
5 Heb 1:1 and Jn 3:8, respectively.
6 For a summary, see Heim (2019a).
7 Some scholars appreciative of comparative theology challenge this paradigm,
in that they question whether one needs a “home” location to engage in it, or
whether the location might be defined other than by identification with an exist
ing communion. This is clearly relevant to the TWW discussion, but because
I want to focus here on the possible role for explicitly confessional theology,
I limit my discussion in this chapter to comparative theology of that type. For
more on comparative theology without a “home” tradition, see the Introduction
in Brecht and Locklin (2016). Also see Corigliano (2016).
8 See for instance the essays by Muna Tatari and Shoshana Razel Gordon-Guedalia
on Muslim and Jewish examples in Clooney and von Stosch (2018).
9 That search can be seen to have an implicit apologetic dimension – expressed in
John Cobb’s hope for a fruitful competition among religions over which could
prove most adept at honoring and incorporating the truths of others. See Cobb
(1990).
10 See Clooney (2008).
11 See Clooney (1993).
12 The former example is from Clooney (2005).
References
Brecht, Mara, and Reid B. Locklin. (2016). Comparative Theology in the Millen
nial Classroom: Hybrid Identities, Negotiated Boundaries. Routledge Research
in Religion and Education. New York: Routledge, Taylor & Francis Group.
doi:10.4324/9781315718279
Clooney, Francis X. 1993. Theology After Vedanta: An Experiment in Comparative
Theology (Suny Series, Toward a Comparative Philosophy of Religions). Albany:
State University of New York Press. doi:10.1177/002071529803900413
Clooney, Francis X. 2005. Divine Mother, Blessed Mother: Hindu God
desses and the Virgin Mary. Oxford; New York: Oxford University Press.
doi:10.1093/0195170377.003.0005
Clooney, Francis X. 2008. Beyond Compare: St. Francis De Sales and Sri Vedanta
Desika on Loving Surrender to God. Washington, DC: Georgetown University
Press. doi:10.1017/s0360966900008069
Clooney, Francis X., and Klaus von Stosch. 2018. How to Do Comparative Theol
ogy. New York: Fordham University Press.
Cobb, John. 1990. “Beyond Pluralism.” In Christian Uniqueness Reconsid
ered, edited by Gavin D’Costa. 92–93. Maryknoll: Orbis Books. doi:10.1017/
s0036930600046044
Corigliano, Stephanie. 2016. “Theologizing for the Yoga Community? Commit
ment and Hybridity in Comparative Theology.” In Comparing Faithfully: Insights
for Systematic Theological Reflection, edited by Michelle Voss Roberts, 324–
350. New York, NY: Fordham University Press. doi:10.5422/fordham/978082
3278404.003.0016
Donner, Fred M. 2010. Muhammad and the Believers: At the Origins of Islam. Cam
bridge, MA: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press.
Heim, Mark S. 2016. “Of Two Minds About a Theology Without Walls.” Journal of
Ecumenical Studies 51 (4): 479–486. doi:10.1353/ecu.2016.0043
Heim, Mark S. 2019a. “Comparative Theology at 25: The End of the Beginning.”
Modern Theology 35 (1): 163–180. doi:10.1111/moth.12450
Heim, Mark S. 2019b. Crucified Wisdom Theological Reflection on Christ and the
Bodhisattva. New York: Fordham University Press. doi:10.2307/j.ctv75d9z2
212 S. Mark Heim
Selected Bibliography
Brecht, Mara, and Reid B. Locklin. 2016. Comparative Theology in the Millen
nial Classroom: Hybrid Identities, Negotiated Boundaries. Routledge Research in
Religion and Education. New York: Routledge, Taylor & Francis Group.
Clooney, Francis X. 2008. Beyond Compare: St. Francis De Sales and *Sr*I Vedanta
Desika on Loving Surrender to God. Washington, DC: Georgetown University
Press.
———. 2005. Divine Mother, Blessed Mother: Hindu Goddesses and the Virgin
Mary. Oxford; New York: Oxford University Press,.
———. 1993. Theology after Ved*Anta: An Experiment in Comparative Theology.
Suny Series, toward a Comparative Philosophy of Religions. Albany: State Uni
versity of New York Press.
Clooney, Francis X., and Klaus von Stosch. 2018. How to Do Comparative Theol
ogy. New York: Fordham University Press.
Cobb, John. 1990. “Beyond “Pluralism”.” In Christian Uniqueness Reconsidered,
edited by Gavin D’Costa. Faith Meets Faith, 81–95. Maryknoll: Orbis Books.
Corigliano, Stephanie. 2016. “Theologizing for the Yoga Community? Commitment
and Hybridity in Comparative Theology.” In Comparing Faithfully: Insights for
Systematic Theological Reflection, edited by Michelle Voss Roberts, 324–350.
New York, NY: Fordham University Press.
Donner, Fred McGraw. 2010. Muhammad and the Believers: At the Origins of
Islam. Cambridge, MA: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press.
Heim, S. Mark. 2016. “Of Two Minds About a Theology Without Walls.” Journal
of Ecumenical Studies 51 (4): 479–486.
Heim, S. Mark. 2019a. “Comparative Theology at 25: The End of the Beginning.”
Modern Theology 35 (1).
———. 2019b. Crucified Wisdom Theological Reflection on Christ and the
Bodhisattva. New York: Fordham University Press. https://TE6UZ4HK6Z.search.
serialssolutions.com/ejp/?libHash=TE6UZ4HK6Z#/search/?searchControl=title
&searchType=title_code&criteria=TC0002059624.
19 Strong walls for an open faith
Francis X. Clooney, SJ
The Catholic tradition throughout history shows us how confessional com

mitments provide a solid foundation for finding God present in the wide
world around us. The Church is, briefly put, catholic (global, worldwide) as
well as Catholic (an institution centered in Rome); but if it is not Catholic,
it ceases also to be catholic. I admit that the Church’s narrative of itself is
tainted with self-regard and rarely leaves room for the full self-articulation
of the other. Nevertheless, there is a distinctive Catholic dynamic: the uni
versal in tension with the particular (the Catholic and the catholic), a hier
archical tradition with settled doctrines, a commitment to rational and
systematizing inquiry alongside openness to the imaginative and intuitive,
the freedom of the individual amid a strongly ordered community. This
dynamic provided a fertile ground wherein interreligious learning can occur,
because of the specificity of the Catholic manner of being in the world and
not despite it. This firm structure – support walls, floors and roofs, doors
and windows – has a contribution to make in an interreligious context, and
indeed is arguably preferable to the ideal of an entirely open space.
A great tradition
In this short space, the best way to proceed is by hearkening to the great
story the Church tells about itself, even if this story, like any such fond
account, is best heard with a touch of skepticism.
As the Church thinks of itself, its history is a history of accommodation
and engagement with cultures. The history of Israel combined a strong sense
of vocation with endless engagement with surrounding cultures and with
all the virtues and pitfalls of trying to balance openness and fidelity. The
Church of which I speak is, of course, the Roman Catholic Church, which
moved from its Jewish roots to an engagement with Greek and Roman cul
tures. The empire was hostile to the Christian message, but then became
the vehicle of Christian identity and community. The Church was, from its
beginnings to its self-realization (for a time), in the context of empire.
To speak of the development of the field of comparative theology
with attention to Catholic roots in recent centuries is in part to rehearse
DOI: 10.4324/9780429000973-25
214 Francis X. Clooney, SJ

Catholicism’s own narrative of how Catholic tradition has worked from
the beginnings of the Church until now: that history has always been an
interreligious history. In a sense, the history of the Church is conducive to
comparative theology. But we must both hear this self-account and consider
it with some skepticism.
But first, a few words are in order with respect to the general background
in which an open, interreligiously attentive Catholic theology might arise
and flourish. The Catholic tradition adheres to the view that the world is
essentially good. Nature speaks of God, and cultures, too, in their essential
goodness speak of the divine, a truth and beauty that are never entirely
obscured. The proper disposition is to expect to find the divine everywhere.
The Catholic tradition is full of examples of how confessional commitments
provide a solid base for noting the presence of God in the world around
us, times and places rich in at least implicit epiphanies of Christ. The tradi
tion of Logos theology attests that God’s word and wisdom are everywhere
implicit in the human reality, which is therefore intelligible and accessible to
reasoned inquiry. Seeds of the Word are scattered, nonsystematically, in all
the world’s traditions.
The expectation that the Logos is discernible, if not everywhere, never
theless in places near and far from centers of Christian culture, and thus at
work and to be discovered amid the cultures of the world, may be taken
also to highlight the characteristic rational current of Catholic tradition, a
tendency that encourages both conversation and argument. Cultures and
religions are intelligible, commensurable, and open to intelligent and spir
itually meaningful exchange. This openness – instantiated again and again
throughout history – is in turn accompanied by a more focused and narrow
confidence that one can sort out the good from the bad, highlighting what is
productive while refuting what one judges to be inadequate. Broad-ranging
intellectual inquiry facilitates the maturation of the faith, even as it provides
the conditions for apologetics, which at times lapse into polemic. Missionar
ies through the ages have been energized by various forms of the expectation
that we can, with discernment, find God already present in the other. The
Church is, briefly put, catholic as well as Catholic in both its dispositions
and in its metaphysical and epistemological expectations.
The Catholic sense of sacramentality is also germane here, at least intui
tively, because the idea that particular things and actions can be sites of the
sacred opens the way for a deep reverence for reality as a whole. Versed in
sacrament and liturgy, Catholic tradition fosters the dispositions by which
one can recognize the presence of God in the particulars of other traditions,
in the holy manifest in certain times and places. For Catholic tradition is
thoroughly liturgical: words are never merely words, books never merely
books. Rather, what we learn is enacted in Church and world, and by anal
ogy, interreligious learning, even as a form of study, is always more than
“merely” reading a book. The expectation of finding God in all things has
a materiality and concreteness to it. There is, to put it simply, a catholicity
Strong walls for an open faith 215
to the Catholic view of the world that, doctrinal and ecclesial restraints
notwithstanding, has nevertheless allowed the Catholic tradition to learn
interreligiously over and over again.
Such dispositions open the way to learning, intended or unintended, in
which whatever the doctrinal limits may be, but there is also there is fluid
exchange across cultural and even religious boundaries. But such exchange
also indicates, on a practical level, the probability of apologetics: we can
argue the truth with them, showing the rationality of the Christian and the
irrationality of systems that clash with the Christian. Openness and argu
ment go together. All of this creates a frame in which comparative theo
logical learning, as comparative and theological, is possible and religiously
significant.
Edifying examples
The story takes on new life and significance in the Middle Ages, as the
maturation of the great Catholic theological traditions of the West learn
to anticipate and experiment in receiving wisdom from traditions outside
the West. An intensely Catholic commitment to reason and to the Catholic
faith as universally true and locally realized has quite often been produc
tive of interreligious learning. Thomas Aquinas (1225–1274) is one of the
supreme explicators and defenders of Christian doctrine in the history of
Christianity, and at times he had hard things to say about non-Christians.
No surprise. But as David Burrell showed decades ago (e.g., Burrell 1986,
1993), Aquinas also was an avid reader of Aristotle, as made available to
the Christian West by Arab Muslim writers. He engaged in thinking through
and arguing with Aristotle and his Arab interpreters, while likewise engag
ing and arguing with Jewish thinkers such as Maimonides. Aquinas’s mind
was capacious, to be sure, but there seems to be little evidence to sustain the
view that he would have been more intellectually open had he a looser, per
meable sense of doctrine: his quest for a right understanding of God’s world
led him to be open to truth wherever it was to be found. Nicholas of Cusa
(1401–1464), a cardinal of the Church, plumbed deeply the mysteries of
Christian faith in his brilliant philosophical and theological writings, and in
works such as De Pace Fidei and Cribratio Alkorani he was also an extraor
dinary pioneer in imagining the conditions for interreligious learning, and
how such learning might proceed, by way of the actual study of texts such
as the Qur’an. Seen from the vantage point of the twenty-first century, this
medieval learning was modest, fraught with misunderstandings, and less
open than it might have been. But the thrust of this learning, grounded in
a Christian commitment to the truth of reality and the truth of the faith,
models the substantive and tough interconnection of faith and reason for
which I have been arguing.1
In early modernity, the Catholic story went global in a new way. The sup
port walls of faith and convictions regarding the narrow gates to salvation
structured homes from which the early Jesuit missionaries in Asia (if I may
stick to examples I know well) into a very creative learning wherein mission
and intellectual openness fueled one another.2 Francis Xavier (1506–1552)
was certainly negative toward other religions but nevertheless found himself
having to learn to deal with cultural differences, precisely to continue the
missionary work he felt himself obliged to: mission drove him to cultural
experimentation, as when he re-presented himself for the sake of the learned
Japanese leaders he wished to influence. Roberto de Nobili (1579–1656)
re-created himself, as it were, in the course of his mission in south India. He
changed his dress and customs, mastered the Tamil language, and sought
ways to express the faith in accord with Tamil ways of moral and religious
thinking.3 He was steadfastly critical of idolatry and harsh in finding moral
depravity in Hindu mythology, but he did not abandon his intellectual pro
ject. Rather, he combined selective openness and selective negativity.
But not all missionaries are alike. An interesting contrast can be made
with a Jesuit several centuries later. Constantine Beschi, SJ (1680–1747),
also working in south India, did not disown Catholic doctrine, but in the
potent chemistry of missionary fervor and a sense of the need for a new
way of presenting the faith, he turned out to be a creative writer who could
freshly re-envision the faith. He mastered the Tamil language and studied
its literatures, among those a marvelous and unparalleled epic, Tempāvani
(The Unfading Garland), which tells the story of the Incarnation – and
much of the Bible – in high Tamil poetry, and from the perspective of St.
Joseph. His turn to the literary provided him ways to re-express the faith
without hammering it home and without giving it up. Yet he is the same
Beschi who argued vociferously with the nearby Lutherans. His catecheti
cal writing – for example, the Manual for Catechists – is primarily about
habituating people to the faith, rather than attacks on the Hindu. And even
in the Tempāvani, a negative attitude toward the pagan can be seen.
The nineteenth century is a sobering caution to my optimism regarding
the Catholic manner of openness, because it does not give us very good
examples of Catholic interreligious learning. This may have been due to
the defensiveness of a Church feeling itself to be threatened by the hostil
ity of rationalism in a skeptical Europe. Every claim made in the missions
about non-Christian religions had to be received and restated with a mind
fulness of how this new knowledge would be used in Europe, where reports
about the non-Christian world might variously aid or undermine Catholic
faith. Typical of a defensive Church were the polemical works of scholar/
practitioners such as Leo Meurin, SJ (1825–1895) in Bombay (see his lec
ture, “God and Brahm”). In the West, Catholic writing was marginal to the
developing fields of comparative religion and comparative theology was and
primarily resistant to the swiftly changing intellectual cultures of the West.
In the United States, Augustus Thébaud, SJ (1807–1885) wrote the weighty
Gentilism and The Church and the Gentile World at the First Promulga
tion of the Gospel, a learned investigation of the origins of religions and
their relationship to Christianity, which in retrospect seems more concerned
about the West’s encroaching rationalism than the pros and cons of actual
interreligious learning. But more research needs to be done on the little-
studied Catholic attitudes toward interreligious learning in the nineteenth
century.
We see the revival of a more nuanced yet still very Catholic view of other
religions late in the nineteenth century. Interestingly, it was a convert to
Catholicism who was instrumental in this new venture. William Wallace
(1863–1922)4 rethought his Christian identity rather dramatically through
his encounter with Hinduism and, as a result, became a Catholic and then a
Jesuit. A staunch Catholic resentful of both Anglicanism and empire, Wal
lace turned out to be a vigorous Catholic defender of Hinduism against
its detractors. He insisted that the next generation of Jesuits had to study
Hinduism deeply, with the necessary linguistic tools in place. As a result
of his efforts, there flourished in Calcutta in the early twentieth century a
school of Jesuit Indology under the notable leadership of Pierre Johanns
(1882–1955), Georges Dandoy (1882–1962), Robert Antoine (1914–1981),
Pierre Fallon (1912–1985), and Richard de Smet (1916–1997). Johanns and
Dandoy cooperated in the famous “To Christ through the Vedānta” essays,
published serially in The Light of the East. Here, too, we see formidable
learning, harnessed for the sake of understanding positively major streams
of Hindu intellectual thought, yet by the measure of the theology and phi
losophy of Thomas Aquinas, which provided both narrow restraints and a
defining focus for new learning. Their commitment to Aquinas provided a
coherent frame and confidence that progress in an interreligious theologi
cal understanding could be achieved; perhaps they would have been more
open-minded without reference to Aquinas and the tight hold of Thomistic
thinking, but more likely they would not have undertaken such study at all.
We might continue this exploration by paying attention to still other fig
ures who can be honored as icons of the prehistory of comparative theology.
I have in mind figures such as the innovative contemplatives Jules Mon
chanin (1895–1957) and Henri Le Saux (1910–1973). In the late 1940s, in
deep south India, they founded the Saccidananda Ashram (Abode of Being,
Consciousness, and Bliss), which came to be known more popularly as
Shantivanam. Both took very seriously the truths of the Catholic faith and
would not discard them. Confident in the adaptability of their Catholicism,
however, they sought to free it of its Western cultural baggage in order to
reimagine Christian contemplative life, and deeply root it, as they said, in
Indian soil. Each in his own way delved deeply into Vedānta and Hindu
texts, seeking both to find Christ in the mystery of Hindu spirituality and to
rediscover Christ through Hinduism. Their struggles, intellectual (in finding
common ground between Hindus and Christians), spiritual (in becoming
intimate to Hindu learning in its depths while still a Christian), and practical
(in setting up and maintaining the ashram), characterize them as persons;
were they not Catholic, they probably would not have come to India at all.
Monchanin and Le Saux would not have labeled themselves comparative
theologians; they feature what are virtues necessary to the work of compar
ative theology: sustained study and doctrinal commitments, yet without let
ting Christian doctrines turn into the tools of a priori judgments about other
religions. Here it suffices to say that these figures represent nicely the holistic
nature of modern Catholic learning, such as that which infuses compara
tive theology. Of course, similar representations of the roots of comparative
theology might be set forth with respect to other parts of the world as well.
We can also think in this regard of Thomas Merton (1915–1968), whose
sustained and deepening interest in other religions remained even to the
end in service to the renewal of Christian contemplative identity. Raimon
Panikkar (1918–2010) deserves attention too, as a figure whose experi
ence and aspirations are closely aligned with the work of comparative
theology. In his own signal fashion he brings together the riches of Hindu
and Christian traditions, transforming his own religious identity in the
process. His “imparative theology” reflects some of the same confidence
and hope, and commitment to reading practices, that inspires comparative
theology.
In the twentieth century, we witness more Catholic scholars coming to
the fore and contributing to comparative study outside the mission fields.
Here I can mention just a few of the notable figures. The twentieth century
abounds in figures who exemplify Catholic learning at its best. Louis Mas
signon (1883–1962) was a seriously committed Catholic even as he became
one of the greatest scholars of mystical Islam.5 Henri de Lubac (1896–
1991),6 no theological pluralist, silenced by the Church in mid-career but
later in life in a position of rejecting the honor of becoming a cardinal of the
Church, studied Buddhism in some depth. He went far beyond the needs of
apologetics, determined as he was to find a way of connecting its wisdom
with Christian revelation, casting it as a highest form of natural questing for
what had been given to Christians fully as God’s gift. We can also think in
this regard of Thomas Merton (1915–1968), who sought to deepen Chris
tian identity in and through bold interreligious openness.7
And so on. Such examples could be multiplied and must be deepened
beyond this series of honorable mentions, but my point is precisely to evoke
an array of witnesses: learned, believing Catholic Christians who also
crossed boundaries and learned interreligiously. None of these figures was
doing precisely the work we need to do today, in part because our atti
tudes and expectations (regarding both Christian and non-Christian) have
changed, and in part because they, like us, were ever responding to the par
ticular historical moment wherein their thinking and writing took shape.
But possessed of very strong religious convictions, they managed to exem
plify serious interreligious learning and creative engagement across religious
borders, and thus exemplify the style of being Christian that is still needed
today.
On doctrine
We must now step back and take a closer look at the foundations of this
tradition of real and persisting openness. The examples in themselves are
telling: that these figures are all Catholic merits some further consideration
if the point is to be more than anecdotal and inspirational. All these figures,
from the early Church up to contemporary Catholic thinkers engaged in
interreligious learning, worked within a clear doctrinal frame, engaging in
truths not of their own making. I suggest that if we understand doctrine
properly, we will not be inclined to think them better off had they left doc
trine behind.
The theological texts most worth reading are those written with both seri
ousness and humility, respectful of the power of words that direct our atten
tion to truth and urge us to think and judge after our minds have conformed
to that truth. The combination of faith – its doctrinal formulation clearly
asserted and stubbornly held so as to be productive of inquiry, not stifling of
it – remains potent. Doctrinal words can work, provided they do not draw
attention to themselves and in that way become obstacles.
The relation of words, learning, and doctrines – and claims of truth – of
course remains complex, and an adequate assessment of doctrine is well
beyond the scope of this small chapter. Even if the broad lines of doctrinal
claims are clear in creed or catechism, new information constantly and prop
erly upsets settled ways of learning, while explanations that aim at smoother
understanding inevitably end up complicating things in new ways. Mak
ing doctrine meaningful and fruitful is never a matter of mere application,
but rather the discovery of a creative ground. This careful compounding
of faith and understanding – inquiring faith, humble understanding – has
its own intensity. It drives a truly open search that brings commitments
and doctrines, dearly held, into contact with what is true and holy in other
traditions, precisely because (in many cases) such doctrines are seen to be
competing for the same space. As a result, there is always new work to be
done, to make sure that our words, individual and communal, do not drift
away into side issues near or far. But this ought not distract us from the
work of study. The solution is not the abandonment of doctrine, but a more
careful use of doctrine to open up a perspective on the world rather than
closing it down.
Wesley Hill’s reflections on the purpose of creeds sheds light on the power
of careful, insistent, yet humble writing with respect to realities beyond words:
The Creed safeguards the mystery and wild freedom of God; it does
not box it in and tame it. The point of the Creed isn’t that its words are
satisfactory. It’s that those words refuse our inveterate preference for
premature theological satisfaction.
(Hill 2016, 15)
Doctrinal reflection is not so much a matter of making things perfectly clear
as instead ruling out bad alternatives that drain our words of God’s mystery:
Approaching Jesus in this way [attentive to doctrine] turns language

back on itself, exposing our poverty. Confessing what is beyond lan
guage, the creeds use the words least likely to diminish the mystery
while at the same time gesturing at its depths. To say otherwise, to
reject the Creed as so much rationalist mystery-refusal, is to get things
exactly backward. It is the Creed, not the heresies it proscribes, that
dares to confess God in Christ uncontainable, unclassifiable, and
incomprehensible.
(Hill 2016, 16)
The words I have italicized serve us well interreligiously. The disciplined

words of creedal statements do not block the path to interreligious learn
ing, but inculcate virtues of mind and heart that direct us properly toward
the mystery of our own tradition and, I suggest, the mystery of the other as
well. Without doctrine, we have no guarantee that we will simply be “more
open,” because we might just as well become directionless, aimless.
Truth in its doctrinal form focuses inquiry, helping inquiry to avoid losing
its way and ceasing to be real interreligious learning. A serious commitment
to the truths of religious traditions can guide interreligious learning. This is
so if we do not make too much of our carefully chosen words. We would be
foolish to reduce the mystery of God to what we can say about it by the best
words of theologians. But we would not be better off were we to decide that
our encounter with truth is better fostered by leaving behind even the posi
tive doctrines of traditions, as if unlimited verbal and mental fluidity would
be a better base for taking other traditions seriously.8
These reflections on doctrine are implicitly couched in Christian terms.
But this disciplined and even austere attitude toward our words and the
received truths of received faith claims applies also to thinking about the
truths of the Hindu traditions we encounter in great Hindu theological
texts. Non-Christian masters of theology also know that words must be
used skillfully and without inflated importance, crafted so as to disencum
ber the reader, put aside wrong ways of reading and using words: very spe
cific and rigorous rules for thinking, reading, and writing at the service of
formulating a correct view of the world. Hindu thinking, for example, will
not be driven by a Gospel imperative, but there are pertinent and parallel
universalizing trajectories in Hindu thought that both drive and constrain
Hindu views of the religious other.9
Vatican II’s opening up of a Christ-grounded space

A Catholic grounding for interreligious learning is not merely a wish,
detached from the harder realities of the Church. The Catholic attitude
I have been presenting thus far is in harmony with the direction of Church
teachings today.10 Vatican II (1962–1965) in particular opened up new space
for a Catholic interreligious learning, and in the typically Catholic way
that combines depth, focus, and a consequent openness.11 Though not all
the conciliar statements were equally interreligiously open, Nostra Aetate,
approved in the last session of the Council, turned out to be most capable
of showing a way to learn from the religious other. Here is the key text from
n. 2 of the document:
The Catholic Church rejects none of the things that are true and holy
in these religions. She regards with sincere attentiveness those ways of
acting and living, those precepts and doctrines which, though differing
in many aspects from the ones she holds and sets forth, nonetheless by
no means rarely reflect the radiance of that Truth which enlightens all
people.
This is a limited openness, a nonrejection of the true and holy, rather a full
embrace of Hinduism and Buddhism, but it is a deeply founded positive
regard for other traditions. The images of light refer to John 1.9, which
presents Christ as light and truth: “The light shines in the darkness, and the
darkness did not overcome it. . . . The true light, which enlightens every
one, was coming into the world” (Jn 1:5, 9). This is a matter of the light of
Christ, not a generic light, and it shines from within the religions, not as a
harsh light of judgment on them.
The next statement draws explicitly on John, and it can be read so as to
serve to undergird and justify, rather than narrow, the deep reverence with
which Catholics are to approach religious traditions:
Truly she announces, and ever must announce Christ “the way, the
truth, and the life” (Jn 14:6), in whom humans may find the fullness of
religious life, in whom God has reconciled all things to Himself.
(2 Cor 5: 18–19)
This text may be read as very narrow: only Christ. But I have always found
it to be rather universal in disposition: wherever there is truth, Christ is
there; wherever people are on the way to God, Christ is there; where peo
ple are fully alive, Christ is there, not as an add-on, but as deep within the
truths, ways, and lives of people of all traditions and none.
What is notable, too, about Nostra Aetate n. 2 is its lack of a priori judg
ments and already-settled conclusions about what other religious traditions
are to mean. Study and inquiry are necessary. It stands exceptionally on a
middle ground, neither conservative nor liberal, free of many of the theo
logical constraints and a priori conditions common to the other documents,
and yet without stepping away from Christian commitments. Written in the
space of dialogue, expecting to be read by people of many faith traditions,
it stands open and receptive in the presence of the other, expecting listeners
and hence conversations rather than monologues, true learning rather than
confirmations of what we already know. It is the harbinger of a new era of
the Church and a new Catholic style in the world.
The authors of Nostra Aetate were not independent operators, unaware
of or unsympathetic to the cautions posed in other documents of the Coun
cil, and a Catholic cannot choose merely the parts of documents she or he
likes. Still, this declaration shifts from talking about to inviting listeners to
learn something: listen, find, learn. Christian witness remains essential; it is
possible because Christ is the way, the truth, and the life; it is this witness
that indicates respect for and openness to all that is true and holy in the
world’s religious traditions, illumined by the light of Christ shining from
within. In a sense, Nostra Aetate sets for the entirety of Vatican II docu
ments their interreligious application: how they are to be used in our era.
The Council and its forward-looking daring prompted fresh thinking
interreligiously by Catholic theologians, with many figures daring to chart
new paths forward. By my judgment, the soundest strand has been that
of the new, post-conciliar inclusivism, promoted in an incipient fashion by
Karl Rahner (who did not study other religions)12 and then most famously
by Jacques Dupuis. This project, not so much as “-ism” as an “including”
theology, has been dedicated to achieving a balance between fidelity to tradi
tion and the core revelation of Christian faith – in Christ, in the mystery of
the Trinity – on the one side and, on the other, a radical openness to God at
work in the world, in Christ, in the Trinitarian dynamic, particularly that of
the Spirit.13 The hard edge of such work, of course, lies in a refusal to give
up on doctrine for the sake of an idealized complete, unlimited openness to
everything.
Monsignor John Oesterreicher, a convert to Catholicism from Judaism
who was a leading figure at the Council and thereafter, reflected as follows
on Nostra Aetate:
We must not be satisfied with some general knowledge of them [i.e.

non-Christian religions]; the Declaration rather demands a deeper
knowledge of the ways of God and men. The more we penetrate into
the convictions and religious practices of non-biblical origin, the more
we shall perceive God’s gentle, almost shy action everywhere. . . . It is
the greatness of those sections of the Declaration dealing with the vari
ous non-Christian religions that they praise the omnipresence of grace.
(Oesterreicher 1967, 93)
This is the inquiring spirit that motivates much comparative theology

as well.
Here, too, it would be disingenuous to be ignorant of limitations and
counterexamples. How doctrine is used is unsurprisingly varied, and not
every usage facilitates openness. The conservative authors of Dominus Iesus
(2000), the document from Rome’s Congregation for the Doctrine of the
Faith, were determined to rein in Catholic speculations on pluralism, bind
ing very tightly together Creed, Gospel, Church, and salvation, all in the
light of Christ, and for this purpose the declaration became a handy litmus
test for orthodoxy, and unfortunately a set of justifications for not actually
engaging in interreligious learning and for rejecting insights gained inter
religiously.14 Still, the Creed remains the bedrock for many, if not most, of
the constructive Catholic theologians who engage in interreligious learning
in a faithful and open manner and likewise do comparative studies. That
there are truths of faith grounded in scripture and tradition, truths regard
ing God, Christ, the Spirit, the world, and the Church, enables those of us
committed to interreligious openness to be open and yet maintain and refine
ever more definitely a frame within which to receive and welcome the reli
gious other. This delicate balance is deeply indebted to a robust understand
ing of the Trinitarian God.
Walls yes, and with door and windows that open

The paradox of a strong version of Roman Catholic doctrine and practice,
instantiated always in the lives of Catholics who did learn interreligiously,
has to do with the rigor and boundaries of the tradition and its simultane
ously adaptation, over and over again, to new circumstances: the Church
is in a position of having constantly to modify itself globally because it is
dedicated to the good news of God’s kingdom; it can be fruitfully open,
ever on the edge of crossing sanctioned borders, because it has borders and
limits and works only with a sense that God has already been present in the
Church, as it has already been. But this focused-open dynamic makes sense.
Religions are not like properties with boundary markers, fences that keep
people in or out. They are places in which to dwell, houses, homes. These
have walls that making dwelling within them possible. One doesn’t remove
the walls if one wants to dwell there. Rather, we seek to ensure by the use
of windows that light and fresh air can enter and by the use of doors that
dwellers in the home can go out and come back.
I have thus far said nothing about “Theology Without Walls,” even if,
by contributing to this volume, I am hoping to make evident my respect for
Jerry L. Martin’s best instincts regarding openness while resisting his way
of putting it. I am suggesting that we do well to pay closer attention to how
traditions work and, in this instance, how Christian tradition works. If we
do, we come to see that walls need not, should not, be torn down, because
doing so would be in danger of removing the very support walls that make
religions able to be robustly universal. I therefore distance myself from the
particular framing of the project as Jerry L. Martin puts it:
Often theology is defined as the articulation of the beliefs about the

divine reality within one’s own tradition. In light of the widespread
experience of finding spiritual insight in other traditions as well, that
definition seems inappropriately limited. Surely, the aim of theology
should be to learn all we can about ultimate reality, regardless of the
source of the insights. Even comparatively theology, when it is regarded
as finally confessional, limited to asking what light other traditions
throw on my own, stops short. What is needed is a Theology without
Walls, without confessional boundaries, without blinders, as it were.
That does not mean that we do not stand somewhere, but that our sense
of our goal is not limited to where we stand at the outset.
I therefore rewrite Jerry’s words like this:
Often and rightly theology is defined as the articulation of the beliefs

about the divine reality within one’s own tradition and from there, out
ward into the world around us. In light of the widespread experience
of finding spiritual insight in other traditions as well, that definition
may seem inappropriately limited, because it fails to indicate more
directly how the articulation of beliefs also reaches out to other tradi
tions. Surely, we see now that the aim of theology should be to learn
all we can about the revealed truths of the faith, without confusing the
insights with any particular cultural framing of them. Even comparative
theology, which is confessional at the beginning and end, does well to
explore what light other traditions throw on my own, so as to change
my relation to my own tradition, without denying the roots of that tra
dition and without reducing the religious other merely to an instrument
of self-improvement. It does not stop short for the sake of a hoped-for
unrestricted openness. What is needed is a theology with walls, a home
with foundations and walls and windows and doors, a roof held up by
the walls and – why not, a welcome mat at the entrance.
Notes
1 For a thoughtful, though guarded, assessment of Cusa’s approach to pluralism,
see “Nicholas of Cusa’s De pace fidei and the Meta-Exclusivism of Religious
Pluralism” by Aikin and Aleksander (2013, 219–235).
2 I choose here simply several of the Jesuit figures I have read in recent years and
without prejudice against the fact of other Catholic and Christian instances of
creative interreligious adaptations.
3 On de Nobili’s real but limited openness, see Clooney (2007, 51–61).
4 See my essay, “Alienation, Xenophilia, and Coming Home: William Wallace, SJ’s
From Evangelical to Catholic by Way of the East” (Clooney 2018a, 280–290).

5 See Krokus (2017).
6 See Grumett and Plant (2012, 58–83).
7 On Merton, see my essay, “Thomas Merton’s Deep Christian Learning Across
Religious Borders” (Clooney 2017, 49–64).
8 I have spoken of the use of words in crafting “liberating doctrines.” But the point –
submission to tradition, focus, particularity as a base for universality – illumines
also the value of rituals, particular sacramental rites that significantly open up
perspectives on material and human realities without restriction, and likewise
the value of strong communities with defined identities that have the resources to
support venturing forth, learning from the other, and substantive returns home:
these help ensure openness, rather than thwarting it.
9 See Clooney (2003). Also guest editor of this thematic issue.
10 I must, however, leave aside here the many controversies among Catholics today
about the true legacy of Vatican II.
11 See my essays, “How Nostra Aetate Opened the Way to the Study of Hindu
ism” (Clooney 2016, 58–75) and “Nostra Aetate and the Small Things of God”
(Clooney 2018c, 305–316).
12 See Rahner (1971, 161–177).
13 See Dupuis (2002), Heim (2000), and a recent essay of mine explaining how this
including theology works as the desired alternative to pluralism: “Fractal The
ory, Fractal Practice: Theology of Religions, Comparative Theology” (Clooney
2018b).
14 For a balanced set of assessments of Dominus Iesus, see Pope and Hefling (2002).
References
Aikin, Scott F., and Jason Aleksander. 2013. “Nicholas of Cusa’s De pace fidei and
the Meta-Exclusivism of Religious Pluralism.” International Journal of the Phi
losophy of Religion 74: 219–235. doi:10.1007/s11153-012-9367-0
Burrell, David B. 1986. Knowing the Unknowable God: Ibn-Sina, Maimonides,
Aquinas. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press.
Burrell, David B. 1993. Freedom and Creation in Three Traditions. Notre Dame, IN:
University of Notre Dame Press. doi:10.1017/s0034412500019648
Clooney, Francis X. 2003. “Hindu Views of Religious Others: Implications
for Christian Theology.” Theological Studies 64 (2): 306–333. doi:10.11
77/004056390306400204
Clooney, Francis X. 2007. “Understanding in Order to be Understood, Refusing to
Understand in Order to Convert.” In Expanding and Merging Horizons: Contri
butions to South Asian and Cross-Cultural Studies in Commemoration of Wil
helm Halbfass, edited by Karin Preisendanz, 51–61. Vienna: Austrian Academy
of Sciences Press.
Clooney, Francis X. 2016. “How Nostra Aetate Opened the Way to the Study of
Hinduism.” In Nostra Aetate: Celebrating 50 Years of the Catholic Church’s Dia
logue with Jews and Muslims, edited by Pim Valkenberg and Anthony Cirelli,
58–75. Catholic University of America Press. doi:10.1353/acs.2018.0002
Clooney, Francis X. 2017. “Thomas Merton’s Deep Christian Learning Across
Religious Borders.” Buddhist-Christian Studies 37 (1): 49–64. doi:10.1353/
bcs.2017.0005
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Wallace, SJ’s from Evangelical to Catholic by Way of the East.” Common Knowl
edge 24 (2): 280–290. doi:10.1215/0961754x-4362469
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Comparative Theology.” In Incarnation, Prophecy, and Enlightenment, edited by
Paul Knitter and Alan Race. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books.
Clooney, Francis X. 2018c. “Nostra Aetate and the Small Things of God.” In
Catholicism Engaging Other Faiths: Vatican II and Its Impact, edited by Vladimir
Latinovic, Gerard Mannion, and Jason Welle, 305–316. London: Palgrave Mac
millan. doi:10.1007/978-3-319-98584-8_18
Dupuis, Jacques. 2002. Toward a Christian Theology of Religious Pluralism. Mary-
knoll, NY: Orbis Books.
Grumett, David, and Thomas Plant. 2012. “De Lubac, Pure Land Buddhism, and
Roman Catholicism.” Journal of Religion 92 (1): 58–83. doi:10.1086/662206
Heim, Mark S. 2000. The Depth of the Riches: A Trinitarian Theology of Religious
Ends (Sacra Doctrina: Christian Theology for a Postmodern Age). Grand Rapids,
MI: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Co. doi:10.1017/s0360966900009919
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ctt1p6qppr
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Longman and Todd. doi:10.1017/s003441250000648x
20 A Hinduism without walls?
Exploring the concept of the
avatar interreligiously
Jeffery D. Long
Introduction: the universal and the concrete

Jerry L. Martin has defined a Theology Without Walls as “a theology that
takes all sources of revelation, enlightenment, and insight into account,
without (to the extent possible) privileging our own.” He has further char
acterized this approach as “a cooperative, constructive, trans-religious theo
logical project,” based on the observation that “[p]eople who engage in
serious study beyond their own tradition frequently find revelation, enlight
enment, or insight into ultimate reality in multiple traditions. In light of this
experience, restricting theology to the articulation of truths within one’s
own tradition seems unduly restricted” (Martin 2018).
The Vedanta tradition of Ramakrishna is a Hindu tradition that one
might expect not only to embrace the idea of a Theology Without Walls
but also to suggest that this mode of theologizing describes precisely what
its adherents have been doing all along; for from the inception of this tra
dition in the multireligious spiritual practices of its founding figure, it has
been rooted in the idea that ultimate reality and the truths leading to it can
not be confined to a single tradition. To its adherents, Vedanta is, in short,
already an example of a Theology Without Walls. In the words of Pravra
jika Vrajaprana, “Vedanta is the philosophical foundation of Hinduism; but
while Hinduism includes aspects of Indian culture, Vedanta is universal in
its application and is equally relevant to all countries, all cultures, and all
religious backgrounds” (Vrajaprana 1999, 1).
Even as it aspires to universality, though, Vedanta is also, in practice, one
tradition among others. The organizations founded by Swami Vivekananda
and charged with promulgating this tradition – the Ramakrishna Order and
Mission and the Vedanta Societies – have their own specific practices, obser
vances, beliefs, and so on. There is a distinctive Vedantic worldview that,
even as it seeks to integrate the insights of many traditions into its universal
vision, is nevertheless different from these other traditions in many respects.
As a scholar-practitioner in this tradition, I can say that it is precisely its
breadth of vision, its aspiration toward universality, that was one of the
main factors that drew me to it.1 A religious tradition, though, must also
DOI: 10.4324/9780429000973-26
228 Jeffery D. Long

make the universal concrete if it is to mediate universal concepts and tran
scendental realities to living practitioners. In the words of Alfred North
Whitehead:
Religion should connect the rational generality of philosophy with the

emotions and purposes springing out of existence in a particular soci
ety, in a particular epoch, and conditioned by particular antecedents.
Religion is the translation of general ideas into particular thoughts, par
ticular emotions, and particular purposes; it is directed to the end of
stretching individual interest beyond its self-defeating particularity. . . .
Religion is an ultimate craving to infuse into the insistent particular
ity of emotion that non-temporal generality which primarily belongs to
conceptual thought alone.
(Whitehead 1978, 15, 16)
To take Vedanta as an example of this principle, Vedanta as a spiritual prac

tice tied to a tradition and an institution affirms universal ideas, like the idea
of a divine reality that manifests Itself to human beings at various points
in history but also renders this idea concrete in the form of the image of
Ramakrishna as the avatar, or divine incarnation, of our current histori
cal epoch, whose primary mission has been to teach the harmony and the
ultimate unity of all religions. The idea of Sri Ramakrishna as an avatar is,
of course, distinctive to the Ramakrishna tradition: an affirmation that dif
ferentiates this tradition not only from other religions but also from other
forms of Hinduism, for not all Hindu traditions accept the avatar doctrine,
and not all that do would affirm the idea of Ramakrishna as an avatar.
But although this doctrine serves to differentiate the Ramakrishna tradition
as one historical tradition among others, it also serves for its adherents to
render concrete the far more abstract ideal of divine love: a love willing to
manifest itself in time and history in order to draw humanity ever nearer
to the realization of its divine potential.
The concept of the avatar

The necessity of the concrete manifestation of divinity in a human form is
affirmed in many places by Swami Vivekananda, according to whom we, as
human beings, can only relate to a highly abstract reality such as the Infinite
if we can approach it through the medium of a human form. In one passage,
using the metaphor of light, he says,
The vibration of light is everywhere in this room. Why cannot we see

it everywhere? You have to see it only in that lamp. God is an Omni
present Principle – everywhere: but we are so constituted at present that
we can see Him, feel him, only in and through a human God. And when
A Hinduism without walls? 229
these great lights come [that is, avatars, or divine incarnations], then
man realizes God.
(Vivekananda 1979b, 122)
The ideal of the avatar is part of the Vaishnava tradition of Hinduism.

It is first affirmed in a text that is foundational both for Vaishnavism and
Vedanta: the Bhagavad Gītā. In the seventh verse of the fourth chapter of
this text, the Supreme Being, or Bhagavān, Lord Krishna, tells his friend,
the hero Arjuna: “Whenever dharma declines and when chaos and evil
[adharma] arise, I manifest myself” (Bhagavad Gītā 4:7, translation mine).
Interestingly, the word avatāra itself does not actually appear in the Bhaga
vad Gītā, though it is clear from the subsequent textual tradition that this is
the idea being expressed. In the Bhāgavata Pūrāṇa, a central Vaishnava text,
many avatars are listed and described (Bhāgavata Pūrāṇa 1.3). Although
the avatars are sometimes said to be countless in number, there are several
lists of these avatars in various Hindu texts. The best-known list includes 10
avatars, though there is also a list of 24 and another list of 108.2
Hindu sources describe the attributes of an avatar, thus making it pos
sible to determine if a particular individual might be one. How has Sri
Ramakrishna been proclaimed an avatar by his followers? According to
the accounts of his life – the Bengali Kathāmṛta and Līlaprasaṅga – he was
filled at a very early age with a deep longing to see God: to perceive divin
ity directly. This longing intensified after he became a priest at the temple
of Kali, the Divine Mother, at Dakshineshwar, near Calcutta. After many
days of intense prayer and profound emotional turmoil, Ramakrishna expe
rienced the Goddess Kali as a living reality, who manifested to the young
priest as “a limitless, infinite, effulgent Ocean of Consciousness” (Nikh
ilananda 1942, 14). In the months that followed, Ramakrishna conceived
a desire to experience divinity in as many forms as possible, taking up the
disciplines of various Vaishnava, Shaiva, and Shakta traditions of Hindu
spiritual practice. It was in the course of these sādhanas, or spiritual disci
plines, that a woman called the Bhairavi Brahmani became his guide:
Day after day she watched his ecstasy during the kirtan [singing of
sacred hymns] and meditation, his samādhi [a profound state of medi
tative absorption which he was capable of entering spontaneously], his
mad yearning; and she recognized in him a power to transmit spiritual
ity to others. She came to the conclusion that such things were not pos
sible for an ordinary devotee, not even for a highly developed soul. Only
an incarnation of God was capable of such spiritual manifestations. She
proclaimed openly that Sri Ramakrishna, like Sri Chaitanya [a medieval
Vaishnava saint proclaimed an avatar in the Gauḍīya Vaishnava tradi
tion], was an Incarnation of God.
(Nikhilananda 1942, 19)
230 Jeffery D. Long
The Bhairavi Brahmani’s faith that Ramakrishna was an incarnation is
widely held in the tradition based on his life and teachings. But this tradi
tion has no dogma or creed. Individuals in the Vedanta tradition are thus
free to express skepticism about this teaching. One such skeptic, in fact,
was Swami Vivekananda himself, who, in his youth, frequently expressed
doubts about the idea of his teacher’s divinity (Nikhilananda 1942, 72).
Although he would later come to believe in his teacher’s divinity very deeply,
he never insisted that adherents of Vedanta accept this idea, and he discour
aged others from insisting “too much” on it (Vivekananda 1979c, 81). He
did not want it to become a bar to people accepting the more fundamental
teaching of Vedanta, of the inherent divinity within all beings. In contrast
with mainstream Christianity, Vedanta is not primarily about belief in the
divinity of a particular teacher, but about the realization and manifestation
of the divinity within us all.
Indeed, one can observe that there is some tension between the idea of
the avatar and the idea that all beings are divine. Again, the ultimate aim of
Vedanta is the realization of the divine potential in every being. What, then,
is an avatar, according to this worldview? One could suggest that an avatar
is simply a person who has fully realized and manifested this divine poten
tial. We will all someday be avatars from this point of view.
There is a distinction, though, in Hindu traditions between one who
ascends to the level of enlightenment and becomes God-realized – literally
jīvanmukta, or liberated in this lifetime – and a descent, or avatāra, of the
Supreme Being. The idea of the avatar clearly points to a distinct form of
divine manifestation in the world that is different from the more general
inherent divinity of all beings that practitioners of Vedanta are seeking to
make manifest.
The avatar is the assumption of a concrete form by the Paramātman,
or Supreme Self – the Infinite Being, or Supreme Reality – for a specific
purpose, or mission. The classical avatars of the Vaiṣṇava tradition all
come to, as Krishna says in the Bhagavad Gītā, destroy evil and restore the
good. This typically takes the shape of their destroying demonic beings who
embody āsuric, or negative, qualities that keep us from God-realization:
qualities such as egotism, greed, hatred, and lust. Avatars such as the Varāha,
or Boar Avatar; the Narasiṃha, or Man-Lion Avatar; Vāmana, the Dwarf
Avatar; and Rāma, or Rām, destroy demonic beings called, respectively,
Hiranyaksha, Hiranyakashipu, Mahābāli, and Rāvaṇa. Other avatars, such
as Paraśurāma and Krishna, destroy human beings who exhibit demonic
qualities.
In the interpretation of Sri Aurobindo, the Buddha avatar – the ninth in
the standard list of ten avatars – is a divine incarnation who chooses to set
aside his divinity in order to show human beings, by example, the path to
the realization of their inherent divinity. By setting aside his divine power
and living as a human seeking freedom from suffering, he shows us the way
to this freedom.
Significantly, the Buddha avatar is himself a good example of Hindu tra
ditions operating after the manner of a Theology Without Walls, with an
openness to the sacred figures and teachings of other traditions; for the
Buddha in question is, of course, the historical founder of Buddhism, a tra
dition with which Hindu traditions were often in a relationship of antago
nism for much of the history of Buddhism in India. To be sure, the original
concept of the Buddha avatar was not at all friendly to Buddhist traditions;
for the Buddha is represented as deluding ignorant and demonic persons
into not performing Vedic rituals. This negative assessment was not to pre
vail, however. In Jayadeva’s Gītagovinda, for example, it is said that the
Buddha avatar only taught his followers to avoid those Vedic rituals that
caused harm to living beings: the animal sacrifices that have been enjoined
in certain rituals and in certain regions during certain periods of history.
He thus plays a positive role, from a Vaiṣṇava perspective, in establishing
the central Vaiṣṇava value of ahiṃsā, or nonviolence in thought, word,
and deed. This is seen as the primary mission of this avatar in the Vaiṣṇava
tradition. In the modern period, Swami Vivekananda teaches that there
is nothing in the Buddha’s doctrine contrary to the teachings of Vedanta,
as found in the Upanishads, even as he rejected some aspects of the more
ritualistic practices of the Vedas. According to Swami Vivekananda, “Bud
dha brought the Vedanta to light, gave it to the people, and saved India”
(1979a, 2.139).
What is Ramakrishna’s mission as an avatar, according to his tradition?
This mission is, importantly, closely connected with the idea of the Ram
akrishna tradition as a Theology Without Walls; for Ramakrishna’s mission
as an avatar is widely believed to have been the establishment of the idea
of the harmony and unity of religions on a practical, experiential basis.
In his pursuit of God-realization through many traditions, Ramakrishna’s
multireligious disciplines can be seen as an embodied, practical version of
a Theology Without Walls. Indeed, Ramakrishna sought not only “revela
tion, enlightenment, or insight into ultimate reality in multiple traditions”
but also direct realization, a profound inward encounter with divinity, in
multiple traditions.
Ramakrishna experienced divinity through varied Hindu systems of prac
tice – Vaishnavism, Tantra, Advaita Vedanta, and so on. But his quest was
truly “without walls,” for he engaged in Islamic and Christian practices as
well. These practices similarly culminated, as his Hindu practices had, in a
direct realization of God.
The Hindu avatar and the Christian incarnation

As a result of Ramakrishna’s explorations of both Islam and Christianity,
the Ramakrishna tradition sees not only the avatars listed in Vaishnava texts
and Ramakrishna himself as divine incarnations but also figures from out
side the Hindu tradition, such as Jesus Christ.
232 Jeffery D. Long
Jesus, of course, as traditionally understood in Christianity, is a singu
lar divine incarnation, “the way, the truth, and the life” (Jn 14:6), faith in
whom is necessary for salvation.
Ramakrishna never came to believe that Jesus alone was divine. Ram
akrishna’s sensibility was far closer to that expressed in a Bhagavad Gītā
verse cited by Swami Vivekananda in his famous welcome address at the
first World Parliament of Religions in Chicago in 1893: “In whatsoever way
that living beings approach me, thus do I receive them. All paths lead to me”
(Bhagavad Gītā 4:11).
Ramakrishna did not deny that Jesus was divine, and indeed accepted the
possibility that he was, himself, a manifestation of the same divinity that
had previously walked the Earth not only as Rama, Krishna, and Buddha
but as Christ as well. Ramakrishna did not proclaim himself to be an incar
nation of Christ; but there were Christians in Ramakrishna’s time, and sub
sequently in the Ramakrishna movement, who believed this to be the case,
and he did not contradict them when they expressed this view (Saradananda
2003, 910).
A “test case” of a Theology Without Walls arises if one encounters claims
made by religious traditions that at least appear to contradict one another.
The Hindu idea of many avatars, in contrast with that of a singular divine
incarnation found in Christianity, would appear to be such a case.
It is significant, too, that this is not a peripheral or trifling issue – at least
for Christians. If one takes seriously the idea that Jesus is “the way, the
truth, and the life” and that no one comes to the Father but through him,
then the conclusion one reaches on the issue of multiple incarnations or only
one could be a matter on which one’s eternal salvation hinges.
From a Hindu perspective, this issue seems easily resolvable. The one
divine being who is the way, the truth, and the life, without whom salvation
is impossible, has incarnated many times. There is no contest between Jesus
and Krishna, because both are incarnations of the same divine reality. If the
“I” who says, “I am the way, the truth, and the life; no one comes to the
Father but through me,” is the same “I” who says, “In whatever way living
beings approach me, thus do I receive them; all paths lead to me,” then the
contradiction is resolved. The divine being who has come as Jesus Christ
is the only way to salvation, and that same divine being has also come as
Rama, as Krishna, as Buddha, as Chaitanya, as Ramakrishna, and as many
more such beings.
One can imagine the verses from John’s gospel and from the Bhagavad
Gītā that one might normally take to be contrary to one another as two
halves of a new verse, or navya śāstra:
I am the way, the truth, and the life; no one comes to the Father but
through me. And in whatever way living beings approach me, thus do
I receive them; all paths lead to me.
This is not the way Christians would typically address this issue, unless the
idea were to become available to them that the same divine Word, the same
cosmic Christ, who walked the Earth as Jesus of Nazareth, also walked the
Earth as these other figures. One appeal of this idea for Christians might be
that it helps resolve, in a very elegant way, the question of the salvation of
non-Christians. The idea that most of humanity is damned for eternity for
following teachers other than Jesus is difficult to reconcile with the idea of
the loving God proclaimed in the gospel.
Conclusion
The idea of a singular divine being with multiple incarnations – with Chris
tianity giving greater emphasis to the singularity side of the equation and
Hindu traditions emphasizing the plurality side – is an example of how a
Theology Without Walls can draw traditions to appreciate one another’s
insights, moving toward a more inclusive vision of truth.
Notes
1 I was raised in the Roman Catholic tradition of Christianity.
2 There are at least two versions of the standard list of ten avatars. In the older one,
the ninth avatar, after Krishna, is listed as Krishna’s brother, Balarama. A some
what more recent and better-known version replaces Balarama with the Buddha.
References
Martin, Jerry L. 2018. Theology Without Walls: What Is TWW? http://theology
withoutwalls.com/what-is-tww/ (accessed October 6, 2018).
Nikhilananda, Swami. 1942. The Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna. New York: Ram
akrishna Vivekananda Center.
Saradananda, Swami. 2003. Sri Ramakrishna and His Divine Play, trans. Swami
Chetanananda. St. Louis: Vedanta Society of St. Louis.
Vivekananda, Swami. 1979a. Complete Works, Volume Two. Mayavati: Advaita
Ashrama.
Vivekananda, Swami. 1979b. Complete Works, Volume Four. Mayavati: Advaita
Ashrama.
Vivekananda, Swami. 1979c. Complete Works, Volume Five. Mayavati: Advaita
Ashrama.
Vrajaprana, Pravrajika. 1999. Vedanta: A Simple Introduction. Hollywood, CA:
Vedanta Press.
Whitehead, Alfred N. 1978. Process and Reality: An Essay in Cosmology. Corrected
edition. New York: Macmillan.
21 My path to a theology of Qi
Hyo-Dong Lee
The Theology Without Walls (hereafter TWW), as I understand it, is “a the

ology without confessional restrictions.”1 It is a theology in a mode of trans-
religious inquiry that engages the resources of multiple traditions without
prioritizing any single one among them. As such, it is a more experimental
and perhaps daring form of theology, given the widely accepted customary
definition of theology as “the articulation of religious truths as held by a
particular tradition” (Martin 2016). Further, precisely as such it diverges
from comparative theology, which Francis X. Clooney defines as consisting
in “acts of faith seeking understanding which are rooted in a particular faith
tradition but which, from that foundation, venture into learning from one
or more other faith traditions” (Clooney 2010, 10). The prevailing under
standing of comparative theology – as championed by Clooney and Paul
Knitter, among others – assumes one’s rootedness in a single home tradition
from which one undertakes the adventure of passing over to other traditions
and coming back with a deeper understanding of the home tradition. TWW
is premised on more complicated patterns of religious affiliation (or nonaf
filiation), which do not presume one’s rootedness in a single home tradition.
Whether affiliation is envisaged as belonging in the sense of membership
in particular religious communities or as participation in certain religious
practices, the practitioners of TWW in principle do not give more authority
and weight to one tradition over others with which they affiliate themselves
(Thatamanil 2016b, 355).2 Hence, the issue of multiple religious belonging
or multiple religious participation accompanies the theoretical endeavor of
TWW as its existential and practical horizon.
As a Christian comparative theologian who grew up in East Asia (South
Korea), I have found the underlying premise of comparative theology, that
is, that the comparative theologian is rooted in a single home tradition, most
challenging to make sense of. I was born into a family without membership
in an organized religion but committed to Confucian ritual and ethical obli
gations, particularly the ritual of ancestor veneration. The religious land
scape was characterized by what is called “diffuse religion” – the ancient
practices of ancestor veneration and spirit worship that over time became
amalgamated with basic elements of Buddhism, Confucianism, and Seondo
DOI: 10.4324/9780429000973-27
My path to a theology of Qi 235

(a Korean form of Daoism), in which it was common for an individual or
family to participate in religious rituals or practices that suited the occasion
(Esposito, Fasching, and Lewis 2012, 495). Before Christianity arrived on
the scene, “religions” in the sense of organized communities with exclusive
membership did not really exist. Although different people might be respec
tively more committed overall to the practices of one tradition over the
others, in most cases they treated one another with respect and in that sense
can be said to have accepted a loose concept of multiple religious belonging
(Kim 2016, 79). Regarding the sense of religious identity and religious ethos
in such a context, Chung Hyun Kyung put it best:
When people ask what I am religiously, I say, “My bowel is Shaman

ist. My heart is Buddhist. My right brain, which defines my mood, is
Confucian and Taoist. My left brain, which defines my public language,
is Protestant Christian, and overall, my aura is eco-feminist.” . . . As a
Korean woman, I was raised in the 5,000-year-old Shamanist tradition
and the 2,000-year-old Taoist-Confucian tradition, with 2,000 years of
Buddhist tradition, 100 years of Protestant tradition, and twenty years
of eco-feminist tradition. So, my body is like a religious pantheon. I am
living with communities of Gods, a continuum of divinity, and a family
of religions.
(Kyung 2009, 73–74)
The fact that I was baptized a Christian – more specifically, an evangelical

Protestant – in a cultural-religious milieu of “diffuse religion” that assumed
a loose sense of multiple religious belonging complicated my relationship to
the other traditions. The evangelical Protestant church of which I became a
member at the age of 16 demanded an exclusive allegiance to it – I was sup
posed to regard Christianity as my only “home” and the rest of the religious
landscape as consisting in “others.” But that was an impossible demand,
for however much I formally repudiated Confucianism, Buddhism, etc., as
“pagan” and “heathen,” I could not disown or erase the childhood and
teenage-year memories of taking part in the house rituals of venerating my
grandfathers and grandmothers or accompanying my relatives in fun-filled
Sunday picnics to nearby Buddhist temples where the sound of the monks’
chanting was a soothing music to my ears. Those memories formed an indel
ible part of who I was as a person; and one could even argue that, in the
language of comparative theology, by being baptized a Christian, I was actu
ally leaving “home” to embark on the adventurous journey of crossing-over
into a “foreign” tradition.3
Such a complex pattern of religious affiliation perhaps explains the sense
of ease and safety with which I explored Confucian and Daoist philosophies
in my college years in South Korea, despite my formal consent to the doc
trinal stance of my church that declared them to be error-filled human crea
tions, if not the work of the devil. I was especially attracted to the teachings
236 Hyo-Dong Lee
of the Daodejing (or Laozi), the earliest and foundational scripture of Dao
ism, although at the time I had no intellectual frame or tools to reconcile,
if possible at all, its teachings of Dao, “self-so” (自然 ziran) and “non
self-assertive action” (無爲 wuwei) with my church’s thoroughly Western,
missionary-brought theology. I started studying the Daodejing in earnest
during my graduate studies of theology in Canada and the United States,
when I was preoccupied with the question of how to reduce the distance
I felt existed between the glorified Trinity and the fallen creation in much of
classical Christian theology.
My theological quest then had a decisively pneumatocentric orientation,
having been influenced by Rahner’s dictum, “the immanent Trinity is the
economic Trinity and vice versa”; Moltmann’s revamping of Barth’s trini
tarian history of God as virtually coinciding with the history of creation’s
redemption, emancipation, and healing; and ultimately, Hegel’s grand vision
of the consummation of the absolute in the divine–human–cosmic unity of
the Geist, Spirit. It was an attempt to reconceive God’s transcendence – or
God’s own being, traditionally captured by the notion of the “immanent”
Trinity – so as to find it right in the midst of, not apart from, the com
mon history of God and creation.4 Following Hegel, I wanted to re-envision
God’s ultimate being as Spirit, understood as the all-encompassing divine–
human–cosmic unity, which unceasingly worked at the liberation and ulti
mate consummation of itself.5
With its paradoxical conception of the Dao (Way) as both the unnamable
Dao and the Mother of the world, the Daodejing offered me a resonant
account that located the ultimate squarely at the heart of a divine–human–
cosmic whole, while retaining a sense of the Dao’s ultimate transcendence
of that whole as a kind of natura naturans.6 Moreover, the Daodejing pre
sented a vision of the pre-civilizational undercurrent of nature beneath the
human world as most perfectly aligned with the movement of the Dao. In
other words, it proffered a counterthrust to Hegel’s anthropocentrism and
Eurocentrism, that is, his prioritizing of human culture, especially in its
modern European Enlightenment version, as the most privileged locus of
divine–cosmic reconciliation.
The fact that I turned to classical Daoist thought to find intellectual
resources for the task had certainly a lot to do with the familiarity and
comfort with which the ancient Daoist texts spoke to me, as if I was hearing
my own voice. At the same time, it was also due to the dawning awareness
on my part that Christian theology had never had its “own” intellectual
frameworks and conceptual tools that enabled it to safeguard its orthodoxy.
From its very beginning, Christianity in its theoretical self-articulation relied
on the intellectual resources of classical Greek and Hellenistic thought, and
in that sense had always harbored “others” within itself that rendered the
boundaries of its self-identity permeable. If one is to apply the previously
mentioned logic of comparative theology for a Christian convert whose
home coincides with a “mission field,” what happened to Christian theology
early on was as much the Greek-speaking gentiles leaving their home base
to cross over into a foreign Jewish tradition and returning, having been
transformed in the process, as Christianity leaving its Jewish home to pass
over into the alien world of Greek thought and coming back changed. This
bidirectional logic of comparative theology indicates that if there is to be
double religious belonging as a version of multiple religious belonging, such
a belonging should be understood as symmetrical, not asymmetrical.7 Fur
ther, it also implies that the long-running debate in ecumenism and missiol
ogy about contextualization of theology should expand its understanding of
the “inculturation” of theology to include the so-called “grafting” model,
according to which the Christian gospel is the shoot (guest) and the local
culture the stock (host) onto which the gospel is grafted.8
After my first comparative (Christian–Daoist or Daoist–Christian) theo
logical project culminated in a PhD dissertation on Hegel and the Daode
jing, my attention turned to the resources of Confucianism, particularly
allured by the conceptual rigor and the grandeur of the vision of Neo-
Confucian metaphysics. What drew my attention to it was the way the most
historically influential school of Neo-Confucian metaphysics,9 following its
founder Zhu Xi, dynamically structures all of reality in terms of the relation
ship between psychophysical energy (氣 qi) and pattern (理 li). Psychophysi
cal energy is the primordial energy of the universe that constitutes whatever
exists, whereas pattern is the ultimate ideal principle of coherence and order
which is logically, ontologically, and normatively prior to psychophysical
energy and upon which the cosmic creativity of the latter is dependent. In
other words, the dominant school of Neo-Confucian metaphysics places the
very energy and “stuff” of the universe within an ontologically hierarchical,
binary relationship with its raison d’être, its ground of being, its suoyiran
(所以然). At the same time, in contrast to the substantialistic portrayals
of the metaphysical ultimate as unchanging divine substance found in the
dominant strains of classical Western theism and the Indic tradition, the
Neo-Confucian metaphysics treats li as a dynamic ontological creativity –
that is, as an incessant activity of patterning, structuring, and harmonizing
at the very root of the cosmos.10
Given my continued theological quest to find a better intellectual frame
work to articulate God’s transcendence as God’s deepest immanence in
creation, I was attracted to the subtle manner in which the Neo-Confucian
metaphysics positioned the metaphysical ultimate – li – as a dynamic and
creative “force” at the root of the universe itself. At the same time, I was
both intrigued and flummoxed by the somewhat incongruous idea of the
ultimate ideal principle of coherence and order – a kind of lure, guideline,
or in some instances, schematic – seemingly functioning as the “agent” of
ontological creation. Shouldn’t li as dynamic ontological creativity be con
strued also as a kind of energy rather than strictly as an ideal principle if it is
to serve as the “cause” of ontological causation in the least restrictive sense
of the term? This ambiguity in the overarching metaphysical architectonic
238 Hyo-Dong Lee
of the dominant Neo-Confucian position drew my attention to the Korean
philosophy of qi, represented by Yulgok and Nongmun, a sixteenth- and
an eighteenth-century Neo-Confucian figure, respectively. What arrested my
interest was their move outside the orbit of the “orthodox” school of Zhu
Xi that interpreted qi quasi-dualistically as the dynamic material principle
subordinate to li. Especially in Nongmun’s conception of it, qi can be said to
designate none other than ultimate reality itself, because it has two modes:
1) the cosmic energy that coalesces to become the material and ideal “stuff”
of every concrete entity and 2) the original qi that permeates the world of
concrete entities to make them creative and living by providing them with a
fundamental inclination toward order and value (which is the source of nov
elty in the universe). This “layering” of qi provides a sense of ontological
depth and radically immanent transcendence to the primordial energy of the
universe. For Nongmun, li is merely a name for the original qi to designate
specifically the latter’s ordering and governing of creative processes.11
Yulgok and Nongmun’s philosophy of qi suggested to me a way to envi
sion the ultimate as a kind of natura naturans like the Daodejing did, but
with a more conceptually robust articulation of the relationship between
its world-immanence and world-transcendence. I was inspired to articulate
my theological thesis, that the trinitarian God is first and foremost Spirit,
as meaning that God is first and foremost the primordial Energy of the uni
verse, without simultaneously being forced to make a distinction between
God’s unknowable essence (ousia) and God’s experienced energy (energeia) –
like some Eastern Orthodox theologians had done – in order to safeguard
divine independence and freedom from creation.12 This theological develop
ment spurred my transition from a chiefly Hegelian standpoint to one that
incorporated insights from Whiteheadian and Deleuzean thoughts. My view
of God as some kind of primordial yet all-pervasive creative energy reso
nated with Whitehead’s definition of the ultimate metaphysical ground as
the very cosmic process of creative advance into novelty, on the one hand,
and Deleuze’s notion of chaosmos (i.e., the orders of the universe “bub
bling up” from the chaotic background of virtuality), on the other. Cath
erine Keller’s work of creatively blending the two intellectual giants also
gently nudged this God as the primordial Energy into the heterogeneous
beginning and tehomic depth of the universe and in so doing enabled me
to complete the identification of divine radical transcendence with divine
radical immanence.13
I cannot end this chapter without mentioning Donghak, or Eastern
Learning (today called Choendogyo). Donghak is another “home” tra
dition of mine whose intellectual resources inspired and enriched my
theological journey. Donghak is the first indigenous organized religion
of Korea born of the crucible of late nineteenth-century Korea in which
the traditional teachings of Confucianism, Buddhism, Seondo, and sha
manistic folk religion clashed and wrestled with the new arrival, namely,
Christianity or Western Learning. The Donghak understanding of ultimate
reality has two poles. The ultimate is first jigi, or Ultimate Energy (that is,
Ultimate Qi). At the same time, Ultimate Energy is a personal deity called
haneullim (Lord Heaven), who is both within and outside the human self,
identified with the human heart–mind yet coming to meet it from out
side as the larger cosmic heart–mind to which the individual heart–mind
is called to be attuned. The experience of the personal encounter with
Ultimate Qi as Lord Heaven makes one a “bearer of Lord Heaven” who
has become one with the rest of the universe and whose entire psycho
physical being shares in the cosmic creative-transformative agency of Ulti
mate Energy. By conferring a clear sense of divine subject agency to the
spontaneous and pluriform creativity of the cosmic qi whose harmoniz
ing power is not predicated on some kind of transcendent metaphysical
unity, Donghak developed a view of the divine that is both one and many,
divine and creaturely, and impersonal and personal. At the same time, as a
social movement it worked toward the creation of a free, egalitarian, and
inclusive society of “the bearers of Lord Heaven,” eventually culminating
in the first attempt at democratic revolution in Korean history in the late
nineteenth century.14
Donghak teachings have helped me overcome a major obstacle in con
structing a theology of Spirit while drawing on my East Asian religious and
intellectual heritages – that is, the fact that, largely speaking, Confucian
ism and Daoism are philosophically nontheistic. The polar conception of
the ultimate as both Ultimate Energy and Lord Heaven has enabled me to
think of God as Spiritual Energy – that is, both the energy of my existence
and the object of my prayer and worship. If the spirits of my ancestors who
responded to my family’s invitation to take a seat at the altar of ancestor
veneration to bless us consisted of the same qi of which I was also made,
God as Spiritual Energy also responds to my call for help from the cha
otic depth of my being and provides succor by “energizing” my qi, that is,
by strengthening my sinews and bones and stirring in my mind and heart
visions of liberation and healing.
Furthermore, Donghak is an East Asian theological source that, however
compromised and diluted by sociopolitically dominant traditions, still rep
resents the voice “from the underside of history.” Hence, my engagement
of it answers the liberationist impulses that have always been present in
my theological quest, while helping me respond to the demand of the new
generation of comparative theologians that we attune ourselves more to
the marginalized voices within the major religious traditions or “outsid
ers within.”15 Donghak’s ecological and political ideas, as the product of
what may be called subversive subaltern reinterpretations of the historically
dominant Neo-Confucian ideas, practices, and institutions, have provided
suggestive pointers for developing my pneumatocentric reconstruction of
the doctrine of the Trinity into a full-blown ecopolitical theology – one that
is attuned to the cries of the oppressed, exploited, and marginalized, both
human and nonhuman.
240 Hyo-Dong Lee
As I mentioned earlier, I have come to reject the universal applicability of
the idea of asymmetric belonging so as to allow for a bidirectional concep
tion of the operational logic of comparative theology. Does this mean that
I have come to embrace TWW in earnest insofar as it eschews the idea of the
primary religion to which one belongs? Perhaps. Yet if the account I have
presented here of my path to a theology of qi is any indication, my theolo
gian self does not escape being encumbered and propelled forward by the
weight of the historical layers of traditions accumulated and embedded in
my body. This explains why, although a chance glance at Augustine’s City
of God or Nongmun’s Miscellaneous Writings from the Deer Hut can get
my theological mind and heart all worked up and beating, it is only with an
intentional effort that I pick up Sankara’s Brahma Sutra Bhasya to receive
a fresh insight about God. Hence, the version of TWW that I can accept is
one that allows room for a theological thinking spontaneously – and even
confessionally – tethered to, but not arbitrarily restricted by, a certain num
ber of concrete teachings and practices as a result of one’s existential and
historical embeddedness in particular traditions. Such a TWW would raise
no objection if I renamed my chapter My Path to a Confucian–Daoist–
Donghak–Christian Theology of Qi, except for the unwieldly nature of the
new title.
Notes
1 This phrase was taken from Jerry Martin’s initial proposal for this volume. He
articulates the definition and ethos of transreligious theology more fully in his
programmatic statement to a section of Open Theology dedicated to the topic
(Martin 2016).
2 Whether religious affiliation is to be understood as (identity-shaping) belong
ing in the sense of membership in religious communities or as participation in
certain religious practices is an important distinction drawn by John Thatamanil
(Thatamanil 2016a, 9–15).
3 I put the word in quotation marks because Christianity was already a well-
established part of the religious landscape of Korea, though with a much shorter
history and, most importantly, an intellectual – theological – foreignness.
4 Peter Hodgson has very helpfully coined the term “pre-worldly Trinity” for the
immanent Trinity and “worldly Trinity” for the economic Trinity to clarify the
distinction between the two (Hodgson 1994, 151).
5 For this I am deeply indebted to Peter Hodgson’s Hegelian interpretation of the
Trinity. See his Winds of the Spirit (Hodgson 1994, 151–172).
6 I am referring to the famous distinction made by Spinoza between natura natur
ans (nature naturing or active nature) and natura naturata (nature natured or
passive nature). Natura naturans is nature taken as the free cause of itself – that
is, as God – whereas natura naturata is the same nature seen as contingent,
dependent on, and existing in God. (Spinoza 1993, 25). In the Daoist interpreta
tion suggested here, the unnamable Dao as natura naturans implies that natura
naturans transcends any unity or order, including the divine-human-cosmic
whole (natura naturata) to which it has given birth.
7 According to Heup Young Kim, the notion of asymmetrical belonging advanced
by Catherine Cornille, which makes a distinction between the primary religion
to which one belongs and others with which one identifies, is suspected of har
boring the religious, cultural, and philosophical imperialism of the West, espe
cially if the primary religion happens to be Christianity Kim (2016, 82).
8 The “grafting model” is suggested by Kyoung Jae Kim in his Christianity and the
Encounter of Asian Religions: Method of Correlation, Fusion of Horizons and
Paradigm Shifts in the Korean Grafting Process (1994, 135–141). Here Kim is
relying on the ideas of Ryu Dong-sik, one of the pioneers of Korean tochakhwa
theology. In the “grafting” model both the Christian tradition and the local func
tion as theological subjects taking part in the creative process of theological
indigenization or inculturation.
9 I am here referring to the “orthodox” lineage of the so-called Cheng-Zhu School,
whose founding figure is Zhu Xi (朱熹 1130–1200 CE) of the Chinese Southern
Song Dynasty.
10 I have presented this account more fully in my book, Spirit, Qi, and the Multitude:
A Comparative Theology for the Democracy of Creation (Lee 2014, 62–82).
11 For a fuller account see Spirit, Qi, and the Multitude (Lee 2014, 142–173).
12 For the Eastern Orthodox distinction between divine essence and divine energy,
especially that of Gregory Palamos, see Lossky (1974, 52–56). Mary-Jane Ruben-
stein convincingly argues that the distinction ultimately collapses, because of the
intrinsically self-revelatory – that is, relational – nature of divine life (Rubenstein
2011, 38–41).
13 See Spirit, Qi, and the Multitude (Lee 2014, 174–210).
14 See Spirit, Qi, and the Multitude (Lee 2014, 211–243).
15 See Roberts (2010) and Tiemeier (2010).
References
Clooney, Francis X. 2010. Comparative Theology: Deep Learning Across Religious
Borders. Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell. doi:10.1002/9781444318951
Esposito, John L., Darrell J. Fasching, and Todd T. Lewis, eds. 2012. World Religions
Today. 4th ed. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. doi:10.3366/
swc.2007.13.3.301
Hodgson, Peter C. 1994. Winds of the Spirit: A Constructive Christian Theology.
Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press. doi:10.1177/004057369605300314
Kim, Heup Y. 2016. “Multiple Religious Belonging as Hospitality: A Korean
Confucian-Christian Perspective.” In Many Yet One? Multiple Religious Belong
ing, edited by Peniel Jusudason Rufus Rajkumar and Joseph Prabhakar Dayam,
75–88. Geneva: World Council of Churches Publications.
Kim, Kyoung J. 1994. Christianity and the Encounter of Asian Religions: Method
of Correlation, Fusion of Horizons, and Paradigm Shifts in the Korean Grafting
Process. Zoetermeer: Uitgeverij Boekencentrum. doi:10.1163/157254395x00072
Kyung, Chung H. 2009. “Seeking the Religious Roots of Pluralism.” In Christian
Approaches to Other Faiths: A Reader, edited by Paul Hedges and Alan Race.
73–74. London: SCM Press. doi:10.1111/j.1467–9809.2011.01112.x
Lee, Hyo-Dong. 2014. Spirit, Qi, and the Multitude: A Comparative Theology for
the Democracy of Creation. New York: Fordham University Press.
Lossky, Vladimir. 1974. In the Image and Likeness of God, edited by John H. Erick
son and Thomas E. Bird. 52–56. Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press.
doi:10.1017/s0034412500009094
Martin, Jerry L. 2016. “Is Transreligious Theology Possible?” Open Theology 2 (1):
261. doi:10.1515/opth-2016-0021
242 Hyo-Dong Lee
Roberts, Michelle V. 2010. “Gendering Comparative Theology.” In The New Com
parative Theology: Voices from the Younger Generation, edited by Francis X.
Clooney. 109–128. New York: Continuum.
Rubenstein, Mary-Jane. 2011. “The Fire Each Time: Dark Energy and the Breath
of Creation.” In Cosmology, Ecology, and the Energy of God, edited by Donna
Bowman and Clayton Crockett. 38–41. New York: Fordham University Press.
doi:10.5422/fordham/9780823238958.003.0003
Spinoza, Baruch. 1993. Ethics and Treatise on the Correction of the Intellect, trans.
Andrew Boyle. London: J. M. Dent Orion Publishing Group and Rutland, Ver
mont: Charles E. Tuttle.
Thatamanil, John J. 2016a. “Eucharist Upstairs, Yoga Downstairs: On Multi
ple Religious Participation.” In Many Yet One? Multiple Religious Belonging,
edited by Peniel Jesudason Rufus Rajkumar and Joseph Prabhakar Dayam, 9–15.
Geneva: World Council of Churches Publications.
Thatamanil, John J. 2016b. “Transreligious Theology as the Quest for Interreligious
Wisdom.” Open Theology 2 (1): 355. doi:10.1515/opth-2016–0029
Tiemeier, Tracy S. 2010. “Comparative Theology as a Theology of Liberation.”
In The New Comparative Theology: Interreligious Insights from the Next Gen
eration, edited by Francis X. Clooney. London and New York: T & T Clark.
doi:10.1111/j.1467–9418.2012.01050.x
Index
Note: Page numbers in italics indicate figures and in bold indicate tables on the
corresponding pages.
Abba-Mystery 70–71 Augustine, St. 240

Abhishiktananda, S. 59 Aurobindo, Sri 230
Abishiktananda, Swami 184–185 authentic self 193, 196
Abrahamic reasoning 39–40 avatar, Hindu concept of 228–231
Advaita Vedanta 100 Avicenna 117
Advaita Vedantins 12
advanced contemplatives 92 Barnes, M. 115
affiliation and belief 172–173; Barrett, J. L. 133
challenges to doing TWW and belief without borders 191–192
173–174, 174; change of heart in Bellah, R. 5, 25–26; see also Sheila
184–185; landscape of views of (Bellah’s cultural type)
religious diversity and 176–180, belonging 172–173
177, 178; meeting contradiction Benedict XVI, Pope 114
176–184, 177, 178, 181, 184; Bering, J. M. 130
preliminary reasons to step outside Berry, T. 8
one’s 174–175 Beschi, C. 216
afterlife, belief in 132; in spiritual but Bhagavad Gītā 70, 232–233
not religious (SBNRs) 194 Blood, B. P. 98–99
agential being model 107, 119 Bloom, P. 132
Al-Ghazālī 129 Bon-Buddhism 75, 76
“Allegory of the Cave” 38 bonding in love 141
American Religion 191 Bonhoeffer, D. 44
anatta/not-self 68 Bourgeault, C. 75
Anselm of Canterbury 117 Brahamni, B. 229
anthropomorphism 121–122; Buber, M. 101
practicality in 123–124 Buddha avatar 231
Antoine, R. 217 Buddha-nature 71
anxious search 81 Buddhism 9, 17, 18, 44, 49, 57–58,
Appleby, S. 173 116; Bon- 75, 76; Buddha as liberator
appropriation 158–161 in 67–68; concept of Qi in 234–240;
Aquinas, T. 125, 215 experience of enlightenment in 71;
Arasteh, A. R. 81–82 Four Noble Truths of 19, 58, 68,
Aristotle 41, 117, 215 88; functional analogies with saving
Asma, S. T. 190 role of Jesus 66–69; liberation and
atheists 131–132 social justice and 50; parable of the
Attitude of the Church toward Other two men who went to the temple to
Religions, The 110 pray and 111; prajna 71; primacy of
244 Index
compassion over justice in 69–71;
132–135; origins of religious beliefs
primacy of contemplation over action
and their justification and 128–129;
in 69; the self or soul in 88–89;
teleological thinking and 131–132
spiritual exercises in 76–77; strategic
community, spiritual but not religious
religious participation in shared

(SBNRs) on 194
religious landscape with 167–168;

comparative theology 9–10, 126;
tanha 21; Zen 58, 61, 75, 77
as best example of TWW 208; in
Buddhist-Christian figures 59
Catholicism 213–215; concept of Qi
Burrell, D. 215
in 234–240; expanded confessional
theology in 205–210; Hindu avatar
Calvin, J. 128–129, 133
and Christian incarnation 231–233;
Cantwell, W. 19
in Hinduism 227–233
Caputo, J. 80, 81
Comparative Theology Without
Catholicism: doctrines of, related Walls 2
to openness 219–220; expanded compassion over justice 69–71

confessional theology in 201–202, confessional theologies, expanded
213–224; global interactions with 201–203; as best example of TWW
other beliefs 215–218; history of 205–210; in Catholicism 201–202,
comparative theology in 213–215; 213–224; in Eastern concept of Qi
respect for the religious other in 234–240; in Hinduism 227–233
109–110; Vatican II’s opening up of Confucianism 9, 12, 167–168; concept
Christ-grounded space in 220–223; of Qi in 234–240
walls, with doors and windows that consumer, embracing one’s inner
open, with 223–224 religious 29;
Cavanaugh, W. 30, 31
contemplation over action 69
change of heart in affiliation and belief contemplative traditions for TWW

184–185 91–93
Charles S. Peirce Society 11
Copernican revolution 20
Chaves, M. 191
cortisol 140
Chittick, W. C. 73
Cribratio Alkorani 215
Chodron, P. 191
cultural evolution 130–131
Christianity 44, 161; Buddhist-
cynicism 192
Christian figures and 59; confession-
less 46; Eastern concept of Qi

Dalai Lama 176, 191
and 234–240; exercises in 75–76;

Dandoy, G. 217
expanded confessional theology in

Dao De Jing 160
202; Hindu avatar and incarnation

Daoism 9, 107; as acosmic 115;
in 231–233; liberation theology in
concept of Qi in 235–240; parable of
68–69; as sect of Judaism 39–40; the
the two men who went to the temple
soul in 88–89
to pray and 111–112; strategic
Christianity/Protestant Christianity
religious participation in shared
18; embracing one’s inner religious
religious landscape with 167–168
consumer and 30; Sheilaism and 25
Day, D. 92
Christ-nature 71
De Cruz, H. 108
Cicero 128
de Lubac, H. 218
City of God 240

Denny, C. 5–6
classical theist beliefs 131
De Pace Fidei 215
Clooney, F. X. 115, 201–202, 209, 235

Depth of the Riches, The 201
Coakley, S. 79–80 Derrida, J. 80, 81
Cobb, J. 177–180, 182

de Sales, F. 209
cognitive science of religions (CSR) Deśika, S. V. 209
108, 129–132; introduction to De Smedt, J. 108
128; knowledge of the divine and de Smet, R. 217
Index 245
dialogue 156–157; available God
Fox, G. 74
154–156; in defense of appropriation
Fuller, R. 25–26
158–161; interreligious 27–28, 66,
functional analogies 66–69
161–163; truth deferred 161–163;
word as bond 156–158

Gadamer, H.-G. 113
Dialogue and Mission 27

Gaia beliefs 131
Dialogue and Promulgation 27

Gandhi, M. 4, 92
Diller, J. 152, 190

Gassendi, P. 128
diversity, religious see religious diversity

Geldhof, J. 170
divine love and desire 146–149

Gellman, J. 128, 133, 134
divine truth 6
gene-culture co-evolution 130–131
divorce 142
Gentilism and The Church and
doctrine of analogy 125–126

the Gentile World at the First
doctrine of religious liberty 40–41
Promulgation of the Gospel 216–217
dogmatic faith 6, 20
God 8; as available 154–156; CSR and
Dominus Jesus: On the Unicity and

knowledge of the divine 132–135;
Salvific Universality of Jesus Christ

divine hierarchies and 9; Eastern
and the Church 27, 114, 222–223

concept of Qi and 236–240;
Donghak 238–239 fullness of 62; Hindu concept of
dopamine 140–141 the avatar and 228–231; love and
dual religious participation see strategic desire of 146–149; perfect being
religious participation (SRP)

theology and 42–43; Reign of 67,
Dupuis, J. 222
69, 71; subordinate god models
Dzogchen 61
and 119–120, 126; symbolic
interpretations of 125–126; as
Earth crisis 196

ultimate reality 94, 119, 120
Eastern Learning 238–239

God Is Not One 17
Eastern Orthodoxy 75–76

God the Creator 8
Eckhart, M. 100
Goethe, J. W. v. 81
embodiment of spirituality 91
Gospel of John 14, 16
Empedocles 148–149
Great Mystery 50, 77–80, 81
enlightenment 71
Griffin, D. R. 178
Essence of the Three Auspicious Griffiths, B. 59
Mysteries 208–209
Gross, T. 74
Evagrius 54–55
ground-of-being models 120, 126
ex nihilo constraint 125

Guru Yoga 66
faith: mysticism and 100–101; seeking

Habito, M. R. 59
understanding 15–16, 192, 207;

Habits of the Heart 25, 26
ultimate reality and 94

Haight, R. 66
Fall, the 133

Hanh, T. N. 69–70, 92, 191
Fallon, P. 217
heart knowledge 75
Federation of Asian Bishops’

Hedges, P. 151
Conference 110
Hegel, G. W. F. 163, 202
Feldmeier, P. 107
Heidegger, M. 159
Ferrer, J. N. 79, 81
Heim, S. M. 177–178, 201
fides quaerens intellectum 117

Hellenization of Judaism 41
Final Integration of the Adult

hermeneutical privilege of the poor 69
Personality 81
hermeneutics 156–157
finite god 103–104

Heschel, A. 92
Finke, R. 31
hesychastic practice 76
first-order knowledge 15, 17

Hick, J. 17, 19, 20, 112–113, 128,
Four Noble Truths 58, 68, 88

133–134; on religious diversity
246 Index
in affiliation and belief 178, 180,
Järnefelt, E. 131
182, 184
Jesus and Buddha: Friends in
higher sense of belief 22

Conversation 66
high gods 130

Jesus Christ 6; commandment to love
Hill, W. 219–220
70; on friendship 16; functional
Hindu-Christian figures 59–60

analogies between Buddhism and
Hinduism 9, 17, 44, 120, 209;

66–69; Hindu avatar and Christian
Christian incarnation and avatar incarnation of 231–233; “Jesus
in 231–233; concept of the avatar prayer” and 76; parable of two men
in 228–231; interactions with who went to the temple to pray
Catholicism 216–218; the universal 111; on proper place of worship 14;
and the concrete in 227–228 Ramakrishna Order understanding of
Hitchens, C. 23
89–90; on Reign of God 67, 69; on
Hodge, M. K. 132
worship 23
homeomorphic equivalent 88–89

“Jesus prayer” 76
human love and desire 56–58

Johanns, P. 217
human nature, spiritual but not

Judaism 39–41, 44
religious (SBNRs) on 193–194
Hustwit, J. R. 151
karuna 71
Huxley, A. 100
Kato, J.-K. 114
Katz, S. 115–116
Iannaccone, L. 31
Keating, T. 50, 75, 85–86
imparative theology 218

Kelemen, D. 131
imperfect religions 18–19

Keller, C. 238
inclusivist theology 112–115, 117

Kierkegaard, S. 44, 102–103
incommensurability 88–89
King, M. L., Jr. 92
individualism of spiritual but not

King, S. 59
religious (SBNRs) 194

Knitter, P. 49–50, 59, 112–113
infatuation 140–141
knowledge: first-order 15, 17, 58–59,
in-group identities 142

88; heart 75; intellectual 73; of
inner promptings 75
the real 58; religious book 73–75;
Institute for American Religious and

second-order 88; transmitted 73
Philosophical Thought 11
Komjathy, L. 91–92
intellectual knowledge 73
Kyung, Chung Hyun 235
interreligious dialogue 27–28, 66,
161–163; transgressions and La ill Allah illalahu 76
interventions in the religious fields Lakatos, I. 3
and 169–170 language influence on religious

interreligious wisdom 58–63 experience 156–158
interspiritual approach to Theology Lee, Hyo-Dong 202–203
Without Walls (TWW) 86–88 Le Point Vierge 77
interspirituality as religious path Le Saux, H. 184, 217–218

94–96
Lessing, G. 28
Introduction to the Devout Life 209

liberation theology 68–69
intuitive dualism 132
Light of the East, The 217
Islamic philosophy 18, 44, 73

Lindbeck, G. 116, 117
lived theology 44
James, W. 50–51, 104–105; Living Buddha, Living Christ 70
contributions to religious philosophy logos of theos 1, 87
98–99; on finite god 103–104; on love and desire: bonding 141; divine
moral strenuousness 101–103; The 146–149; human 56–58, 139–146;
Varieties of Religious Experience infatuation 140–141; introduction
100–101, 103, 105

to 138–139; moral expectations in
Janik, A. 175
145–146; sexual attraction 140
Index 247
Maimonides 117, 215
Ockham’s razor 182
Makransky, J. 66–67 Oesterreicher, J. 222
Manual for Catechists 216

“On a Certain Blindness in Human
Martin, J. L. 7, 107, 113, 172, 205,

Beings” 101
223–224, 227
One and the Many, problem of the 123
Massignon, L. 218
open-field theology (OFT) 35–38;
maternal love 139–140 revelation, legal and scientific walls,
McEntee, R. 50
and 38–43; theological trajectories
meditation 55
and 43–46
Mercadante, L. 152
origins of religious beliefs and their
Merleau-Ponty, M. 132
justification 128–129
Merton, T. 77, 80–82, 92, 218
Overbeck, F. 44
meta-narrative 116
Oxenberg, R. 6
Metaphysical Society of America 11

oxytocin 141
Meurin, L. 216
Mevlevi lineage of Sufis 76

Palamas, G. 76
mindfulness 68–69 Panikkar, R. 50, 59, 62, 88–89,
Miscellaneous Writings from the Deer

206, 218
Hut 240
partialism 152, 184
Monchanin, J. 217–218 Participation in the Mystery,
monism 193
Transpersonal Essays in Psychology,
monotheism 9, 38
Education and Religion 79
moral dualisms 123

participatory enaction 79
moralistic therapeutic deism 30

Perennial Philosophy, The 100
moral strenuousness 101–103 perfect being theology 42–43

Moyaert, M. 113, 116, 170
Phelps, M. 58, 60
multiple religious belonging (MRB) Philokalia 76
168–170 Philosophical Theology 5
multiple religious participation see Plantinga, A. 129, 133
strategic religious participation (SRP) Plato 38, 41, 117
Murray, J. C. 40
pluralism 26, 112–113, 116, 117,
My Path to a Confucian-Daoist-
133–134; complementary 179;
Donghak-Christian Theology of
experiential 177
Qi 240
“Pluralistic Mystic, A” 98–99
Mystic Heart, The 86–87 political conflict 142
mysticism 100–101 polytheism 9
practicality 123–124
natural world and spiritual but not prajna 71
religious (SBNRs) 195–196 preferential option for the oppressed 68
nature as neutral 148

primacy of compassion over justice
Nature of Doctrine, The 116
69–71
Neo-Confucianism 237–238 primacy of contemplation over
Neoplatonism 100, 117

action 69
Neville, R. C. 5, 206; on comparative problem of evil 123
theology 9–10; on his knowledge of problem of the One and the Many
religion 7–8; professional colleagues 123
of 11; on programs of teaching programs of teaching 10–11

10–11; publications of 12; on Prothero, S. 17
systematic thinking 8–9 pure religion 117
Newton, I. 17
Purzycki, B. G. 130
Nicholas of Cusa 62
Nikhilananda 229
Qi, concept of 234–240
Norenzayan, A. 130
Quakers 74, 75, 76
Nostra Aetate 221–222 Qur’an 76, 215
248 Index
Race, A. 29
Shamanism 77–78
Rahner, K. 222, 236
shared religious landscape (SRL)
Ramakrishna tradition, Hinduism see strategic religious participation
89–91, 128, 133–135, 227–228; see (SRP)
also Hinduism Shaykh, Q. S. 75
Ratzinger, J. 114–115 Sheila (Bellah’s cultural type) 5–6,

reality-centeredness 178–179 25–26; interreligious dialogue and
regulation of biobehavioral forces 27–28
142–143 Sheilaism 25
Reign of God 67, 69, 71

Sheldrake, P. 198
relativism 31
Shook, J. R. 132
revelatory experience 16–17 Smith, C. 5, 30, 31
religious, the 55–57 Smith, H. 2, 50, 74, 75, 102–103
religious, the 55–57 Smith, J. Z. 31
religious authority and Socratic faith Smith, W. C. 112–113

20–22 smorgasbord approach to religion 50
religious book knowledge 73–75 Snowmass InterSpiritual Dialogue

religious diversity 129; addressing
Fellowship (SISD) 50, 85–86;
affiliation and belief 180–184, 181,
Ramakrishna Order Swami and
184; landscape of views of 176–180,
89–91
177, 178
social capital 189
religious experience: language and

social karma 68
cultural influence on 156–158;

social mindfulness 68–69
in spiritual but not religious
social sin 68
(SBNRs) 195
Socrates 22
revelation 38–43 Socratic faith 6, 20–22

Review of Metaphysics, The 11
Soelle, D. 92
Richardson, K. 6, 28–29, 32
Some Problems of Philosophy 98
Ricoeur, P. 159
soul, the 88–89
Rieff, P. 25
Spinoza, B. 152, 183
Rieke, R. 175
spirit and truth 14, 18, 23
Roman Catholic Church 18, 27;

spiritual but not religious (SBNRs)
doctrine of religious liberty in 40–41

93, 152, 189; on the afterlife 194;
Roof, W. C. 25
common concepts with 192–194;
Rottman, J. 131
on community 194; difficulties of
Royce, J. 105
theology for 189–191; focus on
Ruhmkorff, S. 173, 176–177, 179

authentic self 193, 196; on human
Rumi 81
nature 193–194; issues needing work
with 196–197; natural world and
salvation 49, 67; religious diversity on

195–196; new grounds for dialogue
178, 178–179
with 197–198; spiritual experience
Schmidt-Leukel, P. 176–177 for 195; theological footholds for
Schuon, F. 102–103 195–196; on transcendence and
Scruton, R. 183, 184

immanence 193; using the word
Search for Common Ground, The 85

“theology” with 191–192
second-order knowledge 88
spiritual cross-training 61
self, authentic 193, 196

spiritual exercise: Buddhist 76–77;
Sellars, W. 12
Christian 75–76; downward spiral in
Seondo 234–235 78–79; importance of 75–78; lessons
serotonin 140
from Thomas Merton and Sufism on
Seston, R. 131
80–82; religious book knowledge
sexual attraction 140
and 73–75; scaffolding falls away in
sexual identity 143
79–80; Shamanism 77–78; Sufism
Index 249
76, 80–82; as transformational Dialogues embodying 50, 85–86;
journey 89 for the spiritual but not religious
Stark, R. 31 189–198; suspicions about 18–19;
St. Ignatius 67 theological ends and means in
Story of My Experiments with Truth, 54–55; as theological milieu for the
The 4 “spiritual but not religious” 93; three
St. Paul 62, 67 challenges to affiliating and doing
strategic religious participation (SRP): 173–185; as transreligious theology
crossing boundaries and multiple 1, 3, 18
belonging in 168–169; introduction Thomism 12
to 165–166; as precondition for Thurman, H. 85, 92
interreligious wisdom 58–63; in Tillich, P. 15, 18, 125–126
shared religious landscape in the Toulmin, S. 175
East 167–168; transgressions and Tracy, D. 110–111
interventions in the religious fields transcendence and immanence 193
169–170; world religions paradigm Transcendent Absolute 113, 115
(WRP) in the West and 166–167 transmitted knowledge 73
subordinate god models 119–120, 126 transreligious theology 1, 3, 18,
Sufism 73, 76, 80–82 151–152; anthropomorphism
symbolic interpretations 125–126 in 121–122; daunting choices in
systematic thinking 8–9 119; dialogue for understanding in
153–163; key terms, definitions, and
tanha 68 operative assumptions in 55–58; on
Taoism 77–78 love and desire, human and divine
Taylor, C. 105, 193 138–149; models in 94, 119–127;
Teasdale, W. 50, 87 symbolic interpretations in 125–126;
Teehan, J. 132 theological ends and means in
teleological thinking 131–132 54–55; see also strategic religious
Tempāvani 216 participation (SRP)
Tersar Ngondro 76 Treatise on the Love of God 209
Thatamanil, J. 15, 49, 88, 91 Triads, The 76
Thébaud, A. 216 truth 62, 161–163
theological ends and means 54–55
theology within walls 15–16 ultimate reality 94, 119, 120, 122–123;
Theology Without Walls (TWW) affiliation and belief and 182–184;
1–4; affiliation and belief in partialism and 152, 184; Qi as 239;
thinking in 172–173; expanded religious diversity and 177–180
confessional theologies for Ultimates: Philosophical Theology
201–203, 205–210; importance of Volume One 5, 8
contemplative traditions for 91–93;
as inclusive theology 112–115, Vajrayana Buddhism 76
117; interspiritual approach to Varieties of Religious Experience, The
86–88; moral strenuousness 100–101, 103, 105
and 101–103; multiple religious Vatican II 220–223
participation as precondition for Vedanta tradition See Ramakrishna
interreligious wisdom in 58–63; tradition, Hinduism
open-field theology (OFT) and Vivekananda, Swami 228–229, 231
35–46; paideias and programs for
7–12; philosophy of William James Wallace, W. 217
in 100–105; practice of 19–20; Ward, K. 206
as quest for interreligious wisdom Watson-Jones, R. 132
53–63; reasons for 5–6; relevatory Weidenbaum, J. 50–51
experience in 16–17; Snowmass Weiss, P. 11
250 Index
Whitehead, A. N. 228, 238
Wu-wei 112
Wildman, W. 11, 107, 108

Wu-zhi 112
Without Buddha I Couldn’t Be a

Christian 49
Xavier, F. 216
word as bond 156–158

xenophobia 142
world religions paradigm (WRP)
166–167; crossing boundaries and Zen Buddhism 58, 61, 75, 77
multiple belonging in 168–169 Zhu Xi 238
Wu-forms 111–112 Zoroastrianism 120, 122–123
Reformed theology today:

Practical-theological,
missiological and ethical
perspectives
Reformed theology today:
Practical-theological,
missiological and ethical
perspectives
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NICO VORSTER
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This book is unique and of great importance for theologians from diverse traditions but who all share the
relevance of the academic Reformed discourse. The book focuses on, and forms part of celebrating 500 years
since the start of the Reformation during the 16th century. Its purpose is to commemorate the quincentenary
anniversary of the Reformation in Europe and to indicate the way in which the rich legacy of this important
period in the history of the church and society still globally influences the theological landscape in the fields of
Practical Theology, Missiology and Ethics. Specific attention is given to the manner in which the core principles
of the Reformation can be utilised for these disciplines and applied in a contemporary context. The Reformation
changed the ecclesiastical landscape of the day and still provides the benchmark for theological principles and
praxis in many Protestant denominations. This book illustrates and underscores the practical-theological legacy
and importance of the Reformation for church and society. The collected works by various theologians reflect
on the impact of Reformed Theology on their respective fields of expertise. The original research is based on
literature studies and has not been published previously in any form. Its aim is to stimulate discourse in
Theology and related disciplines. Although the chapters represent different perspectives, the collective aim is to
propose the vast impact of the Reformational views as they relate to the current context. The target audience is
Reformed theologians. This book focuses on ways in which the legacy of the Reformation addresses practical
and relevant issues for 21st-century believers, scholars and churches. It explores inter alia important homiletical
and liturgical aspects of the Reformation and contemplates the importance of continual reformation in this
regard. Furthermore, it discusses a Reformed approach to apologetics, evaluates the driving forces behind the
Reformation of the 16th century and its relevance to missions today as well as examines the sola Scriptura
principle of the Reformation and provides a critical perspective on Prosperity Theology. Several pastoral
themes take centre stage before various aspects of xenophobia and civil prejudice are being investigated – both
being very relevant topics throughout the world today. The book also focuses on hermeneutics and ethics in a
quest for a biblical ethical approach as well as congregational hymns in the Reformed churches of South Africa
today. The research outcomes are relevant not only for the South African context, but also globally.
Dr Sarel P. van der Walt & Prof. Nico Vorster
of the South African Society
Faculty of Theology
North-West University
South Africa
Contents
Abbreviations appearing in the Text and Notes xvii

List of Figures xviii
Notes on Contributors xix
Forewordxxv
Chapter 1 S peaking about God: Luther as guide in the

field of homiletics 1
Introduction 1
The high Word in the depth 2
Hermeneutic principle 3
God’s hiding and revealing of himself 7
Expositio and applicatio 8
Deus dixit 9
Two poles 10
The creative power of the Word 11
Origin 12
Characteristics 13
Visuality 14
Conclusion 15
Summary: Chapter 1 16
Chapter 2 E
valuation of the concept of continuous reformation
(semper reformanda) in liturgy focussed on the
Reformation of the 16th century and the emergent
church movement 18
Introduction 19
ix
Contents
Theoretical foundation of the interaction between

theory and praxis in liturgy 20
Evaluation of the interaction of theory and praxis in
the liturgy of the 16th-century Reformation 21
The 16th-century Reformation as reformation
of the existing praxis 22
The unity of Word and sacrament 22
God as initiator enables the acts in liturgy 24
Participation of the congregation 25
The principle of freedom in liturgy 26
Interaction of principles with culture 26
Semper reformanda 28
Evaluation of the 21st-century emergent movement 29
A different view on culture as manifested in a
new way of thinking 29
The emergent church movement and the
influence of postmodern thinking 30
Evaluative perspectives from Acts 13:13–43 and
Acts 19:23–41 33
The influence of preaching on an accompanying
liturgy in Jewish culture (Ac 13:13–43) 34
Adaption to a Greek culture (Ac 19:23–41) 35
Evaluation 36
Evaluation of theoretical foundation of
the interrelationship between theory and praxis 36
Evaluation of the interrelationship between
theory and praxis in the 16th-century Reformation 36
Evaluation of the interrelationship of theory
and praxis in the emergent movement of the
21st century 37
x
Contents
A normative theoretical foundation from

two passages in Acts on the interrelationship
between theory and praxis 38
Perspectives on continuous liturgical reform 38
Conclusion 39
Chapter 3 C
onvinced by Scripture and plain reason:
Reasonable reformational apologetics 41
By Scripture and plain reason 41
Reason and Christian apologetics before the
Reformation 43
The New Testament 43
Augustine 44
Aquinas 44
Reason and Protestant apologetics in the time of
the Reformation 44
Luther 45
Calvin 46
Reason and contemporary reformational apologetics 47
From the 17th to the 19th century 47
Recent reformational apologetics 48
Suppressed knowledge of God 48
Aim at heart and mind 49
Philosophical reasoning in reformational apologetics 51
Scripture-based reasoning 51
The application of reasonable apologetics 53
Scientific atheism 54
Polytheism 55
Jehovah’s Witnesses 56
xi
Contents
Reasonable reformational apologetics 58

Chapter 4 W
as the church made only for mission?
Revisiting missio Dei and missio ecclesia from
the perspective of Paul’s letter to the Ephesians 60
Problem statement 60
Kingdom in Ephesians 63
Church in Ephesians 66
The church as an alternative community 66
The church, display window of God’s grace 69
Christ’s unique relationship with the church 70
Church, kingdom and knowledge 73
Conclusion 74
Chapter 5 M
issiology and Reformation in a
post-Christian Western world 76
Introduction 76
Dawn of the post-Christian world – Christendom
declared dead 77
Pre-Christendom 77
From pre-Christendom to Christendom 78
The phase of the new post-Christendom 80
The Reformation in historical perspective 81
Reforming the reformation 83
The reforming road ahead 84
Conclusion 85
xii
Contents
Chapter 6 P
aying unpaid debts. Reformational antidotes
for some of the challenges posed by prosperity
gospel theology 87
Introduction 87
Background and summary of prosperity gospel theology 90
Extent 90
Historical origins 91
Gnostic-metaphysical origins 91
Gnostic world view background 92
Gnostic world views blended with Charismatic
Pentecostalism 93
Experience the gateway to truth 94
Divine nature of the human soul 94
Visualisation and positive confession 96
New revelations 97
How do these ‘new revelations’ surface in PT? 98
Attitude to Scripture and valid hermeneutics 99
Proposal for some reformational antidotes from the
theology of Martin Luther 100
The sovereignty and providence of God 100
Effects of the doctrine of the sovereignty of God
in our lives 102
The importance of Luther’s theology of the Cross 103
Main trends in Luther’s hermeneutics 104
Conclusion 105
Chapter 7 T
owards a pastoral care for Africa: Some
practical theological considerations for a
contextual approach 107
Introduction 107
xiii
Contents
Rationale, research question, aim and objectives 108

Whence pastoral care and whither Africa? 109
Different voices in the quest for a contextual approach 112
Indigenisation 112
Africanisation 113
An intercultural approach 113
Postcolonisation 114
A contextual transformative approach 115
A contextual approach (contextualisation) 115
A critical assessment of a recent attempt at authentic
pastoral care for Africa 116
Pastoral theology in African contexts 116
Three possible epistemologies for a contextual
approach: Diaconiology, practical theology and
a postfoundational notion of practical theology 118
Diaconiology 118
Practical theology 119
Postfoundational practical theology 119
Synthesis 120
Chapter 8 X
enophobia and social prejudice through
the lens of Calvin: From ‘iron philosophy’ to homo
sympatheticus in a practical theology of home
within the global dilemma of displaced refugees 123
Introduction 124
Xenophobia: The threat of the ‘cultural other’ and
‘intruding stranger’ 126
The refugee dilemma within the global migrant crisis:
Between integration (welcoming) and separation
(resistance) 127
xiv
Contents
The migrant crisis and the quest for human dignity 129
The plea for solidarity: A theological dilemma and
pastoral challenge within the context of Geneva 130
The practical theological challenge: From
the impassibility of ‘iron philosophy’
(Stoic extirpation of passion: Homo apatheticus) to
the praxis of theopaschitic theology: Homo
sympatheticus 133
Towards a practical theology and ecclesiology of home
(xenodochia): From ‘Syria’ back to ‘Geneva’ 135
Conclusion 137
Chapter 9 H
ermeneutics and ethics. The quest for
a ‘biblical ethic’ 139
Introduction 139
The ‘book of nature’ 142
The ‘written Word’ 144
The history of revelation 148
Higher principles 151
Descriptive and prescriptive material 152
Deontological and virtue ethics 153
Conclusion 154
Chapter 10 F
rom psalter to hymnal. Recent developments
in the Reformed Churches in South Africa in
the light of the principles and practices of
the Reformation 155
Introduction 155
xv
Contents
Zwingli 156
Luther (1483–1546) 159
Calvin 162
A comparison of the views of Zwingli,
Luther and Calvin 164
Recent developments in the Reformed
Churches in South Africa 165
Conclusion 169
References 171
Index 196
xvi
Abbreviations appearing
in the Text and Notes
ASV American Standard Version

EM Emergent Movement
ESV English Standard Version
GKSA Gereformeerde Kerke in Suid-Afrika
KJV King James Version
NAR New Apostolic Reformation
NIV New International Version
PT Prosperity Gospel Theology
PThU Protestant Theological University
RCSA Reformed Churches in South Africa
WA Weimarer Ausgabe
xvii
List of Figures
Figure 1: Beilby’s reason-faith-continuum. 42
xviii
J. (Hans) Kommers
J. (Hans) Kommers is living in the Netherlands and is a retired minister of the Protestant
Church in the Netherlands. As well as serving in preaching and teaching at home and
abroad, he continues to serve as extraordinary professor at the Faculty of Theology of the
North-West University (NWU) at Potchefstroom (South Africa). As missionary, sent by
the Gereformeerde Zendingsbond (GZB), he lived for many years in Africa where he
initiated the Theological Training by Extension (TEE) work in the Reformed Church
of East Africa (RCEA, Kenya) and in the Igreja Reformada Em Mozambique (IREM,
Moçambique). Together with some evangelists he published an explanation of the
Apostolic Confession in Swahili in Kenya, and in Mozambique he translated with a team
the Anne de Vries’ Children’s Bible into Chichewa. He obtained his Bachelor’s at the
Teachers Training College Felua in Ede (nowadays Christian University of Applied
Sciences [CHE]) and his Master’s in Theology at the Utrecht University. He completed
his PhD thesis at the NWU: Ontwaakt, Gij die slaapt! – a study about revival and revival
sermons in the 19th century. Together with his wife, a study about the call, joy and
commitment in mission work, Zending zonder franje, was written in 2007. Regularly
articles about mission work and practical theology appear in In die Skriflig, the official
journal of the Theological Faculty of the NWU. A comprehensive study about the Irish
missionary Amy Carmichael and her missiology will be published by AOSIS in 2017.
Email: j.kommers777@gmail.com
Ben J. de Klerk
Ben J. de Klerk served as pastor in the Reformed Churches of Gobabis, Cachet,
Randburg East and Potchefstroom North. From 1998 he was professor of Practical
Theology at the North-West University (NWU) and the Theological School
Potchefstroom. At present he is a post-65 researcher at the NWU in the Faculty of
Theology, in the Unit for Reformational Theology and the Development of the South
African Society. He holds two ThD degrees: in New Testament (1983) and in Practical
Theology (1987). He is the author of several scholarly articles in Liturgy, Homiletics
and the New Testament, as well as books on sermons, a book on the liturgical
involvement in society and a short commentary on the Letter to the Ephesians. He
specialises in research on liturgical issues, with the focus on the transforming power of
liturgy, transcultural influences of liturgy, the liturgy of the family, working place and
xix
society. The latest research focuses on the influence of liturgy on problems like poverty,
violence, HIV and AIDS and starvation. In Homiletics the subjects of research are
preaching creating perspective, preaching in a time of crisis and preaching addressing
matters in society. He is a member of two international societies: Societas Liturgica and
Societas Homiletica. Email: ben.deklerk@nwu.ac.za
Ferdi P. Kruger
Ferdi P. Kruger is professor of Practical Theology (Homiletics and Liturgics) at the
Faculty of Theology of the North-West University. He served as pastor in the
Reformed Churches of Witbank South-East, Meyerton, Thabazimbi, Alberton-West
and Meyerspark. He was ordained as theological professor in 2014. He is also the
author of several scholarly articles and is focusing on the forming and functioning of
attitudes within the research fields of Homiletics and Liturgics. The importance
of cognition as a means of making sense of what is happening is his specific field of
interest. Email: ferdi.kruger@nwu.ac.za
H.G. (Henk) Stoker

Rev. Dr H.G. (Henk) Stoker is professor in Apologetics and Ethics at the Faculty of
Theology of the North-West University in Potchefstroom. He is also part of the
Theological School Potchefstroom of the Reformed Churches of South Africa. He holds
the following degrees: ThD in Christian Apologetics; MA in Reformational Philosophy;
and a BA Hons in Psychology. His research interests and ongoing scholarly projects are
the following: Fundamentals of Christian Apologetics and Ethics; Faith and Science;
Cults and New Religions. Email: henk.stoker@nwu.ac.za
Gert Breed
Gert Breed is associate professor at the North-West University in South Africa. He
received his ThB, ThM and ThD degrees from the Potchefstroom University for
Christian Higher Education. He is Director of the School for Minister’s Training at the
North-West University and Rector of the Theological School of the Reformed Churches
in South Africa. The current focus of his research is congregational ministry from the
perspective of the diakon word group in the New Testament. Breed published various
articles on the diakon word group and other subjects related to congregational ministry.
He is editor of two books on the ministry to the children of Africa and completed a book
on the diakon word group and congregational ministry. His ongoing project involves
ministry in townships. Email: gert.breed@nwu.ac.za
xx
Ignatius Wilhelm (Naas) Ferreira

Ignatius Wilhelm (Naas) Ferreira is a senior lecturer at the Faculty of Theology of the
North-West University in Potchefstroom. His teaching and research focus is on
Missiology, particularly Urban Mission and Ministry. He obtained a BA and a ThM
degree at the former Potchefstroom University for Christian Higher Education and a
DMin (Urban Mission) at the Westminster Theological Seminary (Philadelphia, United
States of America [USA]). He was a church pastor in different congregations of the
Reformed Churches in South Africa since 1988 before he came to the North-West
University in April 2014. Email: naas.ferreira@nwu.ac.za
P.J. (Flip) Buys

Prof. Dr P.J. (Flip) Buys, is Research professor at the North-West University and
International Director, World Reformed Fellowship. He is doing research in the field of
Global Missions, Ecumenical Relations and Theological Education. He has earned a MTh
in Missiology (1984) and a ThD (1989) in New Testament. Professor Buys supervised
seven Masters and six Doctoral students toward the successful completion of their studies.
He published 50 popular and 13 academic articles, while he also read papers at 20 national
and 22 international conferences. He published textbooks for beginners in Homiletics,
Pastoral Theology, Family Counselling, Evangelism, Church Planting and Spirituality
and Character Formation. He was a founder and served as Principal of Mukhanyo
Theological College (MTC) where he also taught for 18 years. He was also the
co-founder and chairman on the Board of Mukhanyo Community Development Center
(MCDC) focusing on caring for HIV and AIDS orphans and vulnerable children,
terminally ill patients, and skills development of unemployed poor people. He was also a
co-founder and served on the International Steering Committee of TOPIC (Training of
Pastors International Coalition). Currently he also serves as advisor on the international
Board of the International Council for Evangelical Theological Education (ICETE).
Email: buys.flip@gmail.com
Alfred Brunsdon
Alfred Brunsdon is associate professor in Practical Theology at the Mafikeng Campus of the
North-West University. He holds a PhD in Practical Theology (2007). After serving in
the Dutch Reformed Church as minister since 1992, he became a postdoctoral fellow at the
North-West University Potchefstroom campus in 2008. During this period he furthered his
research in the Narrative approach to pastoral care from a Reformed perspective. In 2010 he
was appointed as extraordinary senior lecturer on the Mafikeng campus. Since 2012 he
occupies a full-time academic position. His current areas of interest include the Narrative
xxi
approach and the contextualisation of Practical Theology and pastoral care within the African
context. His responsibilities include teaching and learning as well as supervision of post-
graduate students in a multicultured, but mainly African context. He has published in accredited
journals since 2003, is member of a number of local and international academic associations
and has presented a number of academic papers at local and international conferences.
Professor Brunsdon is currently the subject chair and sub-program leader of Practical Theology
in the Faculty of Theology of the North-West University and serves on the editorial board of
the British academic journal, Practical Theology. Email: alfred.brunsdon@nwu.ac.za
Daniël J. Louw
Daniël J. Louw is a professor emeritus at the Faculty of Theology, University of
Stellenbosch and extraordinary professor at the North-West University at the Department
of Practical theology. His researched interests are practical theology, pastoral care and
counselling, healing of life; marriage and family enrichment, clinical pastoral care in a
hospital environment. He holds the following degrees: BA (Adm) cum laude, Stellenbosch
(1965); BA (Hons Philosophy) cum laude, Stellenbosch (1967); BTh cum laude,
Stellenbosch (1968); MA (Philosophy) cum laude, Stellenbosch (1968); Licentiate
Theology cum laude, Stellenbosch (1969); DPhil, Stellenbosch (1972); Study at the
University of Tübingen, West Germany: Future between hope and anxiety. The function
of the ontology of the not yet in the philosophy of E. Bloch and the theology of J. Moltmann
(1970–1971); DTh, Stellenbosch: ‘Hope in suffering. Pastoral care in an eschatological
perspective’ (1983). Prof. Louw is involved in recent ongoing scholarly projects: Migrant
crisis within the framework of an ecclesiology of homecoming; practical theology as life
care, healing of life and spiritual lifestyles: fides quaerens vivendi. In October 2000 he
received the Totius Award for Biblical Languages and Theology from the South African
Academy for Science and Arts. Email: djl@sun.ac.za
J.M. (Koos) Vorster

J.M. (Koos) Vorster is a post-retirement research professor in Theological Ethics at the
Potchefstroom Campus of the North-West University in South Africa. He obtained a
DPhil (Cultural Philosophy) and a ThD (Theological Ethics) at the Potchefstroom
University of Christian Higher Education following research at the Free University of
Amsterdam and the Ecumenical Centre in Geneva. His main field of research is Social
Ethics with special attention to human dignity and human rights. He acted for 14 years as
the advisor to the International Association of Religious Freedom at the sessions of the
Human Rights Commission of the United Nations in Geneva. He is recognised as a rated
established researcher by the National Research Foundation of South Africa and was
xxii
awarded the Totius award for his writings by the South African Academy of Science and
Art in 2016. Email: koos.vorster@nwu.ac.za
J.H. (Jacoba) van Rooy

Dr J.H. (Jacoba) van Rooy is an extraordinary senior lecturer in the Research Unit for
Reformed Theology at the Potchefstroom Campus of the North-West University. She
holds a Bachelor’s degree in Music, a Master’s degree in Education (Psychology of
Education) and a PhD in Liturgy, with a thesis on the new Afrikaans Psalter as
communication instrument in worship services (NWU 2008). She taught music at a
music centre in Potchefstroom until her retirement in 2009. She has published seven
scholarly articles related to her research on church music, especially in the Reformed
Churches in South Africa. Research for this chapter was done during visits to the
Humboldt University in Berlin and the Radboudt University in Nijmegen, the Netherlands
in 2015 and 2016. Email: herrie.vanrooy@nwu.ac.za
xxiii
Foreword
It is an undeniable privilege to be able to commemorate 500 years since the start of the
Reformation during the 16th century. This book is a celebration of the privilege and
wants to emphasise the way in which the rich legacy of this important period in the history
of the church still influences the theological landscape in the fields of Practical Theology,
Missiology and Ethics. Specific attention is given to the manner in which the core
principles of the Reformation can be utilised within these disciplines and applied within a
contemporary context. This book provides a specific application of the legacy of the
Reformation in that it focuses on ways in which the legacy of the Reformation addresses
practical and relevant issues for 21st-century believers, scholars and churches. Hence,
Chapters 1 and 2 explore important homiletic and liturgic aspects of the Reformation,
contemplating the importance of continual reformation in this regard. Chapter 3 focuses
on the power of the Word in reformed Apologetics. Chapters 4 and 5 have to do with with
the important question of the driving forces behind the Reformation in the 16th century
and its relevance to missions today. Chapter 6 provides the reader with a very practical and
well-founded look into the dangers of laying one’s trust not in sola scriptura when exploring
the world of the prosperity gospel theology. Chapter 7 focuses on pastoral aspects, Chapter
8 explores various aspects of xenophobia and civil prejudice, both being very relevant
topics throughout the world today. In Chapter 9 the focus is on hermeneutics and ethics
in a quest for a biblical-ethical approach while the book concludes with recent developments
in congregational singing in the Reformed churches of South Africa today.
In Chapter 1, Hans Kommers sets out to bring home to us Luther’s ‘speaking about
God’ under the title ‘Speaking about God: Luther as guide in the field of homiletics’. In
this chapter, it is pointed out that Luther’s Reformation brought a new spirit into
preaching. It was as if God at last broke his long silence. Is there now, in the year 2017, a
willingness to listen to Luther? Important is that Luther’s sermons cannot be categorised
as learned orations, like many sermons in the Lutheran orthodoxy in the 17th century
with all the classic rhetorical details, but the sermon as Luther received it from the
Holy Spirit. The relevance for today is that this appears to be a relevant guide for the
praxis of preaching and effective communication of the gospel.
In Chapter 2, ‘Evaluation of the concept of continuous Reformation (semper reformanda)
in liturgy during and after the Reformation of the 16th century’, Ferdi Kruger and Ben de
How to cite: Van der Walt, S.P., 2017, ‘Foreword’, in S.P. van der Walt & N. Vorster (eds.), pp. xxv–xxviii, Reformed theology today:
Practical-theological, missiological and ethical perspectives, AOSIS, Cape Town. https://doi.org/10.4102/aosis.2017.rtt47.00
xxv
Foreword
Klerk investigate and evaluate liturgy as a driving force for the Reformation of the 16th
century. Reformation is also necessary with regard to reformed liturgy and liturgical acts
(including the homiletical part). The relevance of this research is to position the church
within movements deviating from the customary tradition. The authors analysed the
tension between theory and praxis from a practical theological vantage point. It is evident in
this bipolar relationship between theory and praxis that reciprocity is an important principle.
The relationship between theory and praxis within the 16th century Reformation is also
investigated to shed light on the 21st century emergent movement with regard to liturgy.
The third chapter, ‘Convinced by Scripture and plain reason: Reasonable reformational
apologetics’, is an apologetic against the logical inconsistency of world views other than
that of Christianity, such as atheism, polytheism and cults. Henk Stoker indicates in this
chapter that during the Reformation of the 16th century, there was an increase in
apologetic material. The great reformers used reasoning in a consistent and logical way
to defend scriptural truth.
In Chapter 4, Gert Breed asks the question in the title: ‘Was the church made only for
mission?’ On the basis of an exegetical investigation of Ephesians, it is clear that the
church, with the different metaphors used for it, has the purpose to exist as such to the
glorification of God and his grace. The mission of the church includes her own edification
and growth with a view to be a display window for the grace of God to the world, including
bringing the good news of salvation to others. The purpose of missions is to lead people
to the radical new way of life that follows rebirth through the work of the Holy Spirit.
In Chapter 5, ‘Missiology and Reformation in a post-Christian Western world’, Naas
Ferreira indicates that in Reformed Theology, scholars in light of God’s Word, should
not only take into account the ‘what’ of events, but also ‘why’ they occur. When studying
the disconcerting fact of the Christendom’s demise, the understanding dawns that God in
missio Dei can pass his church by, then it is missiology that points out the only hope-filled
way (back) to God’s future.
In Chapter 6, ‘Paying unpaid debts: Reformational antidotes for some of the global
challenges posed by prosperity gospel theology’, Flip Buys states that prosperity gospel
theology has become one of the fastest growing religious movements on a global scale.
The chapter is an exposé of some aspects of prosperity theology and the challenges it
presents to the church in greater depth. The chapter concludes with proposing some
reformational antidotes to address the underlying questions that give rise to the growth
of the prosperity theology phenomenon.
Chapter 7, ‘Towards the pastoral care of Africa: Some practical theological
considerations for a contextual approach’, is located within the discourse on the
contextualisation of pastoral care and counselling within the African context from a
reformed perspective. Alfred Brunsdon indicates in this chapter that Western approaches
xxvi
Foreword
to pastoral care cannot uncritically be applied within African contexts and seeks the
practical theological questions preceding pastoral care aimed at Africa. It attempts to
clarify basic concepts such as pastoral care, the African context and some of the approaches
previously applied in the appropriation of pastoral theology in African contexts, like
indigenisation, Africanisation, contextualisation and such. It becomes clear that the quest
for a pastoral care for Africa can indeed benefit from further practical theological
investigation.
In Chapter 8, ‘Xenophobia and social prejudice through the lens of Calvin: From “iron
philosophy” to homo sympatheticus in a practical theology of home within the global
dilemma of displaced refugees’ Daniel Louw highlights the displacement crisis of refugees
all over the globe. This brought about a crisis of home and place. The chapter delves
into the tension between abstract thinking (dogmatism) and compassionate thinking
(passionate ‘being with’), highlighting the question regarding human dignity within local,
civil societal structures. It is argued that Calvin’s notion of passion and indiscriminating
neighbourly love, as well as his emphasis on civil diakonic actions within the Geneva
refugee dilemma, could help ecclesiological thinking to move from dogmatism (iron
thinking) to compassionate ‘being with’ (passion thinking). With reference to the refugee
crisis, a hospitable ecclesiology of xenodochia is proposed.
In Chapter 9, ‘Hermeneutics and ethics: The quest for a “biblical ethic”’, Koos Vorster
argues the case for a relevant biblical ethic against the background of ‘biblical ethic’ which
has become a highly contentious issue in current theological discourse as a result of the
vast array of modern theories of interpretation that have influenced the interpretation of
Scripture. This above-mentioned criticism of the concept is due to the hermeneutics of
suspicion. The chapter departs from the premise that the idea of ‘biblical ethic’ is still valid
and this ethic can provide valuable norms that can be applied effectively in the moral
development of modern society. In order to pursue this argument, the idea of God’s
revelation in the ‘book of nature’ and the ‘written Word’ is revisited. The chapter
concludes that the ongoing revelation of the reign of God and the many issues included
in this topic are the foundation of a relevant and applicable ‘biblical ethic’.
The book concludes with Chapter 10, ‘From psalter to hymnal. Recent developments
in the Reformed Churches in South Africa (RCSA) in the light of the principles and
practices of the Reformation’, in which Jacoba van Rooy evaluates the developments of
the official decisions of synods of the RCSA in the light of the views of the three reformers,
Zwingli, Luther and Calvin in this regard. In the last two decades, different synods of the
RCSA have made important decisions with regard to singing in the church. In 2012,
the Synod decided to allow not only psalms and Bible songs, but also hymns of which the
contents are in agreement with the Bible, being in line with the viewpoint of Luther.
However, in the versification of the psalms, the method of Luther in which interpretation
from the New Testament and personal experiences and circumstances influenced the
xxvii
Foreword
versification, has not been accepted. Different synods have accepted very specific
principles for the evaluation of versifications of passages from Scripture, including the
Psalms, as well as for other hymns not based on a specific passage from Scripture. The
application of these principles should prevent hymns that are not doctrinally sound from
being included in the hymn book of the RCSA.
Dr Sarel P. van der Walt

Faculty of Theology
South Africa
xxviii
Chapter 1
Speaking about God:

Luther as guide in the
field of homiletics
J. (Hans) Kommers
Extraordinary Professor
Faculty of Theology
South Africa
Introduction
The sermon as a medium for the effectiveness of salvation has fallen into discredit.
Already for several decades, churchgoers have not held a high opinion of preaching and
preachers. Preachers are now expected to be well educated and cultured if they want to
find listeners in the pews. Criticism of preaching affects the heart of Protestant worship.
This is intensified in our present culture in which the emotional aspect has come to stay
in the rhetoric field; the hearer wants to experience something and to be ‘mentioned’ in the
story himself.1 Bohren (1963:18) however, indicates what is lacking in our preaching is
that, in our sermons God is no longer heard.
1. Schneider-Flume 1995:98, ‘Also nicht mehr “Sola Scriptura”, sondern allenfalls, “Schrift und Erfahrung”.’
How to cite: Kommers, J., 2017, ‘Speaking about God: Luther as guide in the field of homiletics’, in S.P. van der Walt &
N. Vorster (eds.), pp. 1–17, Reformed theology today: Practical-theological, missiological and ethical perspectives, AOSIS,
Cape Town. https://doi.org/10.4102/aosis.2017.rtt47.01
1
Speaking about God: Luther as guide in the field of homiletics
Luther’s Reformation brought a new spirit into preaching. It was as if God at last broke
his long silence. Is there now, in the year 2017, a willingness to listen to Luther? The
preacher Luther sees the hearers in their daily existence for the living God, in a clarity we
have lost today. And is the issue of his concern – the hearers justified by God – still getting
through to people who have the antenna of their life pointing in a totally different direction?
Luther’s heritage, after 500 years, is still the subject of critical investigation in many
studies. We no longer find ourselves in the spring of the Reformation and so we can
profit from 500 years of Luther research. Our sermons are preached in organised churches
where awareness of the Reformation is being kept alive in one way or another. However,
what has become clear in our age is that preachers find it difficult to bring the gold of the
Reformation in real money to the hearer. Can Luther still be a guide for expounders of
the Bible, for pastoral and teaching ministry within the Christian church? Matthias’s 2015
oration at the Protestant Theological University (PThU) shows that preachers have to
formulate the Bible texts in a rhetoric way, to make their words subservient to the
hearers, so that the listeners will be attracted by the Word of God. The intention of this
study is to bring home to us Luther’s ‘speaking about God’. Luther’s sermons cannot be
categorised as learned orations, like many sermons in the Lutheran orthodoxy in the 17th
century, with all the classic rhetorical details, but the sermon as Luther received it from
the Holy Spirit. He who was schooled in scholasticism, listened anew to the text and he
knew of the freedom of the hearer. For today he appears to be a relevant guide for the
praxis of preaching and effective communication of the gospel.
The high Word in the depth

Luther spent all of his reformed existence as a preacher. In addition to three church
services on most Sundays, he preached once on almost every weekday, at least while he
was in Wittenberg. His sermons represent the body of his theology in which he presented
something which was new to churchgoers: the exegesis of Scripture. He never claimed
the title of ‘Reformer’ for himself, but nobody would take from him his conviction that he
had rediscovered the gospel. He considered himself as the ‘Evangelist’ and Asendorf
(1988) notices that he introduced a complete new preaching style:
Es ergibt sich so ein Netzwerk aus biblischen und dogmatischen Elementen, so das nicht nur
das Ganze der Schrift, sondern auch die Tradition der Kirche ständig präsent ist. Dieses ist das
Geheimnis des Predigers Luther, der damit alle herkömmlichen Maßstäbe hinter sich lässt und
so einen neuen theologischen Stil findet, mit dessen Hilfe das expliziert wird, was von Kreuz
und Auferstehung her den Sinn der Rechtfertigung ausmacht. (p. 418)
Luther had a high regard for the Word of God and therefore he took his preaching
ministry very serious (Aland 1960):
2
Chapter 1
Christus predigen ist eine schwere und sehr gefährliche Sache. Wenn ich das früher gewusst
hätte, so hätte ich niemals gepredigt, sondern mit Mose gesagt (2. Mose 4:13): ‘Sende, welchen
du senden willst’. (p. 144)
His great concern was, how to preach about the free grace to people of whom he knew due
to his spiritual care for them, that they were not ready to confess their sins but rather deny
or repress them and therefore block God’s absolution by their disobedience. While preaching,
Luther experienced for himself the presence of God. As preacher, he was in the presence of
God and therefore, preaching was only possible for him in fear and trembling. ‘Der Weg zur
Predigt, die Zeitsansage des Heute, ist und bleibt ein gefährlicher Weg’ (Möller 1999:506). However,
preaching was paramount in his busy life and in the words of Gert Otto, ‘[e]in gewaltiger
Prediger muss er auch gewesen sein, die Menschen mitreissend’ (Otto 1983:137).
The approximately 30 volumes of sermons in the Weimarer Ausgabe (WA) contain one
third of the total works of the reformer. Rolf (2008:300) and Aland (1965:7) estimate the
number of sermons in the WA, in German and in Latin, at about 2000. In 1523, he preached
137 sermons from a few Bible books and parts of the Catechism, besides his daily labours of
lecturing, writing, correspondence, Bible translating, et cetera (Bornkamm 1963:50).
Nevertheless, we rarely find in his sermons a formulated hermeneutic method even
though he brought about great changes through his homiletic works. In his exegesis of
Scripture he did not limit himself to a fixed scheme. What Luther had to say comes from
the Scriptures and was addressed to the common people. Contrary to the then widespread
medieval preaching tradition in which sermons were overrun with allegories and many
inessentials, he preached from the text as it lay before him (De Knijff 1980:39). Occasionally
he made use of allegory in his sermons, although he used it rather more in his academic
lectures. This reduction of allegory in his sermons and highlighting the one name, Jesus
Christ, who he made present in his sermons, was new in the way in which Luther
preached (cf. Ebeling [1942] 1962:270ff.). The homily became the basic form of his
sermons but Luther allowed himself the liberty to consider what he found important as
the scopus of the text – which was again and again the ‘Sinnmitte’. The homily teaches the
hearer to trace and to repeat the words of the text. In Luthers Psalmen Auslegung, we see a
short, enlightening retelling of the texts. In a paraphrasing way the text is made clear for
the congregation. The congregation is encouraged to read the Bible themselves. To
Luther, Christ is the scopus generalis of all the Scripture (Kooiman n.d.:153; Winkler
1983:70). This concentration on Christ imparts great power to his sermons.
Hermeneutic principle
Luther’s sermons originate from his radical confidence in the power of the divine Word
which appeals to the people’s hearts to lead them to Christ. Christ is found in and through
the Word, for ‘ausserhalb dieses Buches findet man Christus nicht’ (Aland 1983a:345).
3
Preaching is a communication of the Word of God but it is more than that: It seeks to
persuade men to faith, and that is the higher aim. The special characteristic of Luther is
that he takes the sermon as an assistance to belief (‘Glaubenshilfe’) (Winkler 1983:69).
Luther makes it clear to his hearers that the Word meets us human beings through and
in Christ. The clarity of all the Scriptures (claritas externa) is found in the events of the
Christ history, and is made claritas interna by the Holy Spirit. Luther’s intention is to
address the hearer’s own heart and to make it possible for the preached events of the
salvation history, to be applied to the hearer’s own life. It brings about the simultaneity of
man and Christ. Later on, it was especially Kierkegaard, who saw man’s simultaneity with
Christ as the proprium of faith in Christ (cf. Geismar 1929:315, 412). Aland (1961) states:
Denn was kann in der Schrift noch Erhabenes verborgen sein, […] jenes höchste Geheimnis
verkündigt worden ist, dass Christus, der Sohn Gottes, Mensch geworden ist, dass Gott
dreifältig und doch einer sei, dass Christus für uns gelitten hat und ewiglich regieren werde?
Nimm Christus fort aus der Schrift, was wirst Du weiter finden? (p. 161)
In the proclamation of the Word the events of the Christ history are presented to the ears
of the hearer. The hearer is involved in the history of Christ. He allows Christ to bestow
himself upon him and in this way, he rightly ‘makes use of’ the work of Christ. Faith is
here a confident ‘letting go’ of one’s fixation on self and a looking to Jesus (Rolf 2008):
Der rechte Gebrauch der göttlichen und menschlichen Natur Christi besteht für Luther
offenkundig in der Applikation des Heilsgeschehens auf die eigene Person, wenn im Glauben
Christus und Mensch vereint werden und Christus dem Sünder seine ‘Gerechtigkeit’ so mitteilt,
dass dieser daran partizipiert. (p. 347)
If we correctly understand Luther, his sermons are about the affective aspect: About a
man who is so affected that he connects his own life history to the history of Jesus
Christ. In distinction to the medieval exegesis tradition of the fourfold sense of Scripture,
the sensus literalis, allegoricus, tropologicus, and analogicus, Luther concentrates in his
exegesis and sermons on the Christ crucified. In the Old Testament Luther sees Christ
already present in God communing with his people: ‘Dieses Einsetzen bei Jesus Christus als
dem einen Grundsinn und Grundwort der Heiligen Schrift wird für Luther zum hermeneutischen
Grundsatz’ (Ebeling [1942] 1962:113).
From the start, this has been the setting in which Luther managed to break up the
scholastic lines of thought. In his sermons, but also in his academic work, Luther focused
on the events of the history of Christ, as he himself says in just one sentence, ‘Nihil nisi
Christus praedicandus’ (Rolf 2008:344). He remoulds it in his own pastoral way into the
consolation and consolidation of believers; we see a striking example in his explanation of
Psalm 39. While most preachers interpret this Psalm as referring to the fragility of human
life, Luther starts by saying that this is a Psalm of comfort, and man should have rest in
Christ; Luther’s focus on Christ in all his sermons determined his theology to the end.
4
Chapter 1
It was crucial for him to be confined to the text. He did not want to run away with his
own insights, nor with a preconceived dogmatic presupposition. God who speaks had for
him the actual government in the exegesis of Scripture. New in the preaching of Luther
is his use of the indicative and the imperative, the imperative resting upon the indicative.
To him this order is irreversible. This is a paradox, for example in Philippians 2:12 and
13, ‘[w]ork out your own salvation with fear and trembling. For it is God which worketh
in you both to will and to do of his good pleasure’ (King James Version [KJV]). The
Christ of the Scriptures is always visible in the mirror of Luther’s Bible exegesis. What
Luther preaches is many-sided on the one hand, but simple on the other hand, for the fact
that Christ is sent by God governs the entire gospel. Because God works and has worked,
therefore man must and can work.
The central question for Luther in his preaching work centred on the relationship
between the sensus literalis and the sensus spiritualis. In his opinion the preacher should
remain within the framework of the testimony which comes to us from the true sensus
literalis and which kindles faith. Luther regards the sensus literalis as the proper, and for
him also the only, sense of the Holy Scriptures (Ebeling [1942] 1962:49). In Luther’s own
words, ‘[d]en sensus literalis, der tuts, da ist Leben, Trost, Kraft, Lehre und Kunst innen; das
andere ist Narrenwerk, obwohl es hoch gleisst’ (Aland 1960:156).
According to this view we see that for Luther’s theological concept the concentration
on the crucified Christ – was Christum treibet2 – was very important. Luther saw that men
need a God who speaks and that they must say ‘yes’ to the Cross and the resurrection of
Christ; that they let themselves be taken along in conformity with the crucified One, to
be buried with him and to rise with him (cf. Jn 12:24). We may mention as an example
that Luther in his Easter sermons strongly emphasises the personal connection with
Christ. The life of a Christian is connected to the life history of Christ which is to his
salvation. A historic faith (fides historica) does not count when it is not connected with the
‘now’, the personal knowledge of Christ.
In the medieval preaching praxis, piety consisted of meditating on the sufferings
and death of Christ, the accent being laid on man’s compassion for the suffering Christ.
Luther proclaims the sufferings, the death and the resurrection of Christ with a view to
what is going to happen to a man by that proclamation. In hearing the judgement of
God on sin executed upon his beloved Son, the hearer himself dies, and by Christ’s
resurrection, he is now able to live his new life. Everything is connected to the existence
of the hearer himself. We see this in one of Luther’s Easter sermons from Mark 16:1–8
(Aland 1965):
2. The German word ‘treiben’ means ‘to bring forward’. What is important to Luther is to discover again
and again one’s interest in the Christ of the Scriptures in their multicoloured diversity. According to him,
the Scriptures become a unity when Christ is the reference point.
5
Und das ist die Kraft und Frucht des Leidens und der Auferstehung Christi. Nach der Historie
müssen wir wissen und glauben, dass Christus eine hohe, treffliche Person sei, wahrhaftiger
Gott und Mensch, und dass sein Leiden und Sterben gross und hoch und seine Auferstehung
von den Toten herrlich und sieghaft sei. Aber nach der Kraft und Frucht müssen wir wissen
und glauben, dass sein Sieg und Triumph allen ausgeteilt und geschenkt sei, die an ihn glauben.
So glauben wir nicht allein, dass Christus in seiner Person gestorben und von den Toten
auferstanden sei, sondern auch, dass wir uns desselben Leidens und Auferstehung als unseres,
uns gegeben und geschenkten Schatzes annehmen und rechten Trost davon haben, wie wir im
Osterliede singen: Des sollen wir alle froh sein, Christ will unser Trost sein. Es gilt uns, Christus
will uns mit seiner Auferstehung trösten. (p. 186)
In a Pentecost sermon from 1532, Luther says that ‘was Christus treibet’ is the scopus
generalis for him. Some people see the Holy Spirit as a cither player who is laughed at
when he plays on just one string, ‘[s]o geht’s auch dem Heiligen Geist, Jesus Christus, weiter
weiss er nichts’ (Heimbucher 1983:27). Kooiman uses Luther’s own example when he
represents Christ as the centre of a circle. He who has Christ has everything, for the truth
of the Scriptures is ‘a perfectly rounded golden ring without joint; it contains only one
doctrine, Christ’ (Kooiman n.d.:176). God meets people for salvation in the way that he
has ‘framed’ so that he lets himself be found only in a certain place.
This place is Christ. Where do we find Christ? ‘Niemand wird ihn finden anderswo
denn im Wort Gottes’ (Althaus 1975:42). Characteristic of Luther’s view of the Word is
that, according to him, the preached Word performs what it says because Christ himself
is present in the word and in it he gives himself. Christ, together with the salvation
purchased by him, apportions to every text the same theme for Luther. In the Pentecost
sermon we read: ‘Man kann sonst nichts (=nichts anderes) predigen denn von Jesus Christus
und vom Glauben. Das ist scopus generalis aller Predigt. […] Hierher auf den Jesum Christum’
(Heimbucher 1983:27).
In his exegesis of the Old Testament he devotes his attention to the literal historic
meaning of the text. He extricates himself from the allegorical interpretation but, at the
same time, he occasionally makes use of it in his sermons. The preachers of the Middle
Ages who tended to allegorise a great deal he calls ‘salt-free and worthless dreamers’
(Kooiman n.d.:40). The difference for Luther is that allegory has no evidential value.
However, because Christ is the content, he focuses in his exegesis on Christ alone. The
text needs to be explained in its relation to him. The very thing on which all gospel
character hinges, is Christ. This requires a thorough exegetical study of the Scriptures, for
otherwise the thoughts of preachers are only random brain waves. In a letter to Spalatinus
of 07 November 1519, Luther writes about the (Bohren 2007):
[U]ngewachsenen Geschwätz der Kanzelhelden, die Christus zu Tode predigen. […] Die Ehre und
die Höhe eines Christenmenschen wird nicht mehr bedacht; man breitet Probleme aus wie
Leichentücher und sucht mit seinem ungewachsenen Geschwätz den Menschen zu gefallen. (p. 59)
6
Chapter 1
What the text says, and what the author meant by the text, are important questions to
Luther. The first issue is: What does this say? and then it is personally aimed at the hearer.
The preacher, who first lets the Word come to him, reaches for the invisible and makes
it visible in his words. For this reason, Luther in his sermons, likes to use the figure of
speech called personificatio. The narrative element of his sermons indicates that in his
preaching he wants to show something to the congregation. In the words with which the
Bible text supplies him, he sees kerygmatic matter which he unfolds for the congregation.
Thus, apostolic paraclesis, consolation, exhortation, edification and assistance is taking
place through these sermons (cf. Ellwein 1960:37).
God’s hiding and revealing of himself

In his sermon structure, Luther did not keep to any fixed scheme because every schematic
plan kills the living narrative. ‘Es soll ja auch allein gepredigt werden. O wollt gott, da bey den
Christen doch das lautter Euangeli bekant were’ (Nembach 1972:42). However, there is a
close relationship between Christology and soteriology. These two take hold of each
other like two gearwheels. Thus, Luther’s speaking about Christ and his work is strongly
centred upon salvation. To him, the incarnation has a soteriological focus. Thurneysen
(in Bohren [1980] 1986:447), in Luther’s tradition, says: ‘Der Mensch wartet ja im tiefsten
auf nichts anderes als darauf, dass ihm Gott wieder als Gott verkündigt werde. Denn er wartet
auf seine Erlösung von sich selber.’
The sermon is aimed at the salvation of the hearer, the hearer being not just the person
addressed to, but it is also one of the starting points of the proclamation.
We find this clarified by Luther’s absconditas thought which is not limited to his
Christology, for in his preaching he shows man God’s way with man for his salvation.
The hearer would collapse under the direct confrontation with the glory and majesty of
God. The hiding of God in the form of a man is an expression of his grace. God often
reveals himself in an opposite way, and this is salutary to us as men. Thus, God’s grace in
Christ becomes pro me. Salvation is brought into relationship with the existence of us as
men. For us he has suffered, for us he has borne the wrath of God, for us he was tempted
so that he might overcome our temptations. Luther has always realised the danger that
the hearers of sermons – for example in the Passion sermons – could be stirred to have
compassion, which is precisely not the important thing. Bornkamm (1963) cites Luther:
Christus will deine Tränen nicht, die Passion ist dir zur Freude gesandt. Man muss das Wort
Christi hören: ‘Sieh, Mensch das hättest du leiden müssen, Ich nehme es alles auf meine
Schultern.’ Dieses glaubende Empfangen der Frucht der Passion ist die rechte Meditation, nicht
die fromme Betrachtung der Vorgänge allein. Aus Glaubensmeditation erwächst die Liebe zu
Gott und die Nachfolge des Gekreuzigten. (p. 63)
7
Expositio and applicatio

In one of his Easter sermons, Luther makes clear what the essential element of the
ministers’ work is: They have to preach Christ! ‘Die Pfaffen haben kein anderes Ambt, denn
dass sie predigen sollen die klare Sonne Christus’ (Schütz 1972:91).
They are to bring people to Christ, by making clear, that the sermon’s purpose is to help
the hearers to justice and to salvation. For the believer, Jesus Christ becomes the only
word, the key of all revelation, the mirror of God’s fatherly heart. This was what Luther
had in mind with his sermons and, because of this, his sermons have such surprising,
stirring and stimulating elements: ‘Darum kommt in ihr das Evangelium so zu Wort, dass es
Herzen der Hörer und Leser zu ergreifen und zu “entzünden” vermag’ (Ellwein 1960:8).
Sermons preached in the churches were also meant to teach people. The sermon
structure of Luther was logical, the leading thought was mentioned at the beginning
and subsequently unfolded. This way of preaching is deductive. The general truth is
declared and then expounded in the application. Luther’s preaching created surprise
because he spoke in a plain language and in a direct way, understandable for all the
hearers. In his sermons, we observe more dramatic, as well as surprising exegetical
discoveries. He was aiming at concrete situations and disliked abstractions. The hearer
was ‘seen’ in his sermons. He focussed on the ‘I’ of the hearer (Rolf 2008:347). Ellwein
speaks of Luther’s sermons as a ‘treasury containing precious treasures and jewels
which were unknown hitherto, and which he makes to bear on the concrete reality.
They are edifying and faith-strengthening’ (Ellwein 1960:7). The hearers are stimulated
to think and find themselves carried along in the thought process. There is an
interaction between the preacher and the hearer.
Luther’s sermons look like a conversation between the homilist and the hearer.
Schooled in scholasticism, he allowed himself the liberty of not sticking to all the
rhetorical rules which were usual at that time. With him there is something of the jolt
and surprise of things which happen in the conversation between preacher and hearer.
Van der Laan (1989:117–119) characterises the homilist as an ‘Anwalt’ [advocate] of the
listeners and of the biblical traditions alternatively. It should be important to the
preacher that the language of the past is rendered in the language of the people of
today, but also in such a way that the doctrine which is conveyed is transmitted in the
proclamation. To Luther, the proclamation of the Word of God was ‘das wesentliche
und entscheidende Stück des Gottesdienstes’ (Ruprecht 1962:23), with the accent on the
expositio et applicatio Verbi Dei. Typical of all his sermons is the pro me or the pro nobis
character. He saw this as the key to the correct understanding of the gospel and
therefore he used it frequently. By this pro me and pro nobis, Christ is being defined to
us. But society was not left out, for Luther with God’s Word in his hand, had a word
for everyone (Thimme 1983):
8
Chapter 1
Ein Prediger soll Zähne im Maul haben, beissen und salzen und jedermann die Wahrheit sagen.
Denn also tut Gottes Wort, dass es die ganze Welt antastet, greift Herrn und Fürsten und
jedermann ins Maul. (p. 40)
Luther’s sermons have a strong exegetical backing and he knew to present difficult issues
in ordinary language to the people. Intuitively, Luther carries how the hearer along in the
Bible passage in which he addresses the hearer in his or her concrete situation. This gives
his sermons something which is dynamic and communicative. When God speaks to man,
man reacts to it. The hearer’s experience with the text expresses itself in faith, being an
existential assent which affects the hearer totally. Luther had a genuine concern for
everyone in his congregation. However, his preaching style appears to have been
differently understood by Ernst Lange in the 20th century, whose inquiry into the
practical theology centres on the hearer in the proclamation. Luther is a corrective for
Lange, because Lange lays the accent on the preacher and his work, whereas Luther
powerfully begins with God and the operation of the Holy Spirit. Luther makes a stronger
distinction than Lange between the work of God and the work of man.3
Deus dixit
God reveals himself to us in the Word and from the prologue of the Gospel of John we
know that this is Jesus Christ (Jn 1:1, 14). For Luther, the testimony of John was that in
Jesus Christ he too was connected with the Father and the Holy Spirit and that in Jesus
Christ he had a total encounter with God himself. In the incarnated Word (Jn 1:14) he
saw the exposition of God’s heart.
Through the mouth of the preacher, people hear God himself speaking to them. In
the Deus dixit, Luther sees himself as an authorised expositor and witness of the Word of
God. Christ is in the centre of all the redemptive acts of God and consequently he is also
the centre of the Word of God. This proclamation appeals to the hearer in such a way as
it is per Du – personally addressed to the hearer. To Luther this is no homiletical trick but
the fundamental element of preaching. In and during the proclamation, hearers are
involved in the great ‘Kampf Christi’ (Wingren 1955:108). For Luther it is sure that,
‘[s]eine Werke geschehen gegenwärtig durch das Predigamt’ (Nembach 1972:27). Luther
speaks out on this as follows (in Schütz 1972):
Oberflächliche, historisierende Predigt, in der der Hörer nicht vorkommt, bewirkt nichts.
Darum heisst es: Ich predige das Euangelion von Christo und mit der leiblichen Stimme bringe
ich dir Christum uns hertz. (p. 140)
3. For more information and reflections on the homiletics and the development of Ernst Lange, see
Bröking-Bortfeldt (2004).
9
This exegesis of the Scriptures makes Luther’s preaching and speaking to be ‘so unerhört
gegenwartsnah, aufbauend und glaubensstärkend’ (Ellwein 1960:7). Luther’s view of faith is
very existential: A personal meeting with the living God in the proclamation, in which
the hearts of the hearers are touched, broken, comforted and healed. Here the Scripture
becomes subjective to the hearer who senses that he is being addressed in the Word by
the Spirit of God (cf. De Reuver 1997:103). The work of the Holy Spirit is seen in the
proclamation of the gospel. Luther assumed that where the Word is being heard the
hearers find themselves under the breath of the Spirit.
The Holy Spirit meets us in the proclamation of the Word which comes to us from
‘the outside’, and thus brings about the appropriate hearing with faith which takes place
inside the heart. That what is intra me [inside of me] lives entirely on what is extra me
[outside of me]. This affects the whole existence of the believing hearer. De Reuver says
that the ‘discovering work’ of the Holy Spirit is no ‘solitary happening’ in which the hearer
is merely on his own, but is an ‘encounter happening’ in which the conviction of sin coram
Deo is the fruit of law and gospel by the applicative work of Christ and the Spirit. The
place where this critical, diagnostic event takes place is pre-eminently in preaching (De
Reuver 2004:205). Churchgoers heard in Luther’s sermons a living testimony which
arose from his communing with the Scriptures.
Two poles
Here we see the two poles between which the whole inquiry in Luther’s view of preaching
swings back and forth; as it was already mentioned: It is with the physical voice and it is
within the heart. On the one side stands the preacher, the theologian and, on the other
side, the hearer. The viva vox, the living word of the gospel can be heard by the often
simple men, women and children who are present. Luther had the educational insight
to make the proclamation understandable to everybody, and to speak the language of
the people (Aland 1983b):
Wir Deutschen sind ein wildes, rohes, tobendes Volk, mit dem nicht leicht etwas anzufangen
ist, es treibe denn die höchste Not. (p. 90)
Man muss die Mutter im Hause, die Kinder auf der Gasse, den einfachen Mann auf dem Markt
danach fragen, und denselben auf das Maul sehen, wie sie reden, und danach übersetzen, so
verstehen sie es denn, und merken, dass man deutsch mit ihnen redet. (p. 85)
After having explained Psalm 110 Luther’s secretary wrote at the end (in Mühlhaupt 1965):
So werdet ihr den Psalm nu wohl verstehen. Er las den Text noch einmal. Das ist der Psalm. Er
ist durch seine prophetischen Worte finster, aber nach solcher Auslegung ist er nu klar. Denn
er erhält dasselbe, was mit deutlichen Worten auch im Kinderglauben und im Evangelium
steht. (p. 256)
10
Chapter 1
Luther’s entire communication process takes place against the background of a relational
horizon. He was an academic with a commitment to teaching. A child of his time, schooled
in the scholastic method and bound by the rhetoric tradition, yet he goes counter to his
time. In doing so he was not always very discreet in his use of words. The Dutch translator
of his sermons on Psalm 118 lets the following remark escape from his pen, ‘[w]ho wants
to take offence at Luther, let him do so. He finds ample opportunity here’ (Houwink 1936:7).
In his sermons, we see a man who preaches in such a way ‘dass man Kinder zur Schulen halten
solle’ (Schütz 1972:144).
In holy awe of the Word and of its proclamation, he laid down the high Word in the
depth amidst the congregation, and held it aloft to the praise of the Father, the Son, and
the Holy Spirit. He continued lecturing but did it in an educationally and didactically wise
way. His sermons were a product of their time – necessarily so – yet in reading his
sermons we are under the impression that we are listening to a contemporary. This is the
result of the fact that his sermons have a strong exegetical backbone and that he presented
the proclamation in an indicative manner.
The creative power of the Word

Luther’s sermons in general are simple homilies (Ruprecht 1962:28). The preached Word
makes Christ known to the people. In the prophetic word of the church the presence
of the suffering and the risen Christ is mediated. Full salvation in Christ is offered in
the proclamation of the gospel and is directed at the heart of hearer (cf. Graafland
1982:216–217).
To Luther, the important thing in the proclamation of the Word is the realisation of
the eschatological salvation in our life, and therefore his Christological concentration is
defined in a soteriological way. The history of salvation and the history of the faith of the
individual meet each other. The ‘second coming of the Lord becomes actually present,
becomes present tense’ (Graafland 1982:217). From this it follows that Luther sometimes
identifies God’s Word with preaching. He says (in Kooiman n.d.):
Believing and reading the Scriptures means hearing the Word from the mouth of Christ; when
that happens to you, you know it is no human word but surely God’s Word. (p. 198)
The Word of God is alive in the performance of preaching; as explicatio and applicatio, it
finds its realisation here during this process, ‘[d]enn Evangelium predigen ist nichts anderes,
denn Christum zu uns kommen oder uns zu ihm bringen’ (Althaus 1975:43).
Our encounter with God is fully in the Word, but it reaches us by the words of men.
Because in the Word God is the Creator of all things, and he reveals his heart in his Word
to us and speaks to us through the living Word. Therefore, Luther can say:
11
God the Father is in the godly Scriptures, the grammar, for He gives the words and things. The
Son is the dialecta. He shows us the good order of the things; and the Holy Spirit is the rhetorica.
He blesses and hovers. (Gn 1:1 [NIV]) us to make us alive; see Matthias 2015:30)4
It is only permissible to identify God’s Word with preaching when preaching proclaims
God’s revelation in Christ to man of today, in the awareness that preaching continues to
depend upon God’s Spirit. He kindles faith in men who can testify that they have received
the Word of God. Rolf speaks about ‘the creative power’ of the Word (Rolf 2008:310).
Christ, who is proclaimed for the sinner’s salvation, makes the sinner fully certain of this
salvation. If ever we see the power of such preaching, it is here. Luther makes the creative
power of the Word to be heard, and this makes the once and only history of Jesus Christ’s
salvation a reality for today.
Still, Luther did not always make the difference between the Word and preaching
quite consistently. Winkler notices that Luther was convinced of being a servant of God
who has the power to communicate the Word (‘das Wort zu geben’) (Winkler 1983:79). He
is a communicator of the Word of God, and as a good preacher he is first preaching to
himself, but always it is, ‘[s]o speaks the Lord.’ Furthermore (Schütz 1972):
In dieser Predigt wird die Gegenwart Christi in seinem Wort so direkt, real und konkret in die
Welt des 16. Jahrhundert hineingestellt, dass mitten in ihr die Heuchelei entlarvt und die Macht
des neuen Lebens aufgerichtet wird. Es schwindet die Differenz der Zeiten, und die
Vergegenwärtigung ist so unmittelbar, dass die Welt des Neuen Testaments einfach die von
Wittenberg und Kursachsen ist […] das ist das unmittelbare Gegenwärtigsein Christi in seinem
Wort und mit seinem Geist. (p. 94–95)
Origin
From where does such preaching come? Luther begins with the revelation of God. His
theological approach starts with God because man by his own endeavours cannot find access
to God. With Luther the emphasis lies with God speaking to man about God. Evangelical
preaching is by its nature indicative preaching. Indicative preaching is (Bukowski 1992):
[S]chriftgebundene Ansage und Zusage der freien Gnade Gottes an alles Volk, also assertorische
und promissorische Rede von dem Gott, der sich in Jesus Christus als Gott für uns geoffenbart
hat. (p. 127)
According to Douma, the indicative form of preaching has an argumentative language
form, typified by the following characteristics: the use of concepts, abstraction, logic, the
4. ‘Pater in divinis est grammatica, dat enim voces. Filius est dialecta, dat dispositionem rerum. Spiritus
Sanctus rhetorica, bleset vnd treibt vivicando’ (see the switch from Latin to German: viva vox; WA 48.463,
v. 14 in Matthias 2015:30, note 68).
12
Chapter 1
exposition of a standpoint, propositions, clarity, objectivity, scholarship, information,

and unity (Douma 2000:171).
Such language use aims at clarity, at giving and getting objective information in
order to convince. It is the Scripture-bound announcement and promise of the free
grace of God to the whole congregation. In this way, God’s speaking and acting reaches
the heart of man in Luther’s sermons. The text of the Bible is the door which gives
access to the reality of God. In the inductive method in which we constantly find an
interaction between the preacher and the hearer. Homiletically formulated, Luther
brings the text and the hearer into a relationship; theologically formulated, his
proclamation is a ministry of the Word of God in the church of Christ. Luther believes
it is God’s will that his message is proclaimed. He is the living God – a God who creates
while speaking and speaks while creating. Doctrine and experience are neither
separated nor seen as a contradiction in such preaching. In the indicative proclamation
salvation acts, salvation history and the personal experience of the hearer grip each
other. This is the essential, as well as the new thing which Luther in his view on
preaching has given to the Reformation. In the time since the Reformation, the
subjective experience of salvation and objective grace have grown apart. In post-
Reformation times people were no longer able to bear the ‘burden’ of the paradoxical
speaking of Word and Spirit (Kommers 2006:240ff.). In the Lutheran Orthodoxy of the
17th century the way of the sinner in coming to the knowledge of salvation has been
systematised in a prescribed method, and so the exegesis of Scripture has lost its
freedom.
Characteristics
It would require a separate study to expound the sources of Luther’s method of preaching.
He had the highest esteem for Quintilianus (c. 35 – c. 100 AC) among all the rhetoricians
in Antiquity (Nembach 1972:130; cf. Rolf 2008:283–291). The first thing to mention is
the fact that it is the characteristic of Luther’s indicative preaching that the free character
of grace is so clearly expressed. By this, each insistent and each distinguishing call become
needless. In his sermons faith as a gift of the Holy Spirit is emphasised – it is not the result
becomes of one’s own efforts (Josuttis 1966:16ff.). We hear in the sermons urgent calls to
faith and exhortations to listen to the gospel (Bukowski 1992):
Sie solle die frohe Botschaft durch ihr Tun in dieser Welt bewahrheiten. […] Eine Predigt, die
so vorgeht, ist infam. […] Die freie Gnade ist nicht mehr frei, wenn ihre Wirksamkeit an eine
Vorbedingung geknüpft wird. (pp. 132, 136)
Luther’s sermons have a pastoral orientation; they are aimed at men’s salvation (cf. Geyser
1930:66), and people see him, as it were, sitting next to them in the pew. Asendorf (1988)
compares him with other preachers and concludes that, ‘der Unterschied liegt vor allem in
13
der seelsorgerlichen Absicht Luthers, sich in den Predigten der Aufnahmefähigkeit des Hörers
anzupassen’ (Asendorf 1988:18).
The pastoral emphasis opens the door to preaching God’s comfort to the congregation.
Though Luther’s sermons may have a somewhat argumentative style, his intention was
always to keep the pastoral aspect uppermost, as its essence is characterised by an appeal
for a response in faith. Strictly speaking, such preaching is a call to faith. The hearer is
confronted with Christ being both the object of faith and a sign of offence. The hearer
cannot neutralise what he hears about Christ, and thus he cannot run away from a
decision either because preaching about Christ appeals not to his reason, but to his heart!
The sermon has to meet the gospel’s aim, that is, to bring metanoia about in the hearer.
The gospel as the Word of God will work this out, according to the adagium of the
Reformation: praedicatio verbi dei est verbum Dei (cf. Bullinger [1566]1886:ch. 1).
As long as the gospel is preached it continues to be a preaching about the Cross of
Christ. Hence the strong power of Luther’s sermons is that the simultaneity of the events
of salvation history – having taken place once – with today’s hearer is made homiletically
effective (Althaus 1975):
Und also kommt Christus durch das Evangelium in unser Herz, der muss auch mit dem Herzen
angenommen werden. So ich nun glaub, dass er im Evangelio sei, so empfahe und hab ich ihn
schön. (p. 42)
Visuality
Luther seriously makes the effort in his sermons to give the best visual picture of history
possible. When the earthly life of Jesus is dealt with, we ‘see’ him sitting at the well,
sailing on the lake with the fishermen and following, as a man like ourselves, in his path
of sufferings to Golgotha. Everything is made so visible that the perfectum, the history
which has happened, becomes the foundation of the building which Luther erects in his
theology and preaching (Ellwein 1960):
Die Passionsgeschichte z.B. soll nicht nur Historie bleiben, sondern wir sollen sie recht
brauchen lernen, d.h. sie im Glauben ergreifen, auf ihr stehen. […] Wir dürfen nicht vergessen,
dass alles uns gilt, mir und dir, dass es um unsertwillen geschehen ist uns angeht. […] Wenn das
Herz nichts von der Historie, etwas der Auferstehung schmeckt und davon ‘angezündet’ wird,
ist sie vergeblich gehört und ist in dir tot. […] Erst die Verkündigung macht das Ereignis zu
einem Ereignis für uns. (pp. 108–109)
We see an aspect of Luther’s sermons in which many people find it difficult to follow
him. Luther preached very concretely. Also, he spoke openly about the enmity of man
towards God. In much of today’s proclamation there is an embarrassment when sin is
mentioned and consequently there is an inability to speak the redeeming words in
14
Chapter 1
preaching. Modern man stands in his own way. It results in the preacher being satisfied
even though the preaching simply goes over the heads and the guilty hearts of the
people. Today’s preaching especially needs clarity about the question of God’s presence.
When sin is not confessed, but repressed and denied, no word of proclamation can
penetrate with the power to open and to shut. These sermons worked faith in the hearts
of the hearers, for by this sacramental way of preaching the sermons brought about what
they contained.
Conclusion
Today we do not follow Luther as the exclusive model for our preaching, but in the
Reformation something was started which must be continued. Also with our Reformed
outlook we find it difficult to understand always Luther’s viewpoint and therefore fail to
identify our preaching with the Word of God sui generis. The Calvinistic tradition lays
other emphases. Preachers of the Word are themselves to be under the illumination of
the Holy Spirit. They minister the Word even as the apostles in the New Testament were
inspired in their speaking and writing. When we look back on the past 500 years, we
again need to think the matter through for our times in the light of what has been written
about Luther above. The situation of the church today compels us to look again at the
gold of the Reformation and make it accessible for our times. In Luther’s own words
(Bohren 1963):
Mit den Zeiten wandeln sich auch die Buchstaben und der Geist. Denn was jenen damals zum
Verständnis diente, das ist jetzt für uns zum Buchstaben geworden. Man muss darum nach dem
Verständnis suchen, damit wir nicht mit dem Buchstaben erstarren. (p. 228)
Because Luther had no objective view of the life of faith, he sees the hearer in the
proclamation as someone to whose heart the Holy Spirit reveals and opens the grace of
Christ. In his sermons Luther exposes his heart to us and he remains someone universally
acclaimed; he ‘is unique among his kind and inimitable’ (cf. Winkler 1983:82). Even to
this day his sermons still stand in their monumental strength and not only show us a way
to understand his own labours, they also inspire our generation of preachers and offer
perspectives for today’s spirituality.
Though Bohren speaks of a ‘Predigtmüdigkeit’ (Bohren [1980] 1986:17, 151) in our
churches today, we would do well to apprentice ourselves to Luther again in order to receive
a supply of new vitality for our preaching commitment and preaching praxis, and to open
up a new preaching panorama. We must do this, because Bohren’s complaint has still not
really been heard. He also uttered it earlier, when he stated 50 years ago that (Bohren 1963):
Überblickt man die Predigtliteratur unserer Zeit, so muss man feststellen, dass sie als weithin
enteschatologisierte nicht Zukunft zu eröffnen vermag, dass aus Mangel an Zukunft auch die
Gegenwart des Christus präsens zu kurz kommt. (p. 82)
15
A systematic arrangement of Luther’s sermons remains a difficult task, since he was no

systematist himself. His sermons need to be heard and seen against the background of his
life as a preacher. However, the Wittenberg congregation was never kept in doubt that
the words which came from the mouth of their preacher opened the heart of the Scriptures
in order to bring that heart to the heart of the hearers. Therefore, it did not matter when
sometimes his sermons were one-sided. They have their starting point in God’s generous
offer of his mercy and faithfulness stemming from his promise, so that people may live
out of the sacrifice of Christ, from that which is and will be proclaimed to the congregation
again and again. Lessons from Luther’s sermons warn the preacher of today not to
lapse into moralistic speeches. They teach us to avoid the ‘Predigtmüdigkeit’ within the
congregation and within the circle of ministers. They enable us to face the future looking
to Christ. I agree with Mülhaupt when he recommends that preaching with the help of
Luther certainly will not damage us, ‘die evangelische Unterweisung unsrer Gemeinden wird
bestimmt keinen Schaden davon haben’ (Mülhaupt 1958:5).
In our theological training centres today students should have to learn again the classic rules
of speech, which would teach them to reach the people in a good emotional and existential
way. Luther’s Scripture-bound experience of faith keeps him from digressions to where
human thoughts are given free rein, and where self and human activity stand on a higher
level than the humble – and at the same time lofty – glory of the crucified Christ. Luther
looked back enquiringly hundreds of years; he went back to the Scriptures themselves, and
from them he drew from that never-ceasing fountain. When this heritage of the Reformation
is thus embraced in our 21st century, it points back to the fountain and it points forward as
well. Then the adage semper reformanda ecclesia has not only a five-hundred-year-old power,
but it also puts a guide book into the hands of today’s people so that the church of Christ
may be led into the future – a future anchored in Christ where the hearers hear him in the
proclamation and look forward to the day of redemption when they will experience
everything which is heard and believed here on earth.
Luther renewed preaching when he taught us to read the Bible. People that allow
themselves to be used by God never belong to the past. In listening to Luther we become
contemporaries and there is no need to demonstrate in a complicated way that he is our
contemporary. Great thoughts speak to us over the ages. Luther, this original figure with
a self-willed character, this superb homilist, has spread the gospel in such a way that the
echo can be heard even today. His proclamation provides the means for us to face the
challenges of the future and thus plays its part in God’s ordained story.
Summary: Chapter 1
This study about Luther’s preaching shows that this reformer emphasises the priority
and power of preaching God’s Word in such a way that it will be a feast and joy for
Christ’s sheep. For us, living in a time when many churchgoers do not have a high opinion
16
Chapter 1
of preaching and preachers we see that criticism of preaching is affecting the heart of
Protestant worship. What has to be done to overcome Bohren’s statement that in our
sermons God is no longer heard? (‘Sein Schweigen geht durch unser Predigen’ ) (Bohren
1963:18). It is shown that Luther’s preaching is spiritually challenging and that it provides
real refreshment for the gospel ministry 2017 CE. What we need in our time is preaching
that unpacks the message of the Bible and conveys a sense of the reality of God’s presence.
Luther’s Reformation brought a new spirit into preaching. It was as if God at last broke
his long silence. Is there now, in the year 2017, a willingness to listen to Luther? Is the
great question of life and death which he asked still getting through to people who have
the antenna of their life pointing in a totally different direction?
The heritage of Luther and of other Reformers is, after 500 years, still the subject of
critical investigation in many studies. We no longer find ourselves in the spring of the
Reformation and so we can profit from 500 years of Luther research. Our sermons are
preached in organised churches where awareness of the Reformation is being kept alive
in one way or another. However, what has become clear in our age is that preachers find
it difficult to bring the gold of the Reformation in real money to the customer. In our
emotional culture Luther teaches us afresh to direct our ear to the Word of God alone.
The intention of this chapter is to bring home to us Luther’s ‘speaking about God’. He
appears to be a very relevant guide for the praxis of preaching and the hearing of sermons
today because his preaching demonstrates characteristic features which provides a model
for today’s preaching: To prepare and to dish up the food so that those who hear the
sermon will believe and take salvation. To believe the remission of sins means for Luther
also to proclaim the remission, ‘[d]enn auch die Predigt des heiligen Evangelii selbst ist im
Grund und eigentlich Absolution’ (Luther in Bohren 2007:40).
To refer to Luther and to quote his words is not a proof for us today, that the movement
Luther initiated is a vivid reality for us, we who boast to be heirs of the Reformation.
Luther’s preaching praxis many ages ago teaches us that, ‘geschichte kann reden, sie kann
sich gegenwärtig machen. Sie kann so reden, dass wir selbst dadurch erwachsen, um von ihr her
unser Sein und unsere Aufgabe neu zu ergreifen’ (Iwand 1974:27).
17
Chapter 2
Evaluation of the concept

of continuous reformation
(semper reformanda) in
liturgy focussed on the
Reformation of the 16th
century and the emergent
church movement
Ben J. de Klerk
Faculty of Theology
South Africa
Ferdi P. Kruger
Faculty of Theology
South Africa
How to cite: De Klerk, B.J. & Kruger, F.P., 2017, ‘Evaluation of the concept of continious reformation (semper reformanda)
in liturgy focussed on the Reformation of the 16th century and the emergent church movement’, in S.P. van der Walt &
18
Chapter 2
Introduction
The principle of continuous reformation should be a stimulus when reflecting on
theological research on the relationship between the theory and praxis in liturgy. Signs
of the tension between theory and praxis were already visible in the 16th-century
Reformation and are evident in 21st-century theological thinking. The impetus behind
the 16th-century Reformation originated in a liturgical issue, namely the criticism and
rejection of the Roman Mass. This rejection was the first step of a ground-breaking
reformation in liturgy in general and in preaching as a part of liturgy. Unfortunately,
deformation follows on reformation in the course of time. In truth, reformation or
deformation of liturgy and homiletics has continued through the ages to the present time
like a wave motion. Every time the voices in favour of reformation were heard or the
ensuing suction force of deformation was felt, the equilibrium of the accepted theory and
praxis regarding liturgy was disturbed. For this reason, the principle of semper reformanda
[continuation of reformation] is also applicable to liturgical acts (including the homiletical
part). Two approaches to the reformation of liturgical acts can be identified. The one is
motivated by the conviction that the present acts must be reformed because they are in
conflict with Scripture, the other is based on the argument that the liturgical acts do
not consider the context of the continuous dynamic interaction between theory and
praxis. A theory to be more specific, could be regarded as a discussion, consideration
and planning pertaining to the praxis (a concrete action within the church and society)
(Heyns & Pieterse 1990:24–26). The one couldn’t determine the one without regard of
the other, otherwise some kind of distortion will emanate.
Tickle (2012:17–29) offers a unique outlook on the history of believers by pointing
out recurrent patterns in Christianity. These patterns in Christian affairs have contributed
to our understanding of reformation. She indicates that every 500 years,5 Western culture,
along with those parts of the world it has colonialised, goes through a time of enormous
upheaval (rummage sales). Tickle (2012:17) thinks that in such times, essentially every
part of Western culture is reconfigured. On 31 October 1517, the day Luther posted his
95 theses on the Wittenberg church door, remains a zenith in history. The emergence of
the reformation was official, but it was also the starting point and birthing of a new way
of ordering life, according to Tickle (2012:14). She concludes saying that day in history
was proof that the world was in re-formation (Tickle 2012:29). Suddenly, churches
became aware of critical voices and a movement away from the established church.
5. Five hundred years ago, the Great Reformation occurred. In 1517, Luther nailed his theses to the
church door. Five hundred years before the Reformation brings us to the Great Schism (1054 CE). In
1054, the patriarch of Eastern Orthodox Christianity presented his anathemas and Pope Leo IX reacted
with his bulls of excommunication. Five hundred years prior to the Great Schism brings us to the 6th
century, the onset of the Dark Ages (Tickle 2012:20).
19
Evaluation of the concept of continuous reformation ( semper reformanda )
Today, people are asking about the heritage of the Reformation. How should we
deal with merging cultures and the emergent church movement? The issue at stake is
how modern Christianity, which emphasises individualism, propositional truth and
rationalism, could connect with postmodern people that are sometimes dissatisfied with
the church (Bohannon 2006:56).
The research problem of this investigation is defined as follows: ‘How should we
evaluate the liturgical reform of the 16th-century Reformation and its implications, and
the 21st century phenomenon of the emergent church 500 years later?’
This investigation will be of an exploratory nature. A qualitative literature study will
be undertaken and a process of analysis and interpretation will be executed. Deductions
will also be made in order to provide perspectives on how practical theological research
in liturgics (including homiletics) could possibly provide suggestions for the continuation
of reformation and meet the challenges of an emergent culture. Browning (1996:6)
explains that when a religious community faces a crisis in its practice, it begins reflecting
on whether its practices are meaningful or too heavily theory-laden. This reaction results
from the recognition that the present concern shapes the way we interpret the past and
vice versa (Browning 1996:35).
Theoretical foundation of the interaction

between theory and praxis in liturgy
To evaluate the concept of continuous reformation in liturgy it is necessary to lay down
principles for the interaction between theory (scriptural and theological measures) and praxis
(the context in which liturgy is currently functioning). A dynamic relationship between
liturgical theory and praxis is not determined by complete separation or by identification of
the two, but by a bipolar tension-filled combination (Greinacher in Heitink 1993):
The shift from theory to praxis, and vice versa, is a qualitative shift. Theory is in constant need
of verification or falsification through praxis, while praxis must constantly be transcended by
theory. (p. 152)
Swinton and Mowat (2006) highlighted the critical dynamic conversation in the following
manner:
The dialectical movement is from practice (action) to theory, to critical reflection on practice,
to revised forms of practice developed in the light of this spiralling process. The data and the
practice are constantly challenged, developed and revised as they interact critically and
dialectically with one another. (p. 255)
This sets up a tension-filled critical engagement of theory with praxis and praxis with
theory in a continuing bipolar relationship. In attending to this interaction, ‘practical
20
Chapter 2
theology is not an occasional, problem-solving technique but an ongoing way of doing

theology and living the Christian faith’ (Kinast 2000:61).
Unrelated theory might become unreflecting theory, a theory constructed without
specific reality points, standing free from challenge by praxis. Such an unreflecting theory
tends to become static and ineffective when there is a change in its context (Pieterse
2011:50). Such theory, abstract and unrelated, constructed without due consideration of
the praxis, unreflecting, applied dispassionately without regard for the specifics of the
praxis is disconnected from the life of the spirit community (Smith 2016:134). Those that
prioritise the existing praxis itself lean toward the confirmation and protection of the
status quo. They are ‘so comfortable with the existing state of affairs that they are fearful
of all change. [To them] the status quo has to be preserved at any cost’ (Heyns & Pieterse
1990:30). They have allowed the praxis in its entirety to drift from any reference to or
reflection on theory, to such an extent that to them the current praxis is right.
Pieterse (2011:50) states that there is no such a thing as pure theory and therefore
theory is always influenced by context and experience. Rather, we are seeking a theory
of theology grounded in praxis (Anderson 2001:14). This is not to be confused with a
theology that finds its authority in praxis or arises from revelation alone, but rather
we are speaking of a theology that raises and addresses questions that seek the mind
of Christ through Scripture as applied in a concrete situation (Anderson 2001:37).
Swinton and Mowat (2006:26) concur with the idea that the process ought to move
from practice to reflection on practice, and back to practice, a dynamic movement that
is carried out in the light of the Christian tradition and other sources of knowledge and
is aimed at feeding back into the tradition and the practice of the church. This produces
an informed praxis where theory shapes praxis and praxis questions and reshapes
theory. Theory and praxis therefore exist in a bipolar tension (Heitink 1993:195).
Thus, the once linear process becomes a continual dynamic or conversational cycle
(Smith 2016:146).
In this research, the theory of liturgy consists of principles from Scripture for liturgical
acts and participation in these acts, as well as norms from history (cf. Osmer 2008:139).
Praxis is seen as the liturgical context of the present day, including the participation of the
congregation in the liturgical acts and culture of the day.
Evaluation of the interaction of theory and

praxis in the liturgy of the 16th-century
Reformation
This evaluation will take place under the following headings: The 16th-century
Reformation as reformation of the existing praxis; The unity of Word and Sacrament;
21
God as initiator enables the acts in liturgy; Participation of the congregation; The
principle of freedom in liturgy; Interaction of principles with culture; and semper
reformanda.
The 16th-century Reformation as reformation of the

existing praxis
The movements in various countries, cities and villages prepared the Reformation of the
16th century. There was no wish to break away from the Mother Church, but rather to
purify the church by re-examining the whole question of faith (cf. Van de Poll 1954:9). It
is no surprise that scholars describe the starting point of the Reformation as a liturgical
move. In the Chapel of Saint John the Baptist in Strasbourg in 1525, a certain
Diobald Schwarz, openly laid aside the Roman missal and used a Deutsche Messe. This was
the first move in the direction of liturgical reformation (Barnard 1981:293). He used the
vernacular German, and not Latin, but it was more than a translation. Although he
followed the framework of the Roman Mass, he purified it from the character of sacrifice,
the reference to holy persons and the worship of the Virgin Mary. Schwarz replaced the
private confession with the congregation’s confession, he served both bread and wine to
the congregation and he faced the congregation instead of standing with his back to them
(Van de Poll 1954:10, 11).
The Reformation of the 16th century was intended to reform elements of the late
medieval church by going back to principles from Scripture as well as guidelines from the
church of the 2nd century. The focus was on the unity of two elements, namely preaching
in line with the liturgy of the synagogue and the sacraments of the New Testament
(Baptism and The Lord’s Supper).
The unity of Word and sacrament

Perhaps the most important character of the early stages of the liturgy of the Reformation
is the fact that the service had two main parts: The service of the Word consisting of
readings of portions of Scripture and a sermon, and the service of the Eucharist,
intercessory prayers formed a bridge between the two parts (cf. Immink 2014:227;
Schuler 2016:197; Wolterstorff 1992:278).
Reformation of the Mass

The degeneration of the church of late medieval times was evident in the act of the Mass.
The effect of the degeneration was that Scripture did not control and correct practices
22
Chapter 2
and tradition became the norm. The liturgy became the sole work of a few priests and
because of most of the people’s lack of knowledge of Scripture the worship service was
gradually deformed. The Mass and the overwhelming thought that it had the character of
the continuing sacrifice of Christ formed the essence of the liturgy (Barnard 1981:246).
The Reformers repudiated any impression that the sacrament either repeated or effected
Christ’s sacrifice anew. Calvin was steadfastly opposed to understanding the Eucharist as
the self-offering of the church. Worship to him was a sacrifice, but a sacrifice of praise
and not propitiation (Witvliet 2003:142). The Roman Mass with its idea of
transubstantiation and the character of sacrifice had to be replaced by the service of the
Word, Scripture reading and preaching, especially on justification through faith without
works of the law.
Luther followed Schwarz’s Deutsche Messe (Van de Poll 1954:10). Although Luther had
serious criticism of the Mass, he hesitated to change the texts and usages of the Mass. His
version, Deutsche Messe und Ordnung des Gottesdiensts, was only published in 1526. It was
not the first German vernacular liturgical order as other German masses appeared before
his version was completed at the end of 1525. Luther accepted the liturgical continuity of
the basic form and structure of the Mass, but at the same time, he also created a
discontinuity by his innovations. He had a radically new theological interpretation of the
traditional form. The proclamation of the gospel was the unifying principle of Luther’s
Deutsche Messe. The act of chanting the Epistles and gospels was thus given prominence,
the sermon on the gospel became an integral part of the Lord’s Supper. These practices
were in contrast with the fact that at that time, sermons were infrequent and the canon
almost unheard by worshippers that attended the medieval Roman Mass. The role of
each member of the congregation was no longer to be one of a mute spectator but rather
one of an active participant. The whole church, rather than the choir alone, was to sing
parts of the Ordinary of the Mass, such as the Kyrie and the German Agnus Dei, as well
as the newly introduced hymns. Above all, the Deutsche Messe was essentially a musical
service of worship, a combination of chant and hymnody, with the sermon and
the paraphrase of the Lord’s Prayer, the only spoken elements of the liturgical form
(Leaver 2001:318). Luther’s Deutsche Messe is one of the most important liturgical
documents of the Reformation era (Leaver 2001:317).
During his first stay at Geneva, Calvin (and Farel) stated the principle of the unity
between Word and sacrament, but in 1538, they were banned from Geneva. In his short
stay at Strasbourg, he stressed the same principle and the fact that the service of the Word
had to spill over in the service of the Eucharist. In 1541, his attempt in Geneva to change
the custom of the Zwinglian liturgy of celebrating the feast of the Lord’s Supper four
times a year to be part of the weekly Sunday service was denied. He protested against this
‘wrong doing’ during his entire life. He argued that this sacrament was another place in
the worship service where it became clear that worship is abiding in the presence of God
(Old 2003:420).
23
Reformation of the Pronaus

The Reformers recovered the audible reading of Scripture in the language of the people,
together with its sermonic explication and application (Wolterstorff 1992:287). The late
medieval preaching service, the Pronaus, was well known to the Reformers. Ulrich Zwingli,
as a humanist, reformed the liturgy of the cathedral in Zurich to this Pronaus, a short
service that had already been used in Germany and German-speaking cantons in Switzerland
in medieval times. The Pronaus was a church service consisting only of a sermon and
confession of guilt. Zwingli believed in the power of education and that changing the minds
of people was a mere cognitive action. Because of his view that the sermon is the main item
of the service, he banned song and music from his liturgy. He also reduced the frequency of
the Lord’s Supper to once a year, because in his mind it was only a memorial meal. The
participation of the congregation was also limited in his liturgy. Farel brought the service
of Zwingli from Zurich into the worship service of Geneva (Brienen 1987:33).
Calvin stressed the unity of Scripture reading and preaching. In his view, these two
actions constituted the one single liturgical act of the service of the Word, which had to
lead to the Lord’s Supper (Old 2003:434). For Calvin, the unity of Word and sacrament
stemmed from the 2nd-century liturgy. Wolterstorff (1992:278) judges the separation of
the two main parts of the liturgy in strong language. He invariably wants the main Sunday
service of the Christian church (except for certain sects) to include these two components
at all places and times. Zwingli tore them apart. In place of one service with two main
high points, he instituted two distinct services namely, a Scripture-sermon service and a
Lord’s Supper service, with the latter held just four times a year.
Wolterstorff (1992) comes to the following conclusion and the authors fully agree
with him:
In the Reformation times after 1541 reformed people came to see it as right and normal to pull
apart word and sacrament. They came to see it as right and normal to celebrate the Supper of
our Lord just four times a year. In almost all Reformed confessions, the sacramental theology
of Calvin prevailed. In almost all Reformed congregations, the liturgical practice of Zwingli
won out. And so it is that, in spite of the sacramental theology of the Reformed churches and
in spite of Calvin’s strong preference regarding practice, the Reformed liturgy became a liturgy
in which the sermon assumed looming prominence. The Reformed service became a preaching
service – except for those four times a year when it was a Lord’s Supper service. Whereas the
medieval tilted Justin’s (Second Century) nicely balanced bi-focal service way over toward the
eucharist, the Reformed now tilted it almost all the way toward the sermon. Calvin’s theological
victory was overwhelmed by Zwingli’s liturgical victory. (p. 295)
God as initiator enables the acts in liturgy

The liturgy is a meeting between God and God’s people, a meeting in which both parties
act, but in which God initiates the actions and we respond through the work of the Spirit
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Chapter 2
(Wolterstorff 1992:288). Calvin stressed liturgy deals with the graceful meeting of God
with his covenantal people through the power and blood of Christ under the leadership
of the Holy Spirit (Brienen 1987:169). Therefore, the participants have to know God,
who wants to meet us and we have to know his deeds that will bring us to glorify God.
Wolterstorff (1992:291) explains that the Reformers saw the liturgy as God’s action
and our faithful reception of that action. The governing idea of the Reformed liturgy is
thus twofold: The conviction that participation in liturgy entails us to enter the sphere of
God acting, not just of God’s presence; moreover, we should have the conviction that we
are to make God’s action our own in faith and gratitude through the work of the Spirit.
In meeting God, he intercedes in the congregation so that the congregation might rise
to him. The first movement in this dynamic sweep is always God’s move towards the
congregation and the first decisive movement of worship is mirrored by the upwards
movement of God’s people, the sursum corda, the lifting of our hearts (Witvliet 2003:135).
It is not a movement back in time through mere memories but a movement of
remembrance of the reality of God’s presence. By way of the sermon, God speaks directly
to the church in its contemporary situation. These two features, the meeting of God with
the congregation and the sermon, embody the uniqueness of God’s mode of speech. The
Reformers insisted that we must receive this speech of God in humility and faith and that
its effectiveness depends on the work of the Spirit (Wolterstorff 1992:289). The passionate
concern to make us aware of the acting God runs throughout Calvin’s entire liturgical
and sacramental theology. God also acts in the sacraments. God seals (attests, confirms)
the promises he made to us in Jesus Christ. This God really does, here and now. Here and
now God says, ‘My promises are “for real”’ (Wolterstorff 1992:292). Wolterstorff (1992:293)
emphatically declares that participation in liturgy has the intention to be confronted by
the acting God – or rather, by God acting.
Calvin’s view of worship is accurately described as a Trinitarian vision. God the
Father is agent, giver and initiator. God the Son is mediator, particularly in the office of
priest. God the Spirit is prompter, enabler and effector (Witvliet 2003:146). To engage in
liturgy is indeed to enter the sphere of God’s action, however, to engage in liturgy is also
to enter the sphere of our worship. Liturgy is divine and human interaction.
Participation of the congregation

The basic principle of Calvin’s liturgy is that the gracious God comes to us in his Word
through the sermon and sacrament and therefore we may answer in prayer and song,
gifts and confession of faith and sin. Because God takes the initiative, the possibility of
participation by the congregation is created. God is present in the congregation with his
power, comfort and compassion to unite them in their actions of prayers, songs, gratitude
and glorification (Brienen 1987:172). Sadly, during his second stay in Geneva, Calvin’s
25
ideal of full participation by the congregation was declined as early as 1541. His burning
desire and work for the participation of the congregation was motivated by his belief that
songs, prayers, listening and glorification were living movements proceeding from the
Holy Spirit (Old 2003:413). The worship service must consist of both the elements of
doxology and epiclesis.
The point of an epiclesis is that we realise that our liturgical actions must be Spirit-
filled. Worship is valid not because of what we have done, but because of what God’s
Spirit does with and through our worship (Old 2003:421). The Reformed churches have
introduced the ‘prayer of illumination’ before Scripture and sermon into their liturgies. It
is their deep conviction that there is no true preaching and no right hearing without
epiclesis (Wolterstorff 1992:290). When God makes our worship alive by his Spirit
working in our hearts, then our worship is the work of God’s Spirit. Such worship is truly
spiritual worship (Old 2003:427).
The principle of freedom in liturgy

The Reformers’ conviction of the work of the Spirit in liturgy also brought reaction
against the strict prescription in the Roman Mass. Bucer was outspoken in his view that
because of the work of the Spirit, any congregant could lead in prayer and the congregation
could sing (cf. Barnard 1981:297). Luther emphasised the Christian freedom in many of
his works. Calvin founded his conviction of freedom in liturgy on the freedom in Christ.
Christ freed us from legalism, also legalism in liturgy. The New Testament gives no
prescribed order for the liturgy, only that Scripture (reading and preaching), sacraments
and the response of congregants (prayers, songs, gifts) must be part of the worship service.
The liturgy of congregations in different places, times and cultures may differ. Unity
does not mean uniformity. Calvin knows no binding to any of the forms of the Christian
worship service. The reason is that liturgical work never ends, because the knowledge of
the grace of God under the leadership of the Holy Spirit could further be deployed and
enriched in the liturgy (Brienen 1987:159). Brienen (1987:159) makes the point that it is
not Calvinistic to make the liturgy of Calvin a prescription.
Interaction of principles with culture

The Reformers took care of the language, culture and customs of the specific country.
Calvin stated that congregants could not participate in the prayers of the Roman Mass or
say ‘amen’ to the prayers as they were in Latin, a language foreign to the congregants. As
early as 1525, Schwarz adapted the Roman Mass to German culture by translating and
reforming it as the Deutsche Messe. The songs were also in the vernacular, especially the
songs of Bucer and Calvin (Brienen 1987:166).
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Chapter 2
Part of culture is the use of symbols, both in language and in forms of art. In medieval
times, sculptures of holy people and of Mary and Jesus were to be seen in many places of
worship. Calvin’s view was that the Roman church forsook Scripture because they argued
that as God could not be known through the Word only, sculptures that could be seen
were necessary (Brienen 1987:146). The Reformers were opposed to icons because the
people did not really distinguish between the image and the person it denoted, thus, they
worshipped the image – in effect becoming guilty of idolatry (Boonstra 1997:424).
Zwingli applied the objection to icons most consistently and radically. To him,
worship was (or ought to be) a purely spiritual engagement between God and his people,
devoid of all sensuous, corporeal involvement. This standpoint demanded the banishment
not only of all visual distractions (icons), but also of music, both instrumental and vocal.
Sometimes the organs were destroyed, sometimes not. It appears that the main exception
to the iconic cleansing was the stained-glass windows. Here a sense of practicality must
have prevailed – doing without the windows was too cold, and replacing them was too
costly (Boonstra 1997:427). John Calvin did not banish singing, but in his objection to
icons, he was at one with Zwingli. Calvin commenting on John 4:24 asserted that God,
who is a Spirit, must be worshipped in spirit and in truth. Calvin’s stance was one of
relentless protest against the presence of icons in the sanctuary. Both the production of
images and worshipping them are forbidden in Scripture and destructive of genuine
worship (Boonstra 1997:426). Calvin founded his view on the Second Commandment as
well as on Acts 17 (Old 2003:428).
The use and abuse of images is of more than historical interest. The role of images –
their nature, power and role for good or ill – affect persons at the deepest level of their
piety and imagination. In Reformation circles from the 16th century up until today, the
focus has been mainly on the cognitive aspect of the truth. According to Vos and Pieterse
(1997:112), this is the reason why the emotional side, the experiential side and the contact
with the mysterious side of God have not received the proper accent.
One cannot help but be grateful to Calvin (and others) for recapturing worship that
came closer to biblical models. The emphasis on paying homage to God’s name and glory,
the return of song to the people, the renewed stress on preaching, the emphasis that
worship ought to be intelligible – all these are reformation. On the other hand, Zwingli
elevated the realm of the mind or spirit or soul in a manner that denies the biblical
emphasis on our created (and redeemed) bodies. Calvin did not escape this tendency
either. The Reformers muted or denied the biblical emphasis on all of creation (including
our bodies and the work of our creative hands) praising God.
As authors, we agree with the following words of Boonstra (1997):
I lament the subsequent distrust of liturgical art in the Reformed tradition. Attempts to use
visual symbolism and plastic arts in worship have too often been met with the dismissal of
Romanism. Simplicity has too often been an excuse for visual barrenness, and the gifts of our
27
artists have been scorned […]. We can also learn that using the visual arts in worship can lead
to aestheticism and ornateness. At the same time, we need not perpetuate the visual severity
and dreariness that has often characterized Reformed worship. Rather, we can explore and
exploit that part of our theological heritage that celebrates creation and restoration, that
gratefully used God’s gifts of shape and colour and texture – also in worship. (p. 431)
Semper reformanda
The 16th-century Reformation led by John Calvin and others can be described as a
reforming movement inspired by the renewing work of the Holy Spirit. This description
is captured by the motto ecclesia reformata, semper reformanda. Reformation theology
emphasises the power of the living Word and the glorification of God. Calvin’s vision
was to reclaim the church from unjust and oppressive laws, superstition and idolatry. He
sought to restore the one true church of Jesus Christ, which is characterised by powerful
bonds of love among members of the body of Christ.
The liturgy since the 16th-century Reformation has seen growth, revision and
continuous reform. Calvin tried to follow the line of the liturgy of the synagogue in
combination with the sacrament of the upper room. That was the line of the liturgy of the
2nd century. During the next centuries, the sermon was the main part and all the other
liturgical elements were seen as decorations of the sermon. People ‘attended’ the worship
service to hear the sermon. Since the beginning of the 20th century, the so-called liturgical
movement tried to focus on the participation of every member and to reinvent the
principles of the early church. This movement could not break the power of the focus on
the sermon and in most Reformed churches, the importance of all the other elements was
underplayed.
During the last quarter of the 20th century, a most remarkable thing happened: All
the mainline traditions of Christendom engaged in liturgical formation. All of them felt
compelled to return to the structure of the liturgy of the church around 200 CE. In
Wolterstorff’s (1992:276) judgement, we must regard this emergent coalescence as
nothing less than the work of the Spirit. We must reflect on Reformed liturgy in the
context of a vivid awareness of the ecumenical developments to which we ourselves have
contributed. As Wolterstorff (1992:277) states ‘[w]e must do so in the awareness of
convergence and coalescence in liturgical theory and practice’.
Reformed liturgy, which is founded on the ‘reformation’ of the church ‘according to
the Word of God’ and attested in Holy Scripture, is to be confessed anew in each new
situation (Moltmann 1999:120). Reformation according to God’s Word is permanent
reformation, it keeps the church and theology breathless with suspense (Moltmann
1999:121). It is an event that cannot end in this world, a process that will reach fulfilment
and rest only in the Parousia of Christ. The concept of theologia reformata et semper
reformanda usque ad finem is appropriate. Moltmann (1999:121) concludes saying,
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‘[a]s reforming theology, Reformed theology and liturgy as a part of it, FPK [Ferdi P.
Kruger] & BJDK [Ben J. de Klerk] is eschatologically oriented theology’.
Evaluation of the 21st-century emergent

movement
A different view on culture as manifested in a
new way of thinking
The emerging church or postmodern church movement is posing invasive challenges
regarding the (merging) culture and a different view of thinking and learning
(Kimball 2003:91). This movement, however, is interested in the role of multisensory
experiences during worship services in order that participating worshippers can
learn through experience. Kimball (2003:195) also indicates that the emerging
movement is testing worship services and preaching to the matrix and extent of life
change. Culture and religion are inextricably linked in their relationship to each
other. Furthermore, Viola (2008:15) brings the issue to the fore that merging of
culture and religion is also asking for a renewal and the continuation of reformation
(semper reformanda).
Tickle (2008:17) elaborates further on this challenge for continuous reformation and
contrasts it with the background of a new expression and a more vital form of Christianity,
which has indeed emerged. Suddenly people are looking for a brand-new expression of
faith and the praxis of being church in this world. The emergent movement gained its
name from the idea that when culture changes there should emerge a new movement, or
church, in response. The new culture in the eyes of the emergent movement (EM) is the
so-called postmodern culture. The EM is in line with basic postmodern thinking – it is
about the dominance of experience over reason, subjectivity over objectivity, spirituality
over religion, images over words, outward over inward, feelings over truth. The emergent
movement is challenging, because it has long been appreciated in Christian tradition that
although we shape our worship, the way we worship also shapes us. Fowler (1991:181),
for example, states his opinion saying, ‘[w]ith liturgy we deal with kinaesthetic (the
sensory experience) of faith’. To Fowler, liturgy as the sensory experience of faith focuses
on the imaginable character of worship and its power to suggest form and evoke the
images that represent our convictional knowing. The rituals and ceremonials of a
worshipping community (church) are the most influential in the shaping of faith,
character and consciousness (Westerhoff 1987:514). Liturgical practices give expression
to the particular beliefs, values and feelings of the specific faith community and in that
way, their identity (Anderson 1997:361).
29
The emergent church movement and the influence of

postmodern thinking
Brain McLaren’s viewpoint regarding the emergent church is that the dominant fact ‘we
have to prove to spirituality-seeking non-Christians in a postmodern world is not that
Christianity is true; we have to prove that it is good and beautiful’ (McLaren 2008:143).
If they are convinced it is good and beautiful, they will be receptive to it being true. The
seeker-services with beautiful music, praise and worship, as well as great performances
must make way for silence, soft music and images of art McLaren 2008:146).
Using the EPIC (theory) acronym, Sweet (in Caldwell 2006:112) describes the ideal
worship for an emerging church. He points out four categories that postmodern churches
should pursue to prepare the 21st-century future church for new generations (Caldwell
2006):
(E) Experiential. Worship is not just about listening and thinking, but about the idea. ‘Let’s
enter into worship as an experience.’
(P) Participatory. The idea is that worship is not just something you observe, like watching
television. You really participate. For example, an important part of worship might be a period
of about 20 minutes in which there are stations around the room where people might go to
write down a prayer, make their financial offering, or have Holy Communion.
(I) Image-based. The idea here is that worship is not just words for the ears, but an increased
emphasis on things you can see. Because of digital technology, you have the capacity to project
images, show artwork, use film and video.
(C) Communal. There is a strong emphasis on community. People are saying, ‘[w]e don’t just
want to attend a service and look at the back of people’s heads’. (p. 112)
Liturgy and utilisation of senses

The reaction of the EM against the Protestant mainline churches is that the centre of
their liturgy is occupied by the exegetical sermon, which is overly focused on mental
comprehension and confines spiritual authority to the pastor. It engages only the ear and
not the other senses. It is hung up on the power of words. It is disconnected from most of
Christian history. This does not satisfy the postmodern consciousness. Worship at
emerging churches is widely divergent. Some practise alternative worship, including
using just about every kind of music: classical to death-metal rock. Others attempt
to revive ancient early church practices: candlelight services, prayer labyrinths and
walking rituals. Creativity and an appreciation of the arts are celebrated in these circles.
They are also technologically savvy and use the internet with great skill (Brown 2008:3).
Kimball (2003:185) demonstrates that the modern church should adjust and move
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Chapter 2
towards a no-holds barred approach to worship. Worship services should be designed to

be user-friendly and should be designed to be experiential and spiritual-mystical. Lit up
and cheery sanctuaries need to be darkened because darkness is valued and displays a
sense of spirituality. The focal point of the service, which had been the sermon, must be
changed so that the focal point of the service could become a holistic experience.
Participation is very important and therefore people are not forced to remain
stationary in their seats for the whole meeting. During the service, people are allowed to
leave their seats to go to prayer stations to pray on their own, write out prayers, pray
with others or to go to an art station, where they can artistically express worship, while
worship music is playing in the background (Kimball 2004:89–90). In some emerging
churches, people are encouraged to walk the labyrinth. The labyrinth is a structure that is
growing in popularity and occupies an important space during times of contemplative
prayer. The labyrinth originated in early pagan societies. The usual scenario calls for the
prayer – any person doing the action – to do some sort of meditation, enabling him or her
to centre down (i.e. reach God’s presence), while reaching the centre of the labyrinth
(Woodbridge 2008:196).
The emerging church embraces multisensory worship, because experience is very
important to people in emerging generations, in all areas of life. Kimball (2004:81)
indicates that multi-sensory worship involves seeing, hearing, tasting, smelling, touching
and experiencing. This means that our worship of God can involve singing, silence,
preaching and art, and hence encompasses a wide spectrum of expression (Woodbridge
2008:197).
Another common theme woven throughout into emerging worship gatherings is
the emphasis on prayer. Much time is given for people to slow down, quieten their
hearts and then pray at various stations and with others. Each person needs to allow
some time for the Spirit to convince or encourage his or her heart after a message, rather
than rush out through the door (Kimball 2004:94). Prayer is therefore an important
element in the emerging church. The emerging church thoroughly plans its worship
gatherings and provides plenty of time for people to slow down (Woodbridge 2008:201).
Contemplative prayer is a vital element of the emerging church and openly integrates
the spiritual practices of other religions. Many involved in contemplative and centring
prayer find their inspiration and practices in eastern mystics and Roman Catholic
mystics (monks) (Anon. 2006).
Preaching
Religious truth is not proven, it is embodied in individuals and the community known as
the church. People’s testimonies should be listened to with the same sense of respect and
31
reverence as one would listen to the Bible. No wonder Pagitt (2005:22) has reconstructed
the sermon as a conversation! If personal testimony is at the level of the written Word of
God, then conversation becomes the viable object of exegesis and exposition along with
its community member – the Bible. To Pagitt (2005:23), the Bible raises its hand in a
conversation, politely waiting until it is called upon to speak. However, in history the
Bible has been the ‘thunder’ of God for reformation, revival and regeneration. Leaders of
the emerging church movement promote postmodern hermeneutics. They argue for
‘hermeneutics of humility’, which would assert that we cannot know any propositional
truth absolutely. According to Kimball (2003):
The scriptural message is communicated through a mix of words, visual arts, silence, testimony,
and story, and the preacher is a motivator who encourages people to learn from the Scriptures
throughout the week. (p. 193)
Christians should therefore exercise humility in interpreting God’s Word and systematic
theology because anyone could theoretically be wrong.
Pastors position themselves as facilitators and conversation partners, not preachers.
Groups sit in circles or in small groups, not in rows of pews facing an elevated pulpit.
The preacher’s responsibility is to create an ethos in the church that is characterised by
the body that becomes a learning community of the Word themselves and being not
solely dependent upon the preacher (Kimball 2003:191). Two primary characteristics
of an emergent preacher that would model vintage preaching for Kimball (2003:195–
196) would be that of humility and dependence. Pagitt (2005:12–18) refers to preaching
(in the traditional sense) as ‘speaching’. In his view, speaching refers to ‘the style of
preaching that’s hardly distinguishable from one-way speech’ (Pagitt 2005:12).
Speaching is an ineffectual means of communication and in relation to the church
‘damages our people and creates a sense of powerlessness in them’ (Pagitt 2005:22).
Preaching carried out in a speaching format places the preacher in ‘control of the
content, speed, and conclusion of the presentation’ and entirely ignores the Christian
community (Pagitt 2005:22).
Pagitt (2005:36) calls preaching ‘progressional dialogue’, which presents the
deconstructed and/or reconstructed form of preaching recommended for the emerging
church in order to reach postmodern culture. Pagitt (2005) defines his method of
preaching by pointing out the following features:
[T]he content of the presentation is established in the context of a healthy relationship between
the presenter and the listeners, and substantive changes in the content are then created as a
result of this relationship. (p. 23)
A primary focus of progressive dialogue is the emphasis placed on the role of the story in
the lives of the audience. The aim is to get the participants to see themselves as a part of
the story itself (Pagitt 2005:36). The form of the sermon should be storytelling, according
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Chapter 2
to Kimball (2003:172–176). He says that postmodernists, just as the Athenians in Paul’s

day (Ac 17), need to be told the ‘grand story about God who created everything’ (Kimball
2003:176). It is for this reason that Kimball exhorts emergent preachers to become
storytellers again. To him, storytelling is not a minor initiative for the emerging church
but rather a central and critical part of its mission – a part that should never be sidelined
(Kimball 2003:172).
Preaching should be the deposit of the continuing discussion of the congregation
in the form of brainstorming, a round-table format (McClure 1995:50). Ten or less
members may be involved in a preaching workgroup that should partake in
the discussion on the form and application of the sermon. Furthermore, there should
be space and opportunity for the other hearers to contribute to the discussion on the
sermon. In this way, persuasion can be reached through interaction (McClure 1995:56).
McClure (1995:20) sees the unsatisfactory face-to-face contact between preachers and
hearers as a major problem. Preachers can become lonely figures in their studies and
can be alienated from their hearers (McClure 1995:21–22). McClure further indicates
that the Word of God is communal and therefore it emerges in the process of dialogue
that takes place within the community. The Word is brought forth in the give and take
situation of conversations in which the meaning of the gospel is sought (Van der Rijst
2015:163). In McClure’s mind, the otherness of people should open up preaching. The
issue coming to one’s mind is how open sermons should function in terms of the
message of a biblical text. Should sermons function merely as discourses based on a
biblical text? It is clear that voices from postmodern scholars are also making a
challenging appeal to the concept of continuous reformation regarding the emerging
character of the Word of God. The openness to the other views of liturgy and preaching
has become a burning issue.
Evaluative perspectives from Acts 13:13–43

and Acts 19:23–41
Having evaluated the manifestation of the bipolar interaction between liturgical theory
and praxis during the 16th-century Reformation and the revolutionary liturgical praxis
of the emergent churches, the researchers intend to investigate if perspectives from the
book of Acts could offer principles for the interrelationship between the theory of liturgy
and the praxis of liturgy. The broader context of the passages identified for this section
are dealing with the march of the early church in proclaiming the gospel and with the
breakthrough of the gospel into the existing culture of that time. Acts 13 is chosen because
of the contact with the Jewish culture. Acts 19 is chosen because of the contact with the
Greek culture.
33
The influence of preaching on an accompanying

liturgy in Jewish culture (Ac 13:13–43)
In this passage, two sermons of Paul in the synagogue of Antioch are described. It is
evident that Paul and his helpers are connecting to the circumstances of the people of the
synagogue. One good example of their indulgence towards the customs of people is the
fact that they were worshipping on the seventh day, rather than on the already customary
first day of the week (Manser 2010:1930). In the synagogue, people with different cultural
backgrounds met each other, namely Jews from the diaspora and people from a pagan
background (Osborne 1995:197). Larkin (2006:502) highlights the fact that Paul and his
helpers showed sensitivity towards the different kinds of liturgies that were adhered to.
They received an invitation to deliver a word of consolation (λογος παρακλήσεως) to
the local people, who were in need of encouragement (Louw 1993:29). The people’s
expectation of sermons was therefore that they should contribute towards a meaningful
experience. The incident therefore concerned people who really wanted to understand
the meaning or essence of life and therefore the cognitive aspects were intertwined with
their emotional experience (De Villiers 1985:229).
It is evident that Paul proclaimed the message of salvation (λογος τῆς σωτηριας). It
entailed that he disclosed the gospel in a systematic manner (Joubert 1991:140). His
systematic disclosure of the gospel also comprised the idea that a certain reaction was
needed. It was really about the concreteness and the applicability of the message. It is
striking that the leaders of the synagogue invited Paul for the next week’s worship service,
in which the message about salvation was a real attraction. There was a desire to hear
more about the gospel. The message of encouragement and the message of salvation also
emanated a desire to accompany Paul and his helpers, an accompanied liturgy that seeks
a willingness to hear and experience more by going along (Manser 2010:1392). Although
Paul experienced severe resistance against his preaching, the effect of the proclamation
could not be prevented. Most of the hearers were full of joy (έπληροῦντο). This expression
has the connotation to be satisfied with something or even to give meaning to something
(Louw & Nida 1993:199). The joy about the preaching spread across the region. The
influence of a preacher that was able to adapt his style to the concrete circumstances of his
hearers certainly contributed to the positive reception of the proclaimed Word (Joubert
1991:141). It is important to note that his adaption never violated the truthfulness of his
message (Manser 2010:1993).
This event occurred due to an urge to hear a word of consolation. In praxis, the people
wanted to receive answers to the question about the meaning of daily life. The praxis
opened doors to the proclamation of the Word. Paul chose to preach about the
most meaningful theme in the particular context, for that matter, in all human life –
salvation. His expository preaching offered him a further opportunity to speak boldly
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Chapter 2
about reconciliation. From these events, a few principles can be deduced for liturgical
theory, namely the importance of the choice of the theme – in this case, the most
important one for salvation – in response to the needs of the people, the adaptation of the
presentation to local liturgies and that the proclamation of the Word would have far-
reaching effects. In this example, the bipolar tension and the organic interrelationship
between theory and praxis cultivated a new practice theory for joy in the midst of
resistance.
Adaption to a Greek culture (Ac 19:23–41)

Larkin (1995:269) indicates that Paul was driven by a certain kind of ‘must’ (δει). It
comprises that he was guided by the Holy Spirit to visit Ephesus. In this city, the cult of
Artemis and the tendency to make money from worshipping was the order of the day
(Larkin 2006:564). Paul’s sermon immediately had an effect, namely that a commotion
(ταραχος) occurred. The proclamation of the Word cultivated a cognitive dissonance.
The content of the sermon deviated from the existing focus of their cult (Larkin
2006:566). Blount and Tubbs-Tisdale (2001:34) indicate that the proclamation of the
Word and the language that is used could also experience resistance in certain cultures.
In such instances, Paul adapted his preaching style. He utilised the method of the
delivery of the sermon, namely dialogue (διαλεγομενος) in order to persuade the
hearers. He tried to convince or persuade his hearers for three months in their own
liturgical space, namely the synagogue. He actually debated with them. When it became
clear that they had hardened themselves against the proclamation, he moved to the
lecture hall of Tyrannus (Larkin 1995:275). During that period, he addressed them on
a typically Greek philosophical level.
It is evident that Paul did his uttermost to understand the essence of their philosophical
cognisance. This is in stark contrast with the Jewish culture of expository preaching in
Acts 13. Paul tried to operate at the level of the Greek people’s understanding of the
philosophy of life in Acts 19.
In this passage, Paul was confronted by the problematic praxis of the cult of Artemis,
which operated with the idea of a consumerist liturgy. Against the background of the
organic framework of a bipolar tension between theory and praxis, it seems as if this
relationship was threatened due to resistance against Paul’s theory of proclamation.
Despite Paul’s method in his preaching, namely dialogue or debate, it seems as if his
attempt was in vain. This passage ends with an open end as regards a problematic praxis,
because the people rejected the theory of proclamation that confronted their praxis. It is
clear that inadequate cognisance of the influence of theory results in the resilient effects
of a problematic praxis. Without a clear and organic bipolar interaction between theory
and praxis, a distorted practice theory will emerge.
35
Evaluation
Evaluation of theoretical foundation of the
interrelationship between theory and praxis
In the previous sections of this chapter, it has become evident that the following three
lenses could be helpful to evaluate the implications of continuous reformation:
• In the interaction between theory and praxis, there is no separation or identification,

but a bipolar tension-filled combination.
• Theory constantly needs verification or falsification through praxis by theory. There
should be a dialectical movement theory to praxis, to critical reflection and revision of
praxis, to revision of theory as they interact.
• An unreflective and abstract theory leads to a static and ineffective deterioration in
liturgical praxis. Prioritising the existing praxis protects the status quo and leads to a
situation of fearfully clinging to one’s own comfort zone, which could possibly lead
towards deformation.
Evaluation of the interrelationship between theory

and praxis in the 16th-century Reformation
• The first steps in the Reformation were aimed at reforming the problematic praxis
(e.g. liturgy in mother tongue) through interaction with a reforming theory that set
out changes in the contents of the Deutsche Messe regarding the sacrifice in the Mass
and worship of so-called holy persons.
• The existing theory of the medieval liturgy was tested according to scriptural
principles as well as norms from history. The result was a new focus on liturgical
theory, namely the unity of Word and sacrament.
• The application of the principle of the unity of Word and sacrament resulted in the
reformation of the liturgy in the sense that members of the congregation were no
longer spectators but participants, which created a dynamic praxis.
• On the other hand, the praxis occurred where the proclamation of the Word became
the main and only liturgical act and the sacraments were degraded to remembrance
(Zwingli). In interacting with the theory, this practice produced a wrong theory. The
participation of the congregation was limited and their participation comprised
cognitive actions only.
• The principle in liturgical theory that God is the main actor in the liturgy and that his
actions open the possibility for the congregation to respond leads to a praxis where
the importance of listening to Scripture readings and preaching and response in
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Chapter 2
praying, singing and offering are all acknowledged. This is also an inheritance from
the Reformation.
• In the theory of Reformed liturgy, the principle of God’s presence in the acts of the
sacraments leads to a praxis in which the congregation concretely experiences that
God seals, attests and confirms his promises at that specific moment. Thus, the
organic connection between the cognitive and emotive elements comes into a
functional relationship.
• A praxis in which the illumination of the Holy Spirit is underplayed leads to an
anthropocentric theory that liturgy is the performance of one or more people.
• The theory of freedom in liturgy founded on the freedom in Christ leads to a praxis
in which variety is possible. Through deeper knowledge of God’s grace and the
leadership of the Holy Spirit, the liturgy can be deployed in a theonomic reciprocity
functioning where people are enabled and enriched to be participants.
• In a theory in which the cognitive faculty of the participants is overstressed and the
emotive (experience) side is underplayed, the visual and creative aspects in liturgy are
missing links. The dysfunctional relationship between the cognitive and emotive
aspects will lead towards a distorted praxis. In the time of the Reformation, the
reaction against art went too far and, in later years, led to a boring and colourless type
of liturgy. This result emanated from a distorted interaction between the three
components in the triangular relationship between the cognitive (thinking), emotive
(feeling) and conative (doing) pillars.
Evaluation of the interrelationship of theory and praxis

in the emergent movement of the 21st century
• The theory of the emergent movement that multisensory experiences during worship
services are necessary leads to praxis of greater participation and learning through
experience.
• In a theory in which the present culture is the decisive factor for liturgical actions, the
biblical principles play a minor role and do not correct a problematic praxis in liturgy.
• In a theory in which the participation of the congregation is overstressed, God as the
main liturgist in worship is downplayed.
• In a theory in which experience is prominent, the praxis will be losing the important
aspect of giving information and educating the congregants. This theory could
possibly lead to arbitrariness in praxis.
• In a protesting praxis against the authority of the pastor or the authority of the Bible,
the result could be a theory where there is no certainty of what the truth is. Truth is
embodied by individuals through discussion (and the Bible is one partner in the
round-table discussion). How open should the circle of the otherness become before
the important voice of God speaking through his Word is endangered?
37
A normative theoretical foundation from two

passages in Acts on the interrelationship between
theory and praxis
• Acts 13 stresses the importance of the context (praxis), which should function in
interaction with the act of proclaiming the Word (theory).
• The cognitive aspect as well as the emotive experience is addressed in the word of
consolation in preaching that consists of explanation and application.
• The balance between theory and praxis in this episode brought joy because the word
of consolation and salvation satisfied the need of the audience to be assured of
meaning in life (conative aspect). The triangular relationship between the three
pillars of the cognitive, emotive and conative aspects are coming into their own.
• In Acts 19, Paul interrelated with the existing praxis by adapting the proclamation
to a typically Greek philosophic space and level. He also used an appropriate
communication method, namely dialogue (praxis), to reach them with the
proclamation of the gospel (theory). He operated at the level of the Greek people’s
understanding (cognition).
• In the bipolar interaction between theory and praxis in this episode, the theory
threatened the existing context (praxis). Because the praxis rejected the theory, the
praxis became even more distorted.
Perspectives on continuous liturgical reform

The authors suggest a few perspectives on the relationship between theory and praxis in
liturgy, namely:
• In a bipolar interaction, the theory of liturgy shapes praxis, praxis questions and
reshapes the theory of liturgy.
• The acknowledgement that God is the main liturgist in worship opens a clear place
and opportunity for holistic participation of the congregants where the cognitive,
emotive and conative pillars are in balance.
• The scriptural principles for liturgy (theory) may be applied in different situations
(praxis) and in various manners.
• Reformed liturgy is founded on reformation of the church according to the Word of
God, attested according to the Holy Scripture, which is to be confessed anew in each
new situation (praxis). Reformation according to God’s Word (which is time-directed
but not bound by time) is a continuous reformation and an event that keeps the
church and theology breathless with suspense regarding the organic functioning
between theory and praxis.
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Chapter 2
• Engagement in liturgical formation needs to consider what is happening ecumenically

in a broader context (praxis), in order to enrich denominational reflection on the
relationship between theory and praxis.
• The primacy of the Word implies that scriptural principles control liturgy and should
correct all existing praxis. All theories about liturgy should also be tested according to
the Word of God.
• The balance between cognitive and emotional elements is important in a holistic
participation in the liturgy. Cognitive and emotive elements should provide direction
for the conative (doing) aspect to function properly.
• Continuous reformation will keep the liturgy full of excitement and the process will
reach fulfilment and rest in the Parousia of Christ. The tension between theory and
praxis will endure until the end of time. Perhaps one could say then the two focal
points of the ellipse will come together to be the single focal point of a perfect circle.
Conclusion
In this chapter, it has been indicated that the principle of continuous reformation should
be a stimulus when reflecting in theological research on the relationship between
liturgical theory and praxis. The 16th-century Reformation, with its emphasis on the
continuation of reformation and the emerging churches in the 21st century, with the
focus on the role of multisensory experiences, cannot be evaluated from a liturgical
vantage point without a meaningful reflection on the relationship between liturgical
theory and praxis. To be more concrete, a coherent balance between the cognitive and
the emotional elements in liturgy is important. Cognitive (knowing) elements and
emotive elements (feeling) should provide direction for the conative (doing) aspects to
function properly. A non-organic functioning in this triangular functioning could lead
towards a distortion in ecclesiastical and liturgical practice both in the churches with a
16th-century Reformation background and in emergent churches. In bipolar interaction,
theory should shape praxis and praxis could possibly question and reshape the theory. In
a theory in which the participation of the congregation is overstressed, God as the main
liturgist in worship is downplayed. In a theory in which experience is prominent, the
praxis will lose the important aspect of providing information for participants in worship
services to understand the essence of the liturgy of life (praxis).
Summary: Chapter 2
Research in the field of liturgics has indicated that churches are confronted with the
need for liturgical formation. The authors of this chapter are investigating the manner
in which churches should reflect on the relationship between theory and praxis.
39
The following research question is regarded as ad rem: How should we evaluate the

liturgical reformation of the 16th-century Reformation and its implications and the 21st
century phenomenon of the emergent church 500 years later? This issue is addressed
from a practical theological vantage point with cognisance of the importance of the
organic relationship between theory and praxis. In this ostensibly bipolar relationship
between theory and praxis, two focal points within an ellipse are identified. The authors
evaluated the concept of continuous reformation during the 16th-century Reformation
and thereafter, but they also addressed the dynamics of the emerging churches. From
Acts 13 and 19, perspectives are derived regarding the enrichment that should take place
between theory and praxis. The importance of cultural phenomena in this process is also
addressed. In conclusion, perspectives are offered on the way in which theory and praxis
should function within a proper understanding of continuous liturgical formation.
40
Chapter 3
Convinced by Scripture
and plain reason:
Reasonable reformational
apologetics
Henk G. Stoker
Faculty of Theology
South Africa
By Scripture and plain reason

When the reformer Martin Luther used the following famous words at his apologia at the
imperial Diet of Worms, he set a basis for Protestant apologetics (Edgar & Oliphint 2011):
Unless I am convicted by Scripture and plain reason – I do not accept the authority of popes and
councils, for they have contradicted each other – my conscience is captive to the word of God.
I cannot and will not recant anything for to go against conscience is neither right nor safe. (p. 17)
The Protestant Reformation was built on and fuelled by a high regard for Scripture as the
final authority for our understanding of God, the world and Gods relationship to the
world. This can be seen in the expression sola scriptura, but also in Luther’s statement
How to cite: Stoker, H.G., 2017, ‘Convinced by Scripture and plain reason: Reasonable reformational apologetics’, in S.P. van
der Walt & N. Vorster (eds.), pp. 41–59, Reformed theology today: Practical-theological, missiological and ethical perspectives,
AOSIS, Cape Town. https://doi.org/10.4102/aosis.2017.rtt47.03
41
Convinced by Scripture and plain reason
above, which could and should have cost his life. Luther emphasises his high and total
regard for Scripture as the Word of God – the Word that held his conscience captive in
this matter of life and death.
It is important to see that in the statement above, Luther not only refers to the Bible,
but also to ‘plain reason’. He underlines the importance of reason by adding that the
authority of the church leaders is not to be fully trusted, because of a basic logical argument
that opposite things or contradictions cannot both be correct.
Faith and reason are two concepts used to make divisions in reformational
apologetics, saying that some apologists depend mainly on reason in their apologetic
endeavour, and other mainly on faith. When Beilby (2011:88) for instance discusses the
view of the relationship between reason and faith in Christian theological apologetics
since the Reformation, he puts different apologetic approaches and persons on the
reason-faith-continuum (see Figure 1).6,7,8
This chapter, however, assumes that one should not only focus on the differences
between Protestant (reformational) methods of apologetics, but rather highlight the
fact that they all hold to the relation between faith and reason as crucial for apologetics.
Accordingly, the Bible is always held as an essential part of God’s revelation to sinful
human beings and reasonable argumentation is viewed as an intrinsic part of
apologetic approaches. The aim of this chapter is therefore to go beyond confessional
and methodological boundaries and to reaffirm the shared Protestant heritage of
apologetics, thereby providing insight into what could be understood as reasonable
reformational apologetics.
Raonalism Natural Theology Synergism Reformed Theology Fideism
Locke Aquinas Pascal Augusne Dodwell

Newman Calvin Van Til
Source: Beilby 2011:88

FIGURE 1: Beilby’s reason-faith-continuum.
6. Locke’s apologetics on the one continuum is rationalistic because, according to Beilby (2011:88),
Locke saw reason as ‘the sole arbiter of truth’ and faith as ‘unnecessary when rational arguments are
present.’
7. On the other end of the continuum Dodwell and Van Til’s apologetics are fideistic because, according
to Beilby (2011:89), they ‘sharply delimit the use of rational arguments in apologetics.’
8. To label Cornelius van Til a fideist does not do justice to him. According to Van Til (1974:197) sinful
man supressed his knowledge of God. The task of apologetics is to address this suppressed knowledge in
a logical way, because it is not total. Van Til can be described as the father of modern-day reformed
apologetics, and should be put with Augustine and Calvin under Reformed theology on the continuum
above.
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Chapter 3
Reason and Christian apologetics before the

Reformation
While it is not possible or the purpose to give a thorough account of Christian apologetics
before the Reformation, it is important to highlight some aspects thereof for the understanding
of apologetic reasoning since the Reformation – starting with the New Testament.
Thereafter, a short summary of the views on reasoning and apologetics of two influential
Christian apologists of the first 15 centuries, namely Augustine and Aquinas, will be given
before discussing the influence thereof on the time of the Reformation and afterwards.
The New Testament

The word apologia appears 19 times in the New Testament. Eight times it is used as a
noun, three of them deal with the defence of the gospel (Phlp 1:7, 1:16; 1 Pt 3:15), one is
used to describe a congregation defending itself (2 Cor 7:11), and four describe Paul’s
defence of himself (Ac 22:1; Ac 25:16; 1 Cor 9:3; 2 Tm 4:16). The focus of apologetics,
accordingly, is to give a reasoned response to the attacks of opponents, as well as to answer
the probing questions of those who wonder about the gospel and aspects thereof.
Without using the term ‘apologia’, other passages in Scripture also describe the apologetic
task the Bible asks of Christians. According to these passages the task of apologetics can be
described as defending and contending, for example demolishing arguments (2 Cor 10:5),
refuting those who oppose sound doctrine (Tt 1:9), contending for the faith (Jude 3) and ‘gentle
instruction’ (2 Tm 2:25). Romans 12 emphasises the importance to support Christians not to:
[B]e conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing
you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect. (v. 2)
The main elements of Christian apologetics can be described as:
• Apologists: Important to understand the reason for their hope and to be prepared
to answer and react to worldly views.
• Action: Defend and commend – reasonable, effective and gentle.
• Content: The Christian faith (or aspects thereof that are in debate).
• Goal: Upholding Christianity as true and the renewal of minds.
• Context: To understand what answer (apologia) should be given, the people, place
and reasoning should be kept in mind.
One Peter 3:15 (English Standard Version [ESV]), urges Christians to be involved in
apologetics – ‘always being prepared to make a defense to anyone who asks you for a
reason for the hope that is in you; yet do it with gentleness and respect.’ The importance
of preparation and of the use of reason in apologetics is described, as well as the personal
character thereof (‘hope that is in you’) and the way of doing ‘with gentleness and respect’.
43
In discussing the importance of ‘gentleness and respect’ in our reasoned defence

according to 1 Peter 3:15, Groseclose (2009) mentions Calvin’s way of doing apologetics
as an example:
Too often, people who would defend the Christian faith in the world around us, do so with an
arrogant and a haughty spirit. Sometimes, when you are right and you know that you are right,
you find yourself in a dangerous position. I think that this is one of the reasons that Calvin’s
model is so valuable for us today. Because as you read Calvin’s writings against those who
would challenge the reformation, you do not see an arrogant man ranting and raving, but you
see a man of humility speaking with grace. (n.p.)
Because of who God is, our apologetic reasoning must reflect caring truthfulness.
Augustine
In the beginning of the 5th century, Augustine had played a major role in the growth of the
understanding of the task of Christian apologetics. He laboured on two fronts, defending
Christian teachings against heresies from within Christianity (e.g. Donatists and Pelagians)
as well as from outside of the Church (e.g. Manicheans, Jews and Pagans). His well-known
work, De civitate Dei [The city of God], focussed for instance on paganism that tried to
regain lost ground. Its thorough refutation was ‘eminently successful and doubtless did
much to undermine whatever prestige paganism still enjoyed at that time’ (Dulles 2005:84).
The importance of the use of reason by Augustine in these apologetic discourses and
the influence thereof, is well described in the following remark of Beilby (2011:46),
‘Augustine’s articulation of the importance of reason and the reasonability of faith set the
tone for apologetic work in the Middle-Ages.’
Aquinas
The 13th-century theologian, Thomas Aquinas, is well known for the influence he had
on apologetics – not only in the Middle Ages, but also on the strong stream of classical
apologetics of today. By incorporating insights of Aristotelian philosophy into
Christianity, Thomas Aquinas taught that, while there are aspects of the Christian belief
system that need divine revelation (such as the resurrection of Christ), human reason is
sufficient to convert people in other aspects (such as the existence of a one and only God).
Reason and Protestant apologetics in the

time of the Reformation
Due to profound differences between the Roman Catholic church leaders and the
Reformers, and the numerous debates and writings as a result thereof, the Protestant
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Chapter 3
Reformation of the 16th century caused an increase in apologetic material. Luther’s 95

statements which he nailed on the church door at Wittenberg in October 1517, and
which can formally be seen as the start of the Reformation, were essentially apologetic
statements based on Scripture, as a reasonable reaction against false teachings and wrong
practices of the church of the time. In the words of 2 Timothy 3:16 it was ‘profitable for
teaching, for reproof, for correction.’
The monumental work of Calvin, Institutes of the Christian religion (written in 1559 in
Latin),9 is not only an exposition of biblical reformational theology, but clearly also an
apologetic work that highlights the heresies of the time and deals with them.10 The
Protestant confessions that arose at that time had an apologetic aim to show that the
Protestant differences with Roman Catholic doctrines were based on the Bible.11
Luther
Since the time of the Reformation questions were asked by proponents of the Reformation,
about the place and role of reason in theology. This debate on the place and role of reason
in reformational theology logically involved apologetics.
In response to Aquinas and the influence of Aristotelian philosophy, Luther (1483–
1546) emphasised that it is foolish to think that reason will convince the sinful man to
become a Christian. To attain true knowledge of God is, according to Luther as true
Reformer, a gift of grace (sola gratia). He even questioned a rational defence of the faith
by saying, ‘[w]e must take care not to deface the Gospel, to defend it so well that it
collapses’ (quoted in Beilby 2011:55–56). He even refers to human reason as ‘the devil’s
whore’ (Lotz 1981:280).
On the other hand, Luther refers at the imperial Diet of Worms to ‘plain reason’ as
one of two prerequisites needed for him to change his views (see ‘By Scripture and plain
reason’ above). He explains the importance of plain reason by referring to the logical
fallacy of mutual contradiction in the statements of the church.
9. All references to Calvin’s Institutes of the Christian religion in this chapter refer to Simpson’s 1984
Afrikaans translation (Calvin 1984).
10. In the preface to the Institusie van die Christelike godsdiens (1984) Calvin defends the Reformers
against heresy charges before king Francis 1.
11. Guido de Bräs (1561:1), a preacher of the Reformed churches in the Netherlands writes in the
preface of the Belgic confession to King Philip II in 1562 ‘that they were ready to obey the government in
all lawful things, but that they would “offer their backs to stripes, their tongues to knives, their mouths to
gags, and their whole bodies to the fire”, rather than deny the truth expressed in this confession.’ In ‘The
Heidelberg Catechism’, Ursinus and Olevianus (1563) motivate for instance on Sunday 30, answer 80,
why the Protestants see the papal mass as a form of idolatry.
45
To solve the apparent contradiction in Luther’s thinking on reason, his distinction

between magisterial and ministerial uses of reason must be considered. The former is
the type of reason that Luther rejected, since it appoints reason over Scripture as a
magistrate to judge the truth or falsity of Scripture. But Luther endorsed the ministerial
role of reason, where reason has the task to serve Scripture and its application. Craig
(2000:36–37) referred with appreciation to this distinction that Luther makes and says
that ‘reason under the sovereign guidance of God’s Spirit and Word is a useful tool in
helping us to understand and defend our faith.’
Calvin
What captures the reader’s attention of the various works of Calvin, is both the logical
way in which he elaborates on his thoughts, as well as the rational consistent way in
which he defends a true understanding of Scripture against bias, distortions and attacks.
In the preface to his Institusie van die Christelike godsdiens, Calvin (1984:89–90) gave the
King of France an apologetic reason why he composed this important and extensive
doctrinal work that he was sending to him. He pointed out that in this book, he gave an
account of the gospel to those who accused the Reformation movement of heresy and
intended to act with violence against the Protestants.
Luther’s statement that believers need to be convinced through the Scriptures and
logical reasoning which is according to it, and not by the force of church leaders and the
outcomes of councils which contradict themselves, are expanded in a logical way by
Calvin’s elaborations on Scripture as it speaks against the heresies of his time. In Book 1
of his Institusie van die Christelike godsdiens, Calvin pointed out in Chapter 1 that man’s
knowledge of God and of himself go hand in hand (Inst. 1.9.1). In Chapter 2 he writes that
man could have a true basic knowledge of God from what he observes in nature, if the fall
had not occurred (Inst. 1.2.1).
A proof that man has an awareness of God in himself and in nature, is according to
Calvin (Inst. 1.3.1) evident, among others, in the idolatry of the nations (Inst. 1.10-1.12).
Even atheists show that they are not without an understanding of God (Inst. 1.3.1). The
problem is that the knowledge of God is stifled and distorted by sinful man, partly due to
ignorance and partly to malice (Inst. 1.4.1). Yet, the revelation of God in nature as well as
the culture accordingly formed by man, deny him any excuse for his rebellion against God
(Inst. 1.5.1). About this approach by Calvin, Vorster (2014:7) noticed that Calvin ‘resists
theoretical and philosophical speculation on God’s divine nature.’ Through observing the
revelation of God in Scripture and creation and his involvement in it, man comes to
know God through the work of the Holy Spirit.
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Chapter 3
When Calvin (Inst. 1.9.1) discusses the position of the libertines who wanted to separate
the Word of God from the working of the Holy Spirit, he called it insanity. He gives several
rational arguments on why such a step not only leads to heresy, but is also illogical.
According to Calvin it implies that the Spirit of Christ, which has enlightened the apostles
and the first Christians to write down the Word of God and receive it in all reverence, is
now replaced by another Spirit (of Christ), leading the libertines to something else than
what is revealed in the Word. Among other arguments, he also referred to Paul who wrote
that he was taken to the third heaven, and after that still continues to refer to the law and
the prophets with respect, to the Old Testament as authoritative. Based on Scripture,
Calvin used thus logical arguments to combat heresy, while he aims with his reasoning
based on Scripture to reach the heart and specifically also the mind of the people.12
Reason and contemporary reformational

apologetics
Five hundred years have passed since Luther nailed his 95 apologetic statements to the
church door of Wittenberg. This was a time in which the influence of Protestantism
expanded all over the world and apologetic answers had to be given to a variety of
religious ideas and life and world views. It was also a time when rationalism grew, and the
issue of the place and role of reason and even different views of the Bible had to be
addressed by Protestant apologists.
Before focusing on the way in which reformational apologists in the last hundred
years dealt with these questions, referring back to important conclusions reached by the
reformers during the time of the Reformation, a brief overview will first be given of the
thoughts of influential apologists in the 300 years after the Reformation.
From the 17th to the 19th century

Beilby (2011:66–68) describes Blaise Pascal (1623–1662) as ‘the best and most influential
apologist of the Enlightenment’. This is despite the fact that only notes of his apologetics
remained preserved (the so-called Pensees), because he died young while he started to work
on his An Apology for the Christian faith (Beilby 2011). In line with the reformers of the
12. When Floor (1970:16) discussed Calvin’s polemic with the Anabaptists, he admits that Calvin pointed
out to them that, although the Spirit gives the Word its authority, it in no way means that the Word can
be viewed as redundant and that only the Spirit without the Word should be sought. For the Spirit is linked
with an unbreakable bond to the Word of God – one of the famous statements of Calvin according to
Floor.
47
16th century, Pascal states that humans are capable of knowing God, but sin has limited
their knowledge of God and made it murky. Similar to Augustine and Luther, Pascal
describes the function of reason as apologetical in its aid to people to submit to God.
In his ‘An essay concerning human understanding’, John Locke writes in the late
17th century, that God’s existence and our obedience to him can be proved by reason.
According to Locke (2012:10) ‘the existence of God is made clear to us in so many ways,
and the obedience we owe him agrees so much with the light of reason.’13 In contrast,
John Henry Newman (1801–1890) (1888:310–320), stated that reason alone is not
capable to bring a person to truth. He warns that reason unconstrained by Scripture,
may bring errors to its listeners.
Recent reformational apologetics

The 20th century gave rise to a new emphasis on reformation from the perspective of a
specific Calvinistic life and world view, standing in contrast to other paradigms. At the
beginning of the 20th century Warfield of Princeton, as well as Kuyper and Bavinck of
the Vrije Universiteit in Amsterdam were very influential in their views on theology,
apologetics and reasoning (Beilby 2011:75). They were closely followed by other
influential apologists in the Calvinist tradition such as Cornelius van Til, and reformational
philosophers such as Dooyeweerd, Vollenhoven and Stoker (Braun 2013). The reformed
or pre-suppositional line of Van Til brought forth apologists such as Francis Schaeffer
working in Europe, as well as Bahnsen, Oliphint, Frame, Clark, Keller and others that
have had (and still have) tremendous influence in the United States of America and
abroad (Cowan 2000:19). Also within the stream of classical apologetics there are R.C.
Sproul, Norman Geisler and others striving to do apologetics within a broader Calvinist
approach (Beilby 2011:97).
In the rest of this section, important aspects regarding the place of reason in
reformational apologetics will be discussed.
Suppressed knowledge of God

Based on the Bible as the revelation of the Creator to all man, contemporary reformational
apologists tie up with the 16th century reformers in their anthropological point of
13. While being a Catholic, it is still worthwhile to take notice of the influence of Joseph Butler on Christian
apologetics, because of his defence of Scripture. In 1736, Butler (2003) wrote his The analogy of religion,
natural and revealed, to the constitution and course of nature. In this apologetic work Butler answered
the deists’ claim that nature gives us pure science, while Scripture is not useful because it is filled with
nothing but problems, fables, contradictions and moral errors. Butler showed that when comparing
nature with Scripture, nature is also filled with problems – worse than the problems that someone may
find in scripture.
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Chapter 3
departure, according to which man was created special and unique, in the image of the
Creator himself (Gn 1:26–28), to live in a relationship with him, and to reign over the
earth with normative choices made in responsibility and reasonability, being in charge of
taking care of everything.
Van Til’s (1974:197) views correspond with those of Calvin when he states that
by being created as image of God, it is possible for man to know God, although this
knowledge is suppressed (Rm 1:21). It is this suppressed knowledge that needs to be
addressed in apologetics, for the suppression is not total. That is where apologetic
reasoning comes in. Frame (1994:88) describes the presuppositional apologist as someone
who works from the presupposition that unbelievers have knowledge of God, something
they suppress in rebellion against God.
Even in conflict with their own assumptions, unbelievers see and say things matching
the biblical truth. Apologetics may depart from the unbeliever’s native, but suppressed
knowledge of God. Therefore, reformational apologetics do not have to (and should
not) pretend to be neutral. Their legitimate apologetic arguments and reasoning
presuppose the truth of Scripture and reject the idea of man’s intellectual independence
or autonomy – the same way as Luther did. Man is still in the image of God after the fall
into sin, although the image and what it implies was marred by the Fall. While distorted
he can still see things as they are and can still reason logically.
God did not only create all men in his image, but also brought every human being into
a covenant relationship14 with him. When the first humans sinned, the harmony in this
relationship changed to rebellion against God – but according to the reformational view
this relationship still continues. Oliphint (2013:42) sees it as a crucial part of apologetics
to defend the faith against these covenant breakers who deny their relationship with God
and thus do not fulfil their part of the covenant.
Aim at heart and mind

Human beings need reasoning to fulfil their God-given task in cultivating and preserving
the earth. With reasoning, man can think about his own thinking and can structure his
plan and argument logically. In order to defend and commend the truth, apologetics
needs reasoning. To reach the heart of a person, the mind is involved.
Faith is a matter of heart and mind. The Lord does not ignore people’s thinking by
focusing merely on feelings. Well-reasoned logical arguments are necessary to address
errors and wrong-headedness, and to create the opportunity for people to be taught in
the truth. The Holy Spirit is the Spirit of truth (Jn 14:17; 15:26; 16:13), and uses the clear
14. Referring to the so-called covenant of works, not the covenant of grace.
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preaching of the gospel and the refutation of false reasoning and views in order to bring
people to that which is really true.
In his book Learning evangelism from Jesus, Barrs shows extensively the great variety of
means Jesus used to communicate the truth to people, to reach their hearts and challenge
their minds. Barrs (2009:249–250) concludes that Jesus, in accordance with the needs
and ignorance of people, spoke on different and specifically needed aspects of the truth.
In following him, Christians in their missionary apologetic endeavours have to speak
specifically to the needs and ignorance of people, praying to God for wisdom and for the
guidance of the Holy Spirit – the primary witness and apologist.
The importance of the mind and its clear grasp of God’s revelation in both Scripture and
Creation or nature cannot easily be overemphasised. The antirational trends in the Church that
focus on personal piety or on mindless devotions – singing the same words over and over as in
a mantra – deprived many Christians from the wonder of knowing what they believe, why they
believe it and the reasons why Christians throughout history have been willing to die for their
faith. The antirational and antidogmatic trends in the Church that took the insight into the
basics of Christian beliefs away from members, is one of the important reasons why people leave
the faith, as well as why extreme charismatic leaders and cults get others to believe many heresies
and even to participate in atrocities. To train the human mind in its dogmatic understanding
and apologetic defence of the truth helps people to make conscious decisions. Without it, men
can easily fall into the traps of cults and heresies. Apologetics and its understanding of the biblical
world view are therefore also important in order to prevent backsliding. It is important for
building the church and the kingdom of God, ‘because it helps the believer to overcome
intellectual obstacles in the course of the believer’s spiritual growth’ (Njoroge 2010:15).
While reformational apologetics takes the coherence of God’s revelation in the Bible
and Creation as a departure point, the question remains pressing why it does not speak
convincingly to the hearts and minds of today’s atheistic thinkers. Based on God’s clear
revelation to man, Van Til (1963:103–104) states that reformational apologetics claims
the validity of the argument for the existence of God and Christian theism as clearly
displayed in the Bible and Creation. It is man who does not do justice to the objective
evidence of the truth of Christian theism if he comes to any other conclusion.
Psalm 8 celebrates the wonders of the incredible universe and the order of everything
and uses it as an indisputable proof of the existence and greatness of God. God’s almighty
existence can clearly be seen in creation (Rm 1:18–23) – so obvious that it is foolish to deny
God’s existence (Ps 14:1). Those who deny the existence of God, do so from a heart that is
turned away from God, by suppressing the truth that is available to them (Rm 1:21–23),
having become blind to it (2 Cor 4:4). Nevertheless, there are many people who look at the
stars and the wonders of the land and sea, and come to the conclusion that someone
planned and made it. The revelation of God’s creation is persuasive even beyond our
logical explanation of the teleological and cosmological arguments (Frame 1994:65–66.).
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Chapter 3
Philosophical reasoning in reformational

apologetics
Apologetics is not only a theological endeavour, but a part of the calling of every
Christian and should include all the different fields of scientific research. Among others,
reformational theological apologetics can make use of non-reductive reformational
philosophy and its reasoning, because it takes God’s revelation in an integral sense into
account – including the radical diversity and totality of created reality. In his Festschrift,
Van Til (Geehan 1971) as theologian and apologist replied positively to the reformational
philosopher Stoker’s suggestions on a methodological combination of reformational
philosophy and theology. In his study on this relation Braun (2013) puts it as follows:
Stoker’s treatment of the relation between faith, knowledge and the revelation of creation
converges with Van Til’s position concerning the dependence of human consciousness on the
Self-revelation of God […] He reaffirms Van Til’s approach, while reinforcing the importance
of God’s Word-Revelation in an integral sense, i.e. including the meaning diversity and totality
of created reality by means of reformational non-reductionism […] Stoker implicitly suggests a
complementation of Van Til’s understanding of the Word-revelation, which should not be
reduced to Holy Scriptures, but rather include the other forms. (p. 6)
Following Van Til and Stoker’s epistemology, Oliphint (2011:111) claims that the only
way to get full knowledge of anything in the universe is through faith in Jesus Christ.
His salvation can break through our distorted views of reality. Faith therefore does not
take one from utter ignorance to a basic understanding of reality, but from a distorted
understanding and reasoning, to knowledge that understands creation for what it is.
Scripture-based reasoning
God has created this world knowable and has created human beings as reasonable, able
to think rationally. He endowed man with the acts and functions to know, to plan and to
reason, to reign responsibly over the earth, and fulfil his calling to know and to act
(Stoker 1971:29). In order to fulfil the responsibility that God placed upon man since the
beginning of Creation, towards one another and towards God, the human being had
to be able to reason, plan and communicate verbally. Human beings are designed to see
that which is true and logically makes sense, and to point out and avoid that which is
false or illogical. The influence of the Fall, however, also caused human beings to misuse
logic in order to justify errors and try to get away with them. When God questioned
Adam just after the Fall about his actions, he pinned the guilt on Eve and on God himself
with the following logically constructed argument, underlying that it was actually not
his fault, ‘[t]he woman whom you gave to be with me, she gave me fruit of the tree, and
I ate’ (Gn 3:12 [ESV]).
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Despite the Fall, human beings still have retained the image of God as beings that can take
responsibility and reflect, plan and reason (Col 3:10). People understand that an argument
should hold water, conclusions should be reached in a responsible manner and should not be
contradictory or inconsistent. Even in the normal course of discussions, logical forms and basic
patterns of argumentation are used explicitly or implicitly, of which deductive and inductive
reasoning are the most common. The problem that was caused by the Fall in the human being’s
use of logical reasoning, is therefore not related to logic itself or to aspects of it, such as a logical
and valid conclusion and truth as outcome. The problem, however, is the manner in which
human logic is used, and also often abused (knowingly or unwittingly) for own purposes.
The Lord Jesus does not avoid logic, but uses logical arguments in order to teach the
truth (the truth that makes one free), to oppose false doctrine and to rectify incorrectness
(Jn 8:32; 2 Tm 3:16). Jesus’ usage of logic to break through the Pharisees wrong
understanding of the law can be seen in his handling of their argument that he broke the
law by healing someone on the Sabbath (Mt 12:9–14). His argument can be rewritten in
the following deductive argument:
Premise 1: While you will help your sheep in need on the Sabbath.
Premise 2: And while man has more value than sheep.
Conclusion: It follows that it is lawful to help a man in need on the Sabbath.
There are different ways in which logical deductions may be made from statements or
points of view in a deductive, as well as inductive argument. In a deductive argument, the
point is put forward that if the claims or points of view are true, the conclusion or
conclusions should also be true. In an inductive argument (that is especially used to further
science) the point is put forward that one or more points of view are probably true and for
that reason the conclusion is probably correct. Basic logical conclusions (i.e. syllogisms)
and their possible use in apologetic reasoning, are, among others, the following:
Deductive argument (the first claim constitutes a general truth):
• the human being was made in the image of God
• I am a human being
• I have therefore been created in the image of God.
Hypothetic argument (the first claim constitutes a hypothesis):
• if something has not been in existence since eternity, it must have been created
• the universe does not exist since eternity
• the universe therefore must have been created.
Excluding argument (the first postulate gives excluding choices):
• the Son of God is either eternal or is only a temporary creature
• the Son of God is eternal (cf. Is 9:5; Jn1:3; Col 1:16–17)
• the Son of God can therefore not be a mere creature.
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Extended deductive argument (deduction from various arguments):

• the Bible states that the Son of God is himself God
• the Bible states that Jesus was born 2000 years ago as a human being
• the Bible states that Jesus is the Son of God
• the Bible states that God is eternal, while the human being is a created being
• Jesus is therefore eternally God born as a human being – truly God and man.
Stronger argument (inductively founded upon more logical or preponderance of the
evidence):
• evolutionism states that the temporal world came into existence spontaneously from
nothing
• the doctrine of Creation sees the temporary world as created by the eternal God
• logically it makes more sense that something as temporary as the Creation around us
as well as the rules and norms for its existence, has come into existence through
someone eternal and divinely wise.
When one is working with arguments, it is important that errors in thinking should be
recognised and avoided or pointed out. In Matthew 22:23–24 the Sadducees put an
excluding syllogism to the Lord Jesus, namely that either there is no life after death, or
else if there is life after death, there would be great marital problems when a woman died
that was married a number of times in succession to his brothers after her husband’s
death. The Lord points out the error in their thinking (that of a false dilemma that was
postulated) in the second part of their statement. It is true that there is life after death, but
there are no marriages in heaven. There consequently is not such a dilemma as that which
was purported by the Sadducees.
The lack of logic in their reasoning was a key aspect of the Lord Jesus’ apologetic
handling of people and their questions.15 In a special way he pointed out contradictions
and logical errors in thinking and in the actions and manner in which people reasoned.
The application of reasonable apologetics

An important task and aim of apologetics is to help Christians in their understanding of
the reasoning other people give for living and following their different world views. In
the reformational tradition this has been done with the focus on breaking through the
barriers erected by people in their rebellion against God. To show how ‘Scripture and
plain reason’ come together in Scripture-based apologetic reasoning with others, the
application thereof will be tested in three different fields of apologetics, namely where
15. Many examples may be given. One of these is his handling of the conundrum whether one should pay
tax to the emperor – Matthew 22:15–22; Mark 12:13–17; Luke 20:20–26.
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God is denied (e.g. scientific atheism), where a variety of gods is acknowledged (e.g.
polytheism), and in cults that base their views on the Bible (e.g. Jehovah’s Witnesses).
Scientific atheism
In scientific atheism faith and reasoning are seen as opposites. The naturalistic view and
its pretension that science is based on logic while faith is illogical, is often one of the first
things that has to be handled by Christians in an apologetic discussion. Coming from a
Christian world view, an example of how these atheistic assumptions can be answered, is
by the logical reasoning that if everything was made by chance, there would be nothing
to enforce logic as normative on us. Even the naturalistic belief that the preservation of
the species motivated the evolutionary process would only be a concept with no coercion
or force. Frame (1994:104) notes that if logic was an evolutionary development people
would not have to heed it. An important aspect of the theory of evolution is that it is
about the preservation of life – but cockroaches can survive in places where humans
cannot, and that is not because they can reason more logically.
Part of defending the faith in reformational apologetics is to show the inconsistency
of other world views. Luther did it for instance at Worms when explaining that he could
‘not accept the authority of popes and councils, for they have contradicted each other’
(Edgar & Oliphint 2011:17). The logical fallacy that is basic to an atheistic or naturalistic
view of science is evident in the remark of Lennox (2009:43) when he states that scientism
is self-destructive, having a fatal error in itself, for the scientism assertion that only
science can bring to truth, is itself not derived from science. The statement that only
measurable and logical deductible scientific endeavours bring truth, is in itself not
a scientific statement according to the standards naturalists require. Their view on what
is truth and scientific is a point of departure, a statement about science, a meta-scientific
statement based on a world view or belief system. If contemporary atheistic scientists’
basic statement that only science can bring truth, is true, the statement must accordingly
be false. Accordingly, scientism destroys itself. If logic is to be normative then naturalistic
science self-destructs. This needs to be shown in an apologetic discussion where the idea
of evidence and neutrality is being put to the forefront.
The external conceptual problems of naturalism should receive serious attention from
the natural sciences and must be discussed in apologetic discussions. A naturalistic view of
human beings is an example of a theoretical concept that may sound possible when specific
aspects of the human body are examined, while it cannot fit in a broader life and world
view or in everyday life experiences. Pinker (1997:55–56), who is an advocate of
naturalistic evolution, refers to the dualism into which such a naturalistic paradigm forces
a scientist when he says that he views humans as complex mechanisms within the context
of a laboratory but as free and dignified outside of that environment in everyday life. In his
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own words, he is forced to deal with people at the same time as machines and as free moral
beings with choices ‘depending on the purpose of the discussion’ (Pinker 1997:56).
Pearcey (2006:237) rightly points out that evolutionary naturalism forces thinkers to
work with two contradictory approaches. Their professional ideology describes man as a
mechanism at the mercy of natural processes, which contradicts their own life experience
where man is free to make moral choices and must be handled with human dignity. The
imposition of these inconsistent presuppositions can be seen in their acceptance of this
dualism even though it contradicts their intellectual system. Following Schaeffer (1986),
Pearcey calls this kind of thinking a secular leap of faith. Perhaps this description is too
kind. The world view of this contemporary atheist scientist is a contradictory one, which
must be apologetically challenged to be changed to one that is consistent with everyday
life experience as the Christian world view is.
Naturalism, not only deprives man of his faith, but also of his freedom and
responsibility, meaning and dignity, love, respect and kindness (Oliphint 2013:21).
Materialists depart from the physical causal relation in which every effect (including
human actions) is determined entirely by a previous cause, working according to physical
natural laws which allow no exception. When naturalists reduce human actions to natural
laws, human freedom disappears (Stoker 1983:90). Without freedom and responsibility,
human beings cannot live as human beings, think for themselves, nor even create science,
for things such as choices, freedom and responsibilities are attributes required for the
establishment of science.
Polytheism
The use of logical reasoning and evaluation is not foreign to the Christian church and is
an inherent part of reformational apologetics, as Luther stated at Worms by saying that
views will only be convincing if based on Scripture and when plain reasoning is used in
accordance with it. This point of departure concurs with Scripture itself, where things
are explained in a logical, coherent manner, and logical arguments are used to point out
illogical beliefs or ways of life. When discussing the wisdom surrounding the worship of
idols, Isaiah 44:14–20 for instance, pointed not only to the falseness of idolatry, but also
that it is illogic. The same wood that is used for heat and cooking, is also used to make an
idol. It is not reasonable to believe that part of the wood of a tree that you cut down for
household purposes, can be changed by your making it into a god that you must worship,
who holds your life and destiny in his wooden hands.
Religions such as Hinduism (and its offspring the New Age movement) and certain
groups coming out of Christendom such as Mormonism and churches following the
little-gods-theory, can be seen as modern-day proponents of polytheism. Dennett (2013)
55
states that the basic polytheistic belief of many limited, finite gods who each play one or
other role in events of the universe, goes logically against what is meant by being God:
In the most basic sense, to be God means to be the ultimate being, the greatest being, in the
most perfect being who is himself unlimited in any way, but also infinite in every way. The
polytheistic idea of God runs head on against this classical concept of God. (n.p.)
These limited ‘gods’ still need an infinite cause – an eternal Creator. How can man put his
trust in limited beings that (as is a common belief) strive for power, prosperity and
position? How can there then be any certainty about anything?
Christianity sees God as a reasonable, omnipotent being that can be relied upon. The
universe is God’s personal Creation and therefore a rationally coherent, lawful, permanent
structure, ready for man’s logical thinking and understanding of it. In opposition to the idea
of polytheism where each of the gods act according to his or her own whims and preferences,
Christians proclaim a God who rules all things according to his law and order – ordinances
which were in place from the beginning for man to discover and work with (Gn 1:28, 2:19).
The universe is a created and permanent structure which is reliable; it makes the variability
of a world made and governed by selfish and untrustworthy gods unthinkable.
Jehovah’s Witnesses
In their apologetic book against the Trinity, Should you believe in the Trinity? the first main
argument against the Trinity that is used by the Jehovah’s Witnesses organisation, is that
the teaching that God is a triune God cannot be accepted, because it is ‘incomprehensible
to the human mind’ (Watch Tower Bible and Tract Society [WTBTS] 1989:4–5). The
logical question may be posed whether, when one is faced with a situation where we do
not understand something, it necessarily means that it does not exist? It may be put as
follows to the Jehovah’s Witnesses: Do you only believe in that which you understand? Is
therefore only that which you understand actually true? Examples may be given of things
that the person has little understanding about, but still sees as being true – such as the
precise nature of cancer and how it goes about multiplying.
Because reasonable persons accept the concept of non-contradiction, it is usually a
good way of reasoning to point out that a certain view of a group is contradicting itself.
A good example is the above logic of the Jehovah’s Witnesses that the Trinity cannot be
accepted, because of its incomprehensibleness to the mind, while maintaining on the
other hand in their booklet ‘Reasoning from the Scriptures’ (WTBTS 1985:148) that
although the human mind cannot comprehend that God has been in existence from
eternity and therefore has no beginning, it ‘is not a sound reason for rejecting it.’ This
booklet even gives examples of concepts such as ‘time’ and ‘space’ that are being used,
even though no one is able to point ‘to a certain moment as the beginning of time’ and
even though one cannot understand how space can be endless.
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Chapter 3
It is therefore clear that the Jehovah’s Witnesses level down their argument against
the teaching of the Trinity, namely that if one does not understand something, it
(probably) means that it does not exist:
Postulate 1: Something that is incomprehensibly relative to God should not be
accepted (should you believe in the Trinity?).
Postulate 2: Something that is incomprehensibly relative to God should be accepted
(reasoning from the Scriptures).
Conclusion: Jehovah’s Witnesses’ publications are contradictory in their reasoning,
because both cannot be true.
To say that what is generally accepted is necessarily true, is a logical fallacy. Something is
not right or wrong just because it is the view of most people. The argument is often used
by children when they want to convince their parents by, for instance, saying ‘[e]veryone
is going to the party’, or ‘[n]obody can do maths’. The Jehovah’s Witnesses’ statement that
because the concept of the Trinity is supposedly incomprehensible to most people, it is
necessarily false or wrong, it is illogical. It is not even possible to know and understand
how everything in Creation works. Scientists have been examining Creation for centuries,
and most answers they obtained soon became outdated. They are increasingly discovering
how precise and complex the actual nature and function of things are, with the result that
one has to acknowledge that we are increasingly discovering how little we still know. If it
is the case with something such as life that was created, how little do we really know about
the Creator, who (also according to the Jehovah’s Witnesses) created everything from
nothing, and eternal life. Human beings can only know what God has revealed through his
Creation and Word. To describe God is very difficult, because with what can God be
compared, or in which terms is it possible to fully describe him?
In an apologetic discussion about the comprehensibility of the Trinity, it may be
pointed out that there are different forms of understanding. Someone can for instance
understand the operations of a computer in so far as he is able to work with it and its
programmes. Someone else who claims to understand the operations of a computer,
understands the more technical aspects of the hardware, while again someone else
understands the software and the creation of programmes. The emphasis in the Bible is
not placed on our comprehensibility of God in the sense that we should know everything
about him, but that we can know him personally, as he reveals himself adequately to us,
for us to be able to understand and know him.
Based on ‘Scripture and plain reason’ to know God may be explained in an apologetic
discussion with Jehovah’s Witnesses in light of the Bible’s description of believers as
children of God. There are many things that little children do not know about their
parents, they would, for example, not be able to give an accurate description of their
parents’ profession and everyday activities. Yet those children know their parents on a
very personal level. They can tell people about their parents, and if somebody says bad or
57
untrue things about, for instance, the actions or character of their parents, their reaction
will be that it is not true – not because they have all the facts, but because they know their
parents on another level.
The same applies to the believer’s relationship with God – God who differs much
more from believers in terms of his nature and knowledge than parents differ from their
children. Although what people know about God is very limited, it is still possible for
believers to know him intimately, when they are in a personal relationship with him
through his Word and Spirit. It is due to the fact that believers are in this relationship
with God that he could say to his people in Isaiah 43:10, ‘You are my Witnesses.’ His
people know him well enough to be able to witness about him.
Reasonable reformational apologetics

Responsible reformational apologetics uses consistent reasoning, based on Scripture as
the Word of God, to bring truth to people and to expose falsehood. Because God has
created this world knowable and has created human beings as reasonable beings, even
those who deny God or worship illusionary gods in his place, know the difference
between logical reasoning and logical fallacies. From the beginning of Christianity,
through the time of the Reformation and until this day, logical reasoning, based on
scriptural truth, was used to break through the falsehood people believe, to show the
inconsistency in their world views and the errors in their reasoning, with the purpose to
open the way that people can be introduced to and confronted with the gospel.
That said, instead of focusing on differences in methodology, reasonable reformational
apologetics reaffirms its root in the Protestant Reformation, as a renewal of the biblical
world view and its use of reason. And by seeking to make best use of the works of
different apologetic methods, reasonable reformational apologetics highlights
contributions of different apologetic streams as inspired by their shared heritage. Such
emphasis on the unity (although diverse) of inspiration of Protestant apologetics is not
merely a heuristic strategy, but rather an acknowledgement of the rich diversity of the
reformational world view and the apologetic streams proceeding from it.
In conclusion, reasonable reformational apologetics can be seen as a plea for a view of
apologetics that seeks to celebrate the legacy of the Protestant Reformation.
Summary: Chapter 3
According to the Bible, Christians have the apologetic task to reasonably defend and
contend the truth of Scripture. This chapter focuses on what could be denoted as
reasonable reformational apologetics. The latter implies a specific understanding of the
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Chapter 3
relation between apologetics and reason, which has its roots in the ancient Christian
tradition and has been cultivated by heirs of the Reformation, as it became clear in the
course of this chapter in terms of different apologetic figures and nuances. Further, the
term ‘reformational’ is used to indicate the basic apologetic orientation which has its
starting point in the Reformation and is thus shared by Protestants.
The Protestant Reformation of the 16th century led to a flourishing of Christian
apologetics and to a substantial increase in apologetic material. The motivation for such
a renewal of Christian apologetics can already be seen at the very beginning of the
Protestant movement. In his famous defence at Worms, the reformer Martin Luther
refers to both Scripture and pure reason – not reason as judge of scriptural matters, but
reason as servant to scriptural truths. On several occasions Calvin used reasoning in
a consistent and logical way to defend a true understanding of Scripture. In line with
this assumption, contemporary reformational apologists tie up with the 16th-century
reformers in their view that man, being created as image of God, is inclined to know
God, although this knowledge is suppressed. Accordingly, it is stated that this repressed
knowledge needs to be addressed in apologetics, for the suppression is not total.
Conversion does not take people from utter ignorance to a basic understanding of reality,
but from a distorted understanding and reasoning, to knowledge, built on Scripture, that
understands Creation for what it is. Based on this understanding of man and reason,
reformational apologetics acknowledges that part of defending the faith is to show the
logical inconsistency of other world views. Thence, while the main apologetic focus of
the reformers is characterised by the contrast between the biblical world view and the
Roman Catholic deviation from it, contemporary reformational apologetics confronts
world views such as atheism, polytheism and the cults with the biblical world view, in a
similar reasonable fashion.
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Chapter 4
Was the church made

only for mission?
Revisiting missio Dei and
missio ecclesia from the
perspective of Paul’s
letter to the Ephesians
Gert Breed
Faculty of Theology
South Africa
Problem statement
Wright (2013) verbalises a view that is widely proclaimed in the current discussion on
the missional church (cf. also Bevans & Schroeder 2004:8; Lemons 2008:1):
It is not so much that God has a mission for his church in the world; rather, God has a church
for his mission in the world. Mission was not made for the church; the church was made for
mission – God’s mission. (p. xi)
How to cite: Breed, G., 2017, ‘Was the church made only for mission? Revisiting missio Dei and missio ecclesia from the
perpective of Paul's letter to the Ephesians’, in S.P. van der Walt & N. Vorster (eds.), pp. 60–75, Reformed theology today:
Practical-theological, missiological and ethical perspectives, AOSIS, Cape Town. https://doi.org/10.4102/aosis.2017.rtt47.04
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Chapter 4
Wright does not explain here (2013:xi) precisely what he understands by ‘mission’. If he
would mean that the purpose of the existence of the church is completely absorbed in
carrying the gospel to people that do not believe, an important part of being church
would be disregarded. From other works by Wright (2008:531–535) it is clear that he
would probably not make such a radical statement, but his words above could very well
be understood in this way. The consequence is that there are indeed other authors that
carry this (wrong?) interpretation of Wright’s words to a greater or lesser extent to the
point where the church is described as an optional extra (Keller 2012:199).16 Something
of this view is described by Niemandt (2007:149, 151), ‘[t]en diepste gaan dit nie oor die
kerk nie, maar oor almal wat die Here deur sy kerk wil seën’ [Basically, it does not concern
the church, but everyone that the Lord wants to bless through his church] and ‘[d]ie
totale gemeentelike lewe is gefokus op God se sending na die wêreld’ [‘The entire congregational
life is focussed on God’s mission to the world’]. From these words, it may be concluded
that the conviction of the author is that the church only exists for the sake of the world
(cf. also Niemandt 2008:610).
It is true that the church as the covenant people exists to be a blessing to others, but is
that the only reason for which the church exists or primarily exists? (see Bolt & Muller
1996:196, 197).17 The aim of this chapter is to find an answer to this question.
At the heart of the discussion about the missional character of the church is the theme
of the kingdom of God, as well as the task of the church to move into the community and,
with a sensitive eye for culture, to bring the gospel to life in word and deed to the
community. To answer the main question about the reason for the existence of the
church, two important questions that must be considered are how God and the church
are involved in the world and how the church is involved in the kingdom of God (cf. Flett
2010:52). Furthermore, the topical subject of the missional character of the church poses
the question of renewal in the church.
Diverse answers to these questions are found. Stephan Joubert (2008:50, 51), who
regards churches (not only some churches) as religious aquariums, encourages his readers
saying, ‘Stop wasting time in religious safe harbors’ (Joubert 2008:50). To follow Jesus
16. Consult also the criticism of Janse van Rensburg (2011:75–89) on the viewpoints of Joubert and
Niemandt the church and reformation.
17. This debate is closely connected to the debate on the emerging and emergent church. See also Janse
van Rensburg (2011:61–123) for a detailed discussion of the different schools of thought in the
emergent church movement. Driscoll (2008) distinguishes the following four schools of thought into
which the emergent church has developed: Emerging Evangelicals, House Church Evangelicals, Emerging
Reformers and Emergent Liberals. In his detailed discussion, he divides the different schools into two
sections: in the first three, schools are persons and churches that acknowledge the authority of Scripture
and want to act according to it, while those in die fourth school do not regard Scripture as authoritative;
they want to search for new unrestrained ways of being church. The main role players in die fourth
section are Brian McLaren, Doug Pagitt and Rob Bell.
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Was the church made only for mission?
means to move out of the church, to find him outside in the world and to cooperate with
him there (cf. also Joubert 2009).18 Joubert’s view of the relation between church and
kingdom agrees with Hoekendijk (1952), who already in 1952 expressed the view that
God does not work through the church in the first place but in the world. Flett (2010:53)
emphasises that the main points in Hoekendijk’s view are that God’s kingdom is outside
the church in the world and that God does not accomplish renewal through the church
but through his Spirit in the world. Flett (2010:53) concludes his summary of Hoekendijk’s
view saying, ‘[f ]or the church to follow Christ, she must be active in the world’ (Flett
2010:53). Cox (1965:23, 25) identifies the underlying philosophy of this school of thought
saying, ‘it is the world, the political world and not the church, which is the arena of
God’s renewing and liberating activity’ (Cox 1965:24). This statement further relates
to Wickeri’s (2004:187) viewpoint, who says, ‘the church is active alongside other
movements which anticipate God’s reign’. Flett (2010:55) says Wickery’s opinion states
that the church must identify herself with the marginalised people of the world and that
she must cooperate with alternative (non-Christian) religious traditions to promote the
reign of God. The uniqueness of a religion does not contribute to God’s actions in the
world and therefore it must not play a role in the mission of the church.
When the central position of the church is denied in the coming of the kingdom, it
may result in also denying the essential place of proclaiming the gospel, an assignment
that has been entrusted to the church (Keller 2012:251–252). This denial is indeed found
in the following statement of the World Council of Churches and Department on Studies
in Evangelism (1963):
[T]he world is already a redeemed world so that, whether men discern their true condition or
not, and even if they deny it, they are still heirs of God’s redemption. (p. 7)
This conviction implies that the whole world has already been reconciled with God in
Christ, and therefore rebirth, faith, conversion and a holy life are not necessary anymore.
The emphasis falls on all people and religions living peacefully together in the shalom of
the kingdom of God (cf. Flett 2010:57–61).19 The kingdom of God is separated from the
Word and therefore the church, which is the messenger of the truth, is not necessary
anymore (cf. Keller 2012:91–93). The work of the Holy Spirit is also separated from the
Word and from the Church.
18. Consult also Niemandt (2007:46–163), who holds the emergent churches up as prototypes for
churches in South Africa. He makes no distinction, however, between the widely diverse viewpoints in the
emergent church movement, of which some deny the necessity of the church in the missio Dei. Niemandt
(2007) quotes Newbigin to justify the viewpoint regarding the missional church without referring to
Newbigin‘s (1995) criticism in his later work The open secret of the viewpoints that are now propagated
by the emergent church (cf. Keller 2012:252, 253).
19. Compare Keller (2012:194–217) for a thorough analysis and evaluation of different viewpoints on
how the church has to become involved in culture.
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A multitude of schools of thought regarding the concept of the missional church exist.
As each one has assigned an own content and methodology to the term missional church,
it is impossible to give an overview of every interpretation here.20 The above references,
however, are sufficient to show that a finely nuanced articulation of concepts and views
is necessary in this discussion.
In the light of the literature review above, it is clear that there is an appeal for renewal
in the church with regard to the missio Dei. The point of departure in this chapter is that
renewal must be guided by principles from Scripture; otherwise, it might become
deformation instead of reformation. This study is an exegesis of Ephesians in an attempt
to find out whether the Letter to the Ephesians provides principles with regard to the
missio ecclessia and how such principles can be applied as guidelines for the renewal of the
church. In the discussion, attention will be given to the concepts of kingdom and church,
with attention to the relationship between kingdom, church, culture, knowledge and
mission.
Kingdom in Ephesians
Firstly, as the coming of the kingdom is at the heart of the missio Dei, Ephesians is
investigated with regard to the kingdom of God. The word βασιλεία [kingdom] is found
only once in this letter (Eph 5:5), and then in the warning that states who will not inherit
the kingdom of Christ (Hoehner 2002:662). However, the difference between those that
have a share in the kingdom of Christ and those that do not or that consequently are part
of the kingdom of the evil, constitutes the theme of the whole letter (Arnold 2010:277),
as will be shown in the overview hereafter.
Ephesians 1 is a description of the eternal plan (οἰκονομία) of God, according to which
he manages history and steers it to its fulfilment (Eph 1:10), when all things in heaven and
on the earth will be united under Christ as the head (Breed 2014). It will be the time when
the full reign of the Messiah, as promised in the Old Testament, will become a reality
(Hoehner 2002:219). In this eternal plan, each person in the Trinity fulfils a special role.
The outcome of this plan is that Christ, who has been raised from death through the
strength of God, will be exalted as ruler over all things. Everything will be subjected to
him and he will be the head over all things. His exaltation is described spatially by phrases
such as ‘at his right hand’, ‘in heavenly places’, ‘above all’ (English Standard Version
[ESV]). Thus, he is compared to all other powers and exalted far above them (Eph 1:20–
22; Fowl 2012:59, 60).
20. Compare Van Gelder (2007:12–43) for an overview of the development of the discussion on the
missional church.
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Ephesians 2 describes how God in his great mercy set the readers free from the power
of the evil. He enabled them to participate in the victory of Christ by raising them with
him from death and letting them sit in heaven together with Christ (Eph 2:5, 6; Thielman
2010:133–135). In this way, God made the readers that had been heathens without hope
and without God in the world (Eph 2:12) part of his people. He did this, so that they are
now a holy temple of the Lord (Eph 2:21) and are built up as a dwelling-place of the Spirit
(Eph 2:22).
In Ephesians 3, the service of Paul and the church is described within the context of
the eternal plan of God (Lincoln 1990:167). By involving Paul in his plan, by assigning
him the service of proclaiming the mystery of the gospel to heathens, God established his
church (Eph 3:10–11, American Standard Version [ASV]).
He did this so that now, through the church, he could let the rulers and authorities in
heaven know his infinite wisdom. This was God’s plan for all of history, which he carried
out through Christ Jesus our Lord.
The church is the evidence of the victory over the rulers and authorities according
to the wisdom of God as contained in his eternal plan. The chapter ends by confirming
(as in Eph 1) that the glory in the church belongs to God (Eph 3:21; Arnold 2010:196–
198).
Ephesians 4:1–16 is seen in the light of the Ascension of Christ, which is described as
a triumphal procession after his victory in which he took prisoners of war (Eph 4:7–10).
Moreover, he endows his church with gifts to equip them for leading a victorious life in
which they will not be tossed about like waves by each wind of doctrine, but will share in
his victory (Eph 4:14; Thielman 2010:268–274).
In Ephesians 4:17–6:9, the readers are encouraged to live as conquerors based on the
indicative described in Chapters 1–3. This indicative is described as the calling with
which they have been called (Eph 4:17) and relates to the two prayers in Ephesians 1:15–
18 and 3:13–19. Paul prays that the readers will understand what their places are as part
of God’s plan (Eph 1:17, 18), how exceedingly great the power of God working in them is
(Eph 1:19–23), and that they will understand the immeasurable scope of the love of Christ
(Eph 3:17–19). Paul describes the knowledge that they have received in this way negatively
as follows in Ephesians 4:20 (ASV), ‘[b]ut ye did not so learn Christ’. From this way of
coming to know Christ, flows a life of victory over the old human being and the life as a
new human being (Eph 4:1–6:18; Hoehner 2002:594; Thielman 2010:300–308; cf. Breed
2014:5 of 10). The church is in the first place a called church, as has been stated earlier in
this paragraph. She is called to live in unity in Christ at a specific place, the very reason
why she is also a sent church (Branson 2007:104).
In Ephesians 4:17–6:9, the work of the Holy Spirit is central. In Chapter 4 verse 30
(ASV), the readers are exhorted ‘[a]nd grieve not the Holy Spirit of God, in whom ye
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were sealed unto the day of redemption’. From the context (Eph 4:17–32) it is clear that
they will cause the Holy Spirit great distress when their lives are not determined by the
knowledge of Christ and when they fall back into the customs of their previous lifestyle
from which they have been freed. In Ephesians 5:18 (ASV), Paul summarises the lifestyle
with which they have to break saying, [a]nd be not drunken with wine, wherein is riot’.
The opposite of this lifestyle is ‘but be filled with the Spirit’. By being filled by the Spirit,
believers can become followers of God and live according to his will. Whoever does not
live under the reign of the Spirit lives a life of extravagance and grieves the Spirit (Arnold
2010:278, 305–307, 348–351).
The letter concludes with the appeal to believers to search for their strength in the
Lord and in his great power, to put on his suit of armour and thus gain victory in wrestling
with the evil forces. The battle between the power of God (Eph 1:19) and the heavenly
powers (Eph 1:21) is a recurring topic in Ephesians (1:21; 2:2; 3:10, 20; 6:12). It is clear
from the words that are used for the hostile powers (Eph 1:21: ἀρχή, ἐξουσία, δύναμις,
κυριότης; Eph 2:2: ἄρχων, ἐξουσία; Eph 3:10: ἀρχή, ἐξουσία; Eph 6:12: ἀρχή, ἐξουσία,
κοσμοκράτωρ, πονηρός), as well as those that are used to describe God’s work (Eph 1:19,
20: δύναμις, κράτος, ἰσχύς, ἐνέργεια, ἐνεργέω; Eph 3:7, 20: ἐνέργεια, δύναμις, ἐνεργέω; Eph
4:8), that the kingdom of God can only come because of victory in a staggering power
struggle. The believers are also involved in this power struggle and can only conquer
through their access to the Lord and his power (Eph 6:10–20). This struggle therefore
does not merely concern the combat of social problems and injustice, but it also deals with
the struggle between the kingdom of God and the kingdom of evil. The struggle against
social problems and injustice therefore flows forth from the primary focus on the
kingdom and serves the purpose of the primary focus, namely to bring all things under
the reign of Christ.
The triune God creates the church and involves the church in executing his eternal
plan (missio Dei) to unite all things under the headship of Christ.
The following can be deduced from the study of the kingdom in Ephesians:
• God’s kingdom will fully come when all things are united under Jesus Christ’s reign.
• The boundaries of the kingdom reach beyond all things and all powers. The kingdom
of God is therefore wider than the church.
• God’s kingdom will be realised according to his eternal plan.
• The crucial work for the realisation of the kingdom has been done and is still being
done by the triune God.
• The coming of the kingdom entails a victory over hostile spiritual forces.
• The victory is certain and the victor, Jesus Christ, has been enthroned high above
every power.
• The coming of the kingdom according to God’s plan is inextricably related to the
work of the triune God for, in and through people.
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• The kingdom of God is a mystery that God has made known to the cosmos through
the Apostles, prophets and the church.
• Through the mighty work of God, the kingdom is still to come in the hearts of many
people who are still dead in their sins (Eph 2:1).
• The kingdom comes into the hearts of those who believe when God brings them to
life together with Christ and lets them sit with Christ at his right hand.
• Knowledge of Christ, his work, his love and his gifts are necessary for realising the
kingdom in the hearts, thoughts and deeds of believers.
• The kingdom will be realised in the believers when they live the new life in Christ.
• The Holy Spirit fills the believers and actualises the kingdom of God in their daily life.
• The believers have access to God and his power, in whom and through whom they
will be able to be victorious over the enemy within themselves and in their lives, as
well as to be instruments in God’s hand to free other people.
• The building up of the believers to equip them to live as part of the kingdom of God
takes place in the church.
• The church springs forth from the coming of the kingdom in and through the work
of the triune God.
• As the main question in this chapter concerns the role of the church in the context of
the missio Dei, the next section concentrates on what God reveals about his church in
the Letter to the Ephesians.
Church in Ephesians
Four topics receive attention in this section, namely the church as an alternative
community, the church as a display window of God’s grace, Christ’s unique relationship
with the church and the relationship between church, kingdom and knowledge.
The word ἐκκλησία occurs nine times in Ephesians (Eph 1:22; 3:10, 21; 5:23–25 [3
times], 5:27, 29, 32). Louw and Nida (1992:127) say the word ἐκκλησία always has the
meaning of the corporate unity of believers in the New Testament.21 The fact that the
content of the letter makes it clear that the church plays an important role in this letter is
supported by the use of the word ἐκκλησία (Eph 1:22; 3:10, 21; 5:23–25 [3 times], 27, 29,
32; Arnold 2010:502–505).
The church as an alternative community

There is a parallel depiction of the contrast and struggle between the reign of Christ and
the evil forces on the one hand, and the contrast between the human beings that believe
21. See Metzger (1963) for an in-depth discussion of the church in the New Testament.
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(Eph 1:1, 13) and those whose minds are still darkened and whose hearts are still hardened
(Eph 4:17–18) on the other hand (Lincoln 1990:272–276).
Those that believe have received this faith from God (Eph 2:8) because of his grace,
not because of any merit on their side. They came to faith when they heard the word of
the gospel and accepted it (Eph 1:13). The way in which they came to faith is described in
Ephesians 2:4–6. God raised them from their death in sin because he is merciful and loves
them with his great love. Because Christ shed his blood (gave his life) and in that way
accomplished forgiveness for their sins (Eph 1:7), God raised them together with Christ
from death and let them sit with Christ on his right hand. The believers therefore share
in Christ’s victory and reign together with him (Lincoln 1990:85). That he shows them
this grace is based on the fact the God chose to adopt them as his children and to be his
heirs even before founding the world (Eph 1:4, 11; Stott 1997:46–47).
These insights have an important influence on the image the church has of herself.
The missional church in the togetherness of her members and in the individual lives of
every believer, is aware of the fact that being in the service of God they participate in this
saving work every day.
Ephesians 2:1–12 describes God’s journey with the individual believer. In Chapter 2,
verse 13, the journey of the believer as part of the church is described. Ephesians 2:13
echoes Ephesians 2:4 and verbalises the turning point in the lives of the readers. With the
words, ‘But now’, Paul describes the contrast between their previous relationship with
God and his people and the truth about them now. The change took place when they
were incorporated into Christ (Cohick 2005:91). The core of the change is that they were
far from God and now they have come near through the blood of Christ. The hostility
between Jew and heathen has been changed into peace and separation has been changed
into the unity that is present in one body (Mbennah 2009:48, 49). The unity is found in
their relationship with the triune God as summed up in Ephesians 2:18 (ASV), ‘for
through him we both have our access in one Spirit unto the Father’. Ephesians 2:19–22
continues to describe the close bond that exists between the believers and God. Firstly,
the believers are joined by the truth that has been proclaimed by the Apostles and the
prophets and on which their faith is built. Secondly, they are also joined in Christ, who as
the corner stone is the core of the message that binds them together as a temple of the
Lord. In the third place, they are bound in a unity by the mutual work of edification that
brings about that they are increasingly and continuously filled by the Spirit of God to be
a dwelling place of the Lord. Not only are they the dwelling place of the Spirit, but they
are also a dwelling place for the new believers that build each other up (Eph 2:19–22). In
Ephesians 4:3, the believers are called upon to seriously pursue and preserve the unity of
the Spirit (Van Gelder & Zscheile 2011:102–104).
The missional identity of the church does not only mean that everyone in the church
is involved in the need of the world, but also that they are involved with the purpose of
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letting people become part of the people of God. In the church as temple and dwelling
place of God, people share fully in the grace of God that he gives to his covenant people.
The kingdom of God, the covenant of God and the covenant people of God cannot be
separated from each other (cf. Van Gelder & Zscheile 2011:38).
The way in which the believers are brought together under the headship of Christ is
described in Chapter 3 for the third time. In Chapter 1, it is described from the perspective
of eternity. In Ephesians 2:4–6, the life-giving work of God to the believer is described.
In Chapter 3, the role of Paul’s work of service (diakonia) in the work of God is explained.
Paul has made the mystery of God’s plan known to the heathens (Eph 3:2–9), so that they
in turn can make this mystery known to others (Eph 3:10). Van Gelder and Zscheile
(2011:145) describe the process saying, ‘[t]he church is the communal body bearing God’s
promises in Christ. No other community plays that unique role’.
The change in the believer’s relationship to God is described twice (Eph 2:18; 3:12) by
the word προσαγωγή [access]. Those who share in the kingdom of God, which is under
the rule of the Spirit, have access to God now (Cohick 2005:93–95). The purpose of Paul’s
mission (missio) was the coming into being of the church and this mission has been
transferred to the church. As this task might entail that the church will be prosecuted, the
church must have free access to God to carry out this calling (O’Brien 1999:250).
In contrast to those that have found grace with God in this way are those that are still
dead in their sin and in the power of the ruler of the evil forces. They experience the
anger of God just like those that believe now did previously. Their minds are darkened
and they are alienated from the living God; because they have hardened their hearts they
live in ignorance (Eph 4:18). About them it is said, ‘[h]aving lost all sensitivity, they have
given themselves over to sensuality so as to indulge in every kind of impurity, with a
continual lust for more’ (Eph 4:19, New International Version [NIV]). Such persons have
no ‘inheritance in the kingdom of Christ and of God’ (Eph 5:5 [NIV]).
It is important, however, that Paul impresses the fact on the readers that they were also
like this previously (Eph 2:1, 11–12; 4:17–24; 5:8), and yet they have been saved without
any contribution from their side (Lange et al. 2008:68). Salvation means that a radical
renewal takes place in the believer’s relationship with God, as well as that he or she becomes
part of the church, which is the dwelling place of God through the Spirit (Eph 2:21–22).
The church has a missional identity for the sake of the world and at the same time for the
sake of the edification of the church to the glory of God (cf. Van Gelder & Zscheile 2011:73,
113). Continuous edification is therefore part of the renewal of the church.
Three important facts relating to the relationship between the church and the missio
Dei have been shown in this section. Firstly, the church is the dwelling place of the Spirit
and new believers; secondly, the church must continuously build herself up and renew
herself; thirdly, God’s sending of Paul to make the mystery of God’s salvation known to
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the heathens and bring everyone together under the headship of Christ has been
transferred to the church. For these reasons, the missio Dei is inherent in the church and
cannot be separated from the church’s existence as unique expression of God’s kingdom
(alternative community).
The church, display window of God’s grace

As new human beings, believers are the workmanship of God (Eph 2:10 [NIV]). This
workmanship is equalled to creation (Eph 2:9–10; cf. Eph 4:24). Through this
workmanship, believers become part of the people of God, the church. The church is also
described as a creation of God in Ephesians 2:15. The purpose of this workmanship of
God is that those who are recreated in this way will do the good deeds that God prepared
(Eph 2:10). Those that have been renewed must ‘walk in’ these deeds (περιπατέω; Eph
2:10 [ASV]). The word περιπατέω plays an important role in the Letter to the Ephesians.
It is used to describe a way of life (cf. Eph 2:2, 10; 4:1, 17; 5:2, 8, 15; cf. Breed 2015:42;
Hoehner 2002). In Ephesians 4 and 5, the new way of life of the believers is frequently
described by the word περιπατέω. Hoehner (2002:vii, 62, 66–69; cf. also Fowl 2012:125–
214) identifies a certain structure in Ephesians 4–6 based on the use of this word.
Ephesians 4–6 is the description of the way in which believers must think, talk and act
every day. It can also be said that Ephesians 4–6 describes the new culture of the believers
(Van Gelder & Zscheile 2011:139).
Those that have been renewed by God and have been made part of the life of his
church must be characterised by the good works they do. The purpose of the good works
is described in different places. In Ephesians 1:6 (ASV), the purpose of God’s adoption of
human beings as his children is described as ‘to the praise of the glory of his grace, which
he freely bestowed on us in the Beloved’. The object of the praise is ‘the glory’, but not
glory in itself, or God’s glory, but ‘the glory of his grace’ (Lange et al. 2008:35). In verses
12 and 14 the praise goes to the glory of God, because of the work of the triune God in
and through the redeemed. The pattern in verses 6, 12 and 14 (v. 6: εἰς ἔπαινον δόξης τῆς
χάριτος αὐτοῦ, v. 12: εἰς ἔπαινον δόξης αὐτοῦ, v. 16: εἰς ἔπαινον τῆς δόξης αὐτοῦ) shows
that the ultimate task of the church is the glory of God (soli Deo gloria) in both the
church’s being redeemed in view of the work of each person of the Trinity, but also in the
effect that this work has on the being and function of the church (good works).
In Ephesians 2:7 (ASV), it is said that the purpose of God’s work in each believer is
‘that in the ages to come He might show the exceeding riches of his grace in kindness
toward us in Christ Jesus’. In Ephesians 3 (ASV), God’s purpose with the church is
described as:
[T]he intent that now unto the principalities and the powers in the heavenly places might be
made known through the church the manifold wisdom of God, according to the eternal purpose
which he purposed in Christ Jesus our Lord. (vv. 10–11)
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God recreates the human beings and makes them part of his church so that his grace and
wisdom will become clear from their life together and from the individual lifestyle of
everyone. Cohick (2005) explains the meaning of these texts for the church:
The resurrection of Jesus indicates that God did not reject his creation, but seeks to redeem it
through Christ. Our worship and our mission should be eschatologically focused. That means
we do away with the dualism between spirit and body, which in church mission looked like
saving souls without tending to the bodily needs. Instead a humble church should sing notes of
grace to the present world. (p. 51)
If it is accepted that the purpose of God’s eternal plan – of which the recreation of the
human being with a view to perform good deeds is a part – is to bring all things together
under Christ (Eph 1:10), the object of the good deeds also becomes clear. God chooses
people, saves them in Christ through the rebirth that is brought about by the Spirit. In this
way, he recreates them with the purpose that they will be able to do the good deeds that
he prepared according to his eternal plan. The good deeds of the believers are a specific
new way of life in which they show the greatness of God’s wisdom and grace. They do it
in living together as a unity in Christ, as well as in their daily lives separate from one
another. God uses these good deeds (way of life, attitude, words and deeds) to reveal
himself and to let recreation take place in more people so that they can also be gathered in
the church under the headship of Christ. However, where his church comes together and
lives together, he also reveals himself in his wisdom to the different forces that are
working in the world.
The conclusion from this section is that a new culture flows forth from people whom
Christ saves and in whom the Spirit of God lives. They will bring this culture to life by
doing the good deeds that God prepared for them when they respond to the call of the
missio Dei together as church and as individual believers. Moreover, this culture should be
a display window of God’s grace to the world.
Christ’s unique relationship with the church

The different images that are used in Ephesians not only motivate the existence of the
church, but they also elucidate the special relationship between God and the church.
Children, heirs and inheritance (Eph 1:5, 11, 14)

According to his plan, God has adopted the chosen ones in Christ as his children so that
the glory of his grace will be praised. In Christ, they have received an inheritance
according to God’s plan so that his glory will be praised because of them (Eph 1:11).
Through the seal of the Holy Spirit, the believers have become the property of God so
that his glory will be praised and he will be glorified (Taylor 2007:36–37).
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Raised together with Christ and by letting them sit together with him in heaven (Eph
2:6), is the workmanship of God (Eph 2:10).
As a result of, the effect of the life-giving work of God’s love and grace is spelled out
in the lives of the chosen ones. They have been raised from death and now they participate
in the victory of the exalted Christ. Their lives are now characterised by the fact that they
are with Christ. They share in his merit and victory, without any merit on their side.
They are the workmanship of God, created by him.
One in Christ
In Ephesians 2:11–22, different images are used to explain how renewed human beings
across all boundaries form a unity with one another and with God. Those that have been
renewed by God share in the blessings of the covenant people of God. All are created in
Christ as one new body, which is reconciled with God and has access to God. They are
now fellow citizens and part of the family of God. They are also a holy temple, a dwelling
place of God through his Spirit. This temple is brought together and built up by God
himself (Van Gelder & Zscheile 2011:4, 121).22
The church is the body and bride of Christ (Eph 1:22–23; 4:12–16; 5:19–33). In
Ephesians 1:23, the relationship between the exalted Christ as the ruler over all powers
and things and his church is described. Christ’s reign over the entire cosmos is closely
connected to his headship of the church, according to Lincoln (1990):
The writer has elaborated on the supremacy God has given to Christ in relation to the cosmos
in vv 20–22a, but now all these statements about his lordship over the cosmos are subordinated
to a statement about God’s purpose for Christ in regard to the Church. Syntactically, the weight
of this clause falls on τῇ ἐκκλησίᾳ at the end, and the emphasis on the Church continues in the
two descriptive clauses which follow. (p. 67)
Christ, the head above all things, is given to the church. The church is the fulfilment
of his work. He is the One that fulfils everything in everyone. Christ is self-sufficient and
not in need of receiving anything from the church. Yet, as the head of the church, he
chose the church as the fulfilment of his work. Lloyd-Jones (1978) explains it as follows:
A head alone is not complete. A head needs a body, and you cannot think of a head without a
body. So the body and the head are one in this mystical sense. As such we Christian people are
part of ‘the fullness’ of the Lord Jesus Christ. (p. 431)
The church thus becomes part of the coming of Christ’s kingdom and of his fulfilment of
everything in everybody in a unique way. Lincoln (1990:79) explains it saying, ‘[t]hat
22. See Lloyd-Jones (1978:425–435) for an in-depth discussion of the unity between the church and
Christ and the unity between believers.
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God’s power is available for his people is underlined in the assertion that God has given
Christ as head over all things to the church’.
However, the church is not the whole kingdom. The kingdom reaches over all things,
including the Creation external to the human being. The kingdom is wider than the
church. Christ reigns as king not only through the church, but also by setting a course for
all things in such a way that the entire cosmos will eventually be united under him as
head. However, the church has a special place in his kingdom (Van Gelder 2007).
In Ephesians 4:7–11, the triumphant Christ is described as the giver of grace, who
measures out gifts to each member of his body. He gives special gifts to his body so that
the members can be equipped for their ministry of service (Eph 4:12). The aim of the
ministry of service is building up the body so that the members can reach maturity.
Maturity means that they will increasingly experience and live up to the fullness of Christ
(Eph 4:13). Through the contribution of every member, maturity will be reached in
every respect (Eph 4:15–16). The church grows when church members equipped with
the special gifts perform works of edification by ministering the grace of Christ; this
growth is an inseparable part of the coming of Christ’s kingdom (Van Gelder & Zscheile
2011:4). In this respect, the church as the image bearer of Christ is in an intimate
relationship with Christ.
In Ephesians 5:19–33, the images of the church as the body of Christ and as his bride
are used together to express the special relationship between Christ and his church.
Christ is the head of his body and its Saviour (Eph 5:23). Thielman (2010) says about
these verses:
This correlation between Christ’s role as head and his role as Savior is reminiscent of passages
in the first part of the letter in which Christ has used his authority and power for the church’s
benefit. (p. 379)
He loved the church and gave himself for it so that he might present to himself a glorious
(ἔνδοξος) church, not having spot (σπιλόω) or wrinkle (ῥυτίς) or any such thing; but that
it should be holy (ἅγιος) and without blemish (ἄμωμος) (Eph 5:27). The church is a
member (μέλος) of his body, his bones (ὀστέον) and his own flesh (σάρξ), which he
nourishes (ἐκτρέφω) and cherishes (θάλπω) because of his love for them (Eph 5:28–30).
The unity between the church and Christ is a mystery as is the unity between man and
wife (Eph 5:32; Lincoln 1990:392).
Lange et al. (2008) say the following about Ephesians 5:30:
The phrase denotes the personality and corporeality of Christ, in which the Church with her
members originates. The connection with and origin from Christ, from the historical,
incarnate Christ, from His personal body, is designated in such a way, that we as well as the
whole Church are to be regarded as His production and possession. (p. 202)
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From these comments, it may be deduced that like a woman is not merely an
instrument for her husband to bear children, so the church is not merely an instrument
for Christ to expand his kingdom, but also an objective in herself. Christ is busy with his
church in love so that she will be perfect and mature when she appears before him. In his
kingly reign, he is connected to her in a special way and lets his kingdom come through
her ministry of service (cf. O’Brien 1999:414). The church does not only work together
for the fulfilment of Christ’s work, but she is also part of the fulfilment of his work.
Moltmann (1977) interprets the relationship between the church and God’s kingdom
as it is found in Ephesians saying:
It is not the church that has a mission of salvation to fulfil in the world; it is the mission of the
Son and the Spirit through the Father that includes the church. (p. 64)
Woodward (2012) emphasises that:
If we seek to create a missional culture, it is imperative that we understand that God created the
church as a sign, foretaste and instrument by which more of His kingdom would be realized
here on earth. (p. 28)
To these viewpoints, it must be added that the church is also an objective in itself. It is the
place where God is praised and where he dwells, as well as the instrument that shows the
greatness of God’s grace for the salvation of all the chosen ones (Engelsviken 2003:482).
The images in Ephesians leave no doubt for the church regarding the justification of
the existence of the church in her unique relationship to Christ.
Church, kingdom and knowledge

Paul describes two parts of believers’ becoming part of the kingdom of Christ. The first
part is described as a unique event that is the work of God and has immediate consequences
for the life of the believer. The first description of this is found in Ephesians 1:7–9, where
it is said that God has made the mystery (μυστήριον) of his will known to his chosen ones
and that they have therefore received salvation through his blood, that is the forgiveness
of their trespasses according to the riches of his grace (Thielman 2010:45–54). In
Ephesians 2:4–7, the same event is described. Here it is said that God has raised the
chosen ones from death and let them sit with Christ in heaven. This is a description of
the rebirth through the Spirit and the Word and the sanctification in Christ. In Ephesians
1:13, the event is described as the sealing with the Holy Spirit, whom Christ has promised
(cf. Eph 4:30).
A second part is distinguished, though not separated from the first, of becoming part
of the kingdom, namely the faith of the chosen ones. Faith is described on the one hand
as a gift from God (Eph 2:8), but on the other hand, as the response of the believer to the
Word of God (Eph 1:13). Two of Paul’s prayers (Eph 1:15–23; 3:14–21) for those that
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have come to faith are recorded. He prays both times that they would grow in their
understanding of what they have received, their new identity. In Ephesians 4, knowledge
plays an important role in the transition from the indicative section (Eph 1–3) to the
imperative section (Eph 4–6). The believers must be equipped for their ministry of
service. This equipment will have the effect that they will not be deluded by the deceit of
people, but that they will speak the truth in love (Eph 4:1–16). The equipment therefore
leads to preparedness with regard to the truth with which they equip each other to be
steadfast to grow towards Christ in the face of the assault of false doctrine. In Ephesians
4:17–21, the contrast between unbelievers and believers is depicted in terms of the insight
into the teachings and knowledge of Christ. The thoughts and actions of the unbelievers
are determined by their lack of insight and knowledge. The believers’ actions are
determined by their knowledge of Christ indeed, they have been taught in the truth that
is Jesus. That means they must break with their previous sinful way of life and start to live
in accordance with that for which God has created them anew, namely to live in true
righteousness and holiness (Eph 4:22–24). For this, it is necessary that they be renewed
in ‘the centre of perception and decision’ (Petrenko 2011:132, 133) (‘attitude of your
minds’ – Eph 4:23 [NIV]). Furthermore, when believers are called upon in Ephesians
6:10–17 to search for their strength in the Lord and his great might by putting on the full
armour of God, it is clear that the armour is the knowledge of God’s grace. They must use
the knowledge about the salvation in Christ, the righteousness through faith and the
knowledge of the truth to be able to stand firm against the assault of the evil.
The missional character of the church is also found in the knowledge that the church
has received, but it is knowledge that renews and makes it live a new life in its unity with
Christ. The church must spread this knowledge, in this way, it can renew others and not
only facilitate a more comfortable life for them.
Conclusion
The purpose of the chapter was to present a corrective on a diminished understanding of
the purpose of the church in light of the notion of the missio Dei. From this research the
following perspectives can be presented. These perspectives only add to the very
multifaceted meaning of the church and God’s intention with it.
• Being part of the eternal plan of God to reunite all things under Christ is an essential
part of the identity of the church. It is not just one of the tasks of the church.
• The attention of the church is directed at her own maturing in Christ which is also an
essential part of her identity as temple, body and bride of Christ.
• The attention of the church is directed at her own maturing and building up herself
and is not opposed to her attention directed at the world, but stands in the service of
the world.
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• The missio Dei and the missio ecclesia are both directed and aimed at bringing all people
in the church together under the headship of Christ to the glory of God.
• The missio Dei and the missio ecclesia are also directed at bringing the entire cosmos
under the headship of Christ.
• The church therefore equips church members to enable them to have an influence on
society, politics and culture.
Summary: Chapter 4
The place of the church as missional church in the context of the missio Dei is investigated.
The question whether the church exists only for the sake of mission to the world is
answered based on an exegetical investigation of Ephesians. From the research, it has
become clear that the church as children of God, body of Christ, people of God, temple of
the Spirit and bride of Christ also has the purpose to exist as such to the glorification of
God and his grace. The church in her very being is missional in everything she does. The
mission of the church, however, includes her own edification and growth with a view to
be a display window of the grace of God to the world and for the sake of the salvation of
those who embrace faith through God’s grace. The purpose of the mission of the church
is to lead people to the radical new way of life that follows rebirth through the powerful
work of the Spirit. These findings provide an important correction to views that regard
the church merely as an instrument or even as being redundant.
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Chapter 5
Missiology and
Reformation in a post-
Christian Western world
Ignatius W. (Naas) Ferreira
Faculty of Theology
South Africa
Introduction
The Gospel of Matthew documents a vivid image. On a specific day, the disciples with
shock and trepidation became aware that Jesus was turning his back on the temple. In his
last sermon, Jesus did not only announce judgement over the Pharisees and teachers of
the law, but also over the city Jerusalem (Mt 23). Matthew 24 commences with the
pertinent message that Jesus left the temple and went to sit down on the Mount of Olives.
His whole action compelled the disciples to direct his attention to the temple buildings, as
if they wanted to linger there for a brief while. However, according to the biblical
testimony, Jesus’ disconcerting answer was, ‘I tell you the truth, not one stone here will
How to cite: Ferreira, I.W., 2017, ‘Missiology and Reformation in a post-Christian Western world’, in S.P. van der Walt &
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be left on another; everyone will be thrown down.’23 From this one can infer that Jesus
left the temple because of the nation’s spiritual bankruptcy – they were still practising
religion, but were not subservient to God any more.
However, this was not a first-time occurrence. This event reminds us of something
that also happened in the history of Israel. It was recorded in the book of Ezekiel. In the
narrative, God took his prophet on a ‘guided tour’ of the temple in Jerusalem (Ezk 11),
and pointed out to him the evident spiritual degeneration of the whole nation. Then ‘the
glory of the Lord went up from within the city and stopped above the mountain east of it’
(Ezk 11:23), which points to the Mount of Olives. The narrative depicts God leaving the
temple, his dwelling place among his elected people. His accusation: In their religious
practices they did not serve their Lord anymore, but were occupied with perfunctory and
self-directed ‘self-service’.
From this documented testimony, it is clear that the Lord places a high premium on
his people’s subservience. According to the vision from the last Revelation in the
Scriptures, the Lord, finally in his seven visitation letters to the New Testament church,
stated clearly to the congregation of Ephesus that he would remove their lampstand if they
as congregation had forsaken their first love and ceased to be subservient to him (Rv 2:5).
In light of God’s Word, particularly in the time of commemorating the Reformation
of the 16th century, it is not only necessary to assess the present state of the Christian
church and current events taking place, but also to postulate a few reasons why this is
occurring.
Dawn of the post-Christian world –

Christendom declared dead
After the time of the Bible, the church’s history broadly can be categorised into three
periods, namely pre-Christendom, Christendom and post-Christendom (Kreider
2005:62; Nikolajsen 2012:364).
Pre-Christendom
In this context, pre-Christendom refers to a specific period in which the emerging
Christian community displayed a certain disposition. At that time, the Christian religion
was considered a religio illicita (Kreider 2005:62). This implied a community of
marginalised people living on the fringes of the cultural society of that period.
23. Except where indicated differently, all the biblical citations in this chapter derive from the New
International Version (NIV) of the Bible.
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Missiology and Reformation in a post-Christian Western world
As community they received no benefits and as group they were unable to exert any
political influence. According to Murray, they were a ‘powerless and sometimes persecuted
minority’ (Murray 2004b:129), ‘operating from the margins’ (Murray 2004a:147).
To be part of this community meant a clear and decisive, individual choice. For the
person making this choice, it had far-reaching consequences. When someone was
converted to the pre-Christendom, this convert, according to Meeks (quoted in Kreider
2005:62), transferred from an ordinary citizen to a ‘fanatic member’ of a group that
deviated consciously from the accepted customs and norms (culture) of the broader
society. As a result, a continuous tension field underlay the first Christians’ movement
(‘societal commuting’) between the Jewish world on the one hand, and the Hellenistic
world on the other hand. This entailed a dual movement, namely ‘relating to and
distinguishing from the cultural milieu of the first century’ (Mays 1999:247). The process
led to the development of a specific paradigm of church life. Mead (quoted in Mays
1999:247) terms this form of church life the apostolic paradigm. Within this paradigm the
locus of mission was the local congregation that had to cope in the midst of a mostly
hostile and foreign environment. Nevertheless, the Christian church was documented to
have grown and expanded in this milieu, due to God’s grace.
The Christian church within pre-Christendom had a missional inclination that
focused strongly on ecumenical unanimity and unity between the existing congregations.
They busied themselves with the Word of God and understood the sacraments in terms
of their testimony to the community of which they were part (Nikolajsen 2012):
• Christian baptism was a visible sign of being incorporated into a covenantal community
that had to lead a different life as their testimony to the world.
• The Lord’s Supper emphasised the privilege of being part of Jesus Christ, which meant a
renewal by participating in his mission in subservience to the world. (p. 369)
From pre-Christendom to Christendom

In the year 314 CE, the situation began changing for the Christian church. The Roman
Caesars Constantine and Licinius proclaimed the Edict of Milan, which set the Christian
religion on equal footing with the other religions within the Roman Empire (Nikolajsen
2012:365). Whatever the assessment of Caesar Constantine, his ‘conversion’ brought
about a turning point in the European and Christian history (Murray 2004b:37). As a
result, the Christian religion transposed from a religio illicita to a Corpus Christianum (i.e.
institutional Christendom). According to Mays (1999:247), this also saw the introduction
of the so-called Christendom paradigm.
For the Christian church, the whole situation changed. In 380 CE the Christian
religion was declared the only legitimate religion of the Empire. This implied a watershed
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period for the Christian religion and the church as institution (Smith 2002:134). The
Christian church transferred from the outside margins of the society to its core and centre.
In the process, the church accumulated wealth and was granted political participation and
influence. The stark distinction between church and culture within the pre-Christendom
time began fading away. The Christian religion and the rapidly expanding Western culture
began developing together, to such an extent that in reality both became a single cultural,
political and religious entity, according to Herrin (quoted in Nikolajsen 2012:366).
The Christendom paradigm, as a linked partnership between the Christian religion
and the emerging Western culture, would prosper for the following 1500 years. Frost
(2006) explains aptly:
Christendom is the name given to the religious culture that has dominated Western society
since the fourth century. It had become the meta-narrative for an entire epoch. A metanarrative
is an overarching story that claims to contain truth applicable to all people at all times and in all
cultures. (p. 5)
The transformation from pre-Christendom to Christendom brought about a radical
change for the Christian church. The shift to a Christendom paradigm altered the DNA
of the Christian church to such an extent that, due to the changes, the church increasingly
became alienated from the Christian foundation of the New Testament era (Murray
2004b:74). In this regard, Murray (2004b) elaborates:
From being a powerless and sometimes persecuted minority that nevertheless could not refrain
from talking about Jesus and his impact on their lives, the church had become a powerful
institution able to impose its beliefs and practices on society. (p. 129)
The Christendom church increasingly became an active partner of the established cultural
powers and authorities within the society. As a result, the church gradually began
forfeiting its prophetic-critical standing in the society of its time. Instead, the church
began fulfilling the role of ‘the protected and well decorated chaplaincy in the camp of the
dominant power’ (Nikolajsen 2012:370).
Christendom divided the world into two blocks. On the one side was the Western
developed world, in which the Christian religion determined the norms and values. On
the other side, and on the furthest fringes of the Corpus Christianum, was found to be the
mission context, or the ‘darkened world of unbelief’ in which cultural development from
a Western viewpoint was totally absent. As explained by Smith (2002:135), ‘[t]he church
was the centre, the mission was its periphery. We had the model here, the copy over
there.’ In that period, the ministering activities of church life were focused inwardly,
on the personal spiritual needs of individual church members. Believers became passive
recipients of sacraments, and it was the church’s ‘business’ to minister to them (Nikolajsen
2012:369). Thus, the church ministry was in the hands of professional ministers who
were remunerated full-time for services rendered for pastoral care and conservation of
79
the church as institute, and they had to ensure that church members stayed loyal citizens of
the country. ‘Over the centuries the church became an institution rather than a movement
and its energies were primarily directed towards maintenance rather than mission’
(Murray 2004b:129). Mays (1999) elaborates on this point:
[T]he church identified with the empire and mission shifted from the front door to the empires
frontier boundary. The common Christian no longer had a role in the witness and mission of
the church. That was reserved for the religious professionals. (p. 247)
The consequence was dire, as Shenk (in Guder 2007:252) points out ‘Western Christianity
became Christianity without mission’.
The phase of the new post-Christendom

The paradigm of Christendom that survived for approximately 1–500 years, began
showing signs of erosion over the past 500 years (Mays 1999:247).24 In this regard, Frost
(2006:5) posits that the Christendom as socio-political reality was already declining
rapidly for the past 250 years. Owing to this perceived degeneration, theoreticians of
history (secular and Christian alike) already refer to a post-Christendom culture. The
disconcerting fact is that the Western churches over the past approximately 250–500
years were experiencing a phase of spiritual demise and decline.
According to Frost (2006:4), it is unfortunate that some adherents of Christendom
only in recent times became aware of this state of affairs, while others are still living
in denial. In reality, the Western churches at that stage in history can be seen as a
wave that broke and broke on the shore, leaving its members stranded and exposed
(Frost 2006:4).
One may consider the transition to the mentioned new post-Christendom as nothing
less than a paradigm shift and also a possible reason why the church in the West has
experienced such a period of cultural turbulence. This is noted as the shared experience of
the majority of Christians within Western culture (Murray 2004b:15), but not the
unanimous perception of Christians globally. Seemingly, this is the experience particularly
of Christians residing in Western Europe who have historical roots within that culture
(Murray 2004b:14).
The main issue is that the Western churches are facing an extended transition phase,
or are already busy processing it. Therefore, the Christian church should prepare itself for
a period of change. At present, various transitions are taking place:
24. The Reformed churches in South Africa are about to celebrate their 150th commemoration.
Viewed within the bigger picture, the history of this church is interwoven with the period that saw the
decline of the institutionalised Christendom paradigm.
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• Cultural ‘eviction’: The Christian church is brushed aside by popular culture (an
erstwhile social ally) to the outer fringes of society – it has been marginalised.
• Influential depletion: From a majority in the Western world, the church is rapidly
becoming a minority, losing influence.
• Shaken foundations: The church is moving from an established social entity to a
role of social migrant and outward motion:
• from privilege to pluralism
• from control to witnessing
• from maintaining the status quo to mission
• from established institute to migratory movement (categorisation based on the
motives by Murray 2004b:20).
In this regard, there remain strongholds or at least outposts within the new post-
Christendom world (Murray 2004b:9). The overall perception, however, is that the
Christendom is a deceased entity and is currently decaying in other sectors of society as
well.
The Reformation in historical perspective

The Reformation of the 16th century entailed a watershed in the church’s history. As such,
it provides a crucial and pivotal reference point for scholars of biblical theology. Regarding
the state of the church at that time, the Reformation, however, was unable to attend to all
the issues. Hence, the motto of semper reformanda, which formulates the church’s focus
throughout history. Nevertheless, it should be noted that the lauded ‘Great Reformation
of Martin Luther and Johan Calvin left unfinished business’ (Ogden 1990:7). In hindsight,
church historians point out the ‘blind spot’ of the Reformation of the 16th century as the
Christendom paradigm at that time. This provided the milieu and static background as
décor for the events of the Reformation, as strikingly put by Murray (2004b):
For all the laudable attempts to improve Christendom, the Reformers remained entrenched in
the configuration of church and society that had survived the cultural and political turmoil of
the past millennium. (p. 146)
The question remains as to the ‘unfinished business’ of the Reformation. According to
Ogden, the reformers25 approximately 500 years ago, attempted to unleash a revolution,
with the promise to liberate the church from hierarchical priesthood, by implementing a
‘priesthood of all believers’. However, history reports that the Reformation did not live
up to this promise, as pointed out by Ogden (1990:11) ‘[i]n spite of the Reformation
clericalism has more often than not held sway’. In light of this statement, it becomes
25. Ogden refers to, among others, Luther and Calvin, the main exponents in this case.
81
evident that the ‘unfinished business’ of the Reformation concerns the full functioning of
the so-called ‘general office of believers’.
The Reformation movement took place in a Christian Europe, within a church
environment in which seemingly only the specific offices of ‘pastors and teachers’ were
required. Hence, the Reformation would turn into a struggle for the right doctrine
‘[b]eing a Christian was now defined primarily in terms of doctrine and not in terms of
behaviour’ (Ferguson in Murray 2004b:70). Within the realm of the Corpus Christianum,
the Great Commission (Mt 28:18–20) was considered a ‘done deal’ with the witnessing
task already completed within Europe and the Western cultural context. Mission was
considered an activity that was performed outside the church boundaries, viewed as
essentially ‘God’s responsibility’, and delegated to ‘specialist agencies’ (Murray 2004b:130,
158). As a result, the spreading of the gospel was separated from the usual congregational
ministry work. The congregation focused its ministry mainly on inward edification and
the interests of the church members. The church’s identity was determined particularly
by the pastoral dimension and the inward focus on conserving the institutional aspects of
church life (Goheen 2011:9). In this regard, O’Donovan (in Goheen 2011) gives the
following assessment:
In the midst of a more hospitable cultural context Christians forgot their unique story and
identity […]. Historical Christendom had ended by the eighteenth century when the
Enlightenment emerged to offer an alternative vision of public life based on a rationalistic
humanism and the Christian faith began to move from the centre of public life to the private
margins. […] From the Enlightenment forward the church’s role in Western culture contracted
steadily until it functioned merely as culture’s chaplain, caring for the religious needs of
individuals and giving private instruction in matters of morality. But it no longer exercised
influence on a grand scale. (pp. 10–11)26
During the stage of the Corpus Christianum, the Christian church became increasingly
defined by events inside the four (or more) church walls, not as during the pre-
Christendom stage, in terms of the missionary commission to Christ’s followers. The
Reformation was realised fully by establishing state churches and constructing systems of
pure doctrine with its corresponding Christian-ethical conduct. However, the church
espousing pure doctrine, forfeited the missionary dimension and was more inclined to be
scholastic than apostolic (Bosch 1991:249). Thus, even though the Reformation has a
crucial standing in the history of the Christian church, it carried with it unfinished work.
Ogden (1990:11) rightly asserts that currently, the church encounters the generation that
is able to complete the Reformation.
26. Goheen (2011:5, 10) refers to the ‘domesticated Western church […] [that] often succumbs to the
seductive temptations this new social location offered’.
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The Western church environment as well as its theology are at this period in its
history facing tumultuous times. Smith (2002:138) identifies this dilemma, ‘[i]t is not
easy to live between paradigms at a point when the old model no longer works and the
new one has not yet emerged’. In this regard, various responses are possible, as is
discussed subsequently.
Reforming the reformation

Regarding the above-mentioned dilemma, Murray (2004b: 206–216) mentions a few
possible responses, which he explains in detail. The main trajectories can be drawn as
follows:
• Churches and members that deny this condition of post-Christendom totally.

• Those who acknowledge the problem but still attempt to maintain the Corpus
Christianum – a non-existent mirage.
• Those who maintain that the Christendom paradigm is still applicable, and may
survive through a sharper focus and increased effort.
Guder (2007:254) explains that the ‘mind set of Christendom is much more resilient than
its structures’. Even though the structures are largely tumbling, globally the basic
theoretical framework is still in place. An example from the biblical testimony: The
temple ministry in Jerusalem was perpetuated in spite of the fact that Jesus turned his
back on the temple and the physical structure had been destroyed a few decades afterwards
(70 CE). In the same vein, for an extended time already, the Western culture and society
could not be typified as ‘Christian’ anymore. Nevertheless, this is the silent assumption of
numerous Christian followers. Mays (1999:246) diagnoses the crisis aptly, ‘[t]he Western
church is blinded by a paradigm of church and mission constructed to meet the needs of
Christendom and the institutional church’. In this regard, Goheen (2011:4) asserts that
the idols of Western culture have compromised the Western churches to a large extent.
In light of the development described above, Ogden (1990:12) calls the Western
churches to a New Reformation, which he defines as follows:
The New Reformation seeks nothing less than the radical transformation of the self-perception
of all believers so we see ourselves as vital channels through whom God mediates his life to
other members of the body of Christ and the world […] The New Reformation is a spiritual
battle bent on replacing our thinking patterns, which have crippled the church, with a new set
of pastoral expectations that can empower God’s people for ministry. (p. 91)
This call by Ogden for a New Reformation, is in essence a call that the church should
return to the paradigm of the pre-Christendom period. This development is confirmed
by Mead (1991:22) when he affirms that the Western church finds itself in the preliminary
stages of a new paradigm similar to that of the early church, and which he terms the
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‘apostolic paradigm’. In this sense, it is paramount that the current Christian church
rediscovers the missional orientation of the pre-Christendom movement. The reason is
that the mainline churches currently do not operate in a Christian environment anymore
where the majority of the people are nominal Christians and neglected churchgoers. The
Christian church urgently needs to understand that the Western world is by no means
permeated with the ‘objective truth’ of the gospel anymore. This environment currently
poses one of the largest missional challenges for the Christian church – for this era, or any
other period in history, for that matter (Smith 2002:140).27
This is the main reason for the urgent and intrusive discourse on the ‘missional
church’, a debate which began in earnest over the past few years in most parts of the
Western world. However, the unfortunate truth is that not all the role players (church
leaders in practical ministry) in South Africa have taken note of this discussion as yet.
Therefore, it is crucial to define the term ‘missional’ and urgently broaden the
conversation.
The concept ‘missional’ holds different connotations for various people. For some,
it is merely a novel way to describe a traditional practice – mission as just another
function of the church. For others, however, this term describes the true core of the
church’s existence, and ‘how the being of church provides the basis for the doing of the
church’ (Van Gelder 2009:viii). Furthermore, the discourse on the missional church is
directly related to the most recent research on the missio Dei notion and its implications
for ‘being church’. This discourse, informed by current research, is at the same time a
call to the understanding that churches in the post-Christendom period should espouse
a missional ethos that is apparent in the core values of the local congregation as well as
the communal life of its members (Murray 2004b:137). In this regard, Guder (2007:271)
emphasises that the understanding of ‘missional church’ means nothing less than a
‘radical revision of traditional ecclesiologies which largely neglected the central biblical
theme of mission’.
The reforming road ahead

The road ahead will not be without its potholes. Murray (2004a:155) points out that the
church must learn to function as ‘marginal mission movement’, which implies that
the church discards preconceived ‘attitudes and assumptions’ as its inheritance of the
Christendom entity. In other words, as the heir of traditional Christendom, the church
needs to make a ‘baggage check’ – see which facets weigh it down, and which are the
‘precious resources for the ongoing journey into post Christendom’ (Murray 2004b:10).
27. See also Guinness (1993:17–20). He describes ‘modernity’ as the biggest cultural challenge to the
church in the history of the world.
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This means that missiology as ecclesiological motive should be extracted from the
theological bookshelf where it was gathering dust, and applied to direct the New
Reformation. The Christian church should have new clarity on their raison d’être, namely
‘to continue the mission that had brought it into existence’ (Guder 2007:258). Those who
shun the missiological challenges that confront the contemporary Western world, will
also be blind to the dramatic development of what Buhlman (1986:6) terms the ‘Third
Church’. This implies a growing Christian church within the non-Western world, which
was not part of the traditional Christendom paradigm. The new historical awareness is
expressed by Smith (2002) as follows:
Seen in this light the collapse of Christendom and the emergence of the church as a truly
multicultural community of faith represents not the end of mission, but the beginning of its
latest phase, which may turn out to be the most amazing time in the long history of the
Christian movement. (p. 144)
Conclusion
During this period of commemorating the Reformation, Christians worldwide are fully
aware of the far-reaching spiritual transformation that confronts the Christian church
in the West. In a certain sense, missiological scholars would readily have called attention,
as did the disciples to the Lord (Mt 24:1–2), to the large buildings and stones of the temple
– the glorious heritage of the Reformation. However, there is a much more urgent task to
address. The church needs to find answers to crucial questions:
• Why did Jesus turn his back on the temple in Jerusalem? (Mt 24:1; Mk 13:1; Lk 21:5–6)
• Why was the Lord prepared to remove the lampstand from the large and powerful
congregation of Ephesus? (Rv 2:5)
• Why did the Christendom, after being terminal for 250 years, eventually die?
The reason is self-evident to the current church: Religion needs to be more than mere
spiritual customary practices. It should entail a caring and sacrificing subservience toward
God and on behalf of fellow humans. The alternative? The Lord can turn his back on his
church and pass it by. The biblical testimony attests to this danger. It may be asked
whether this is not what befell the institutional Christendom?
The good news is that the Christian church as such has not as yet ceased to exist.
Owing to the current challenges, the church is undergoing a transition (‘reformation’)
in which the original form of being church is rediscovered, the only way to
comprehensive healing. In light of these new realities confronting the church,
Missiology as neglected discipline in the Western theology, should direct the way –
back to God’s future.
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Summary: Chapter 5
In Reformed theology, scholars in light of God’s Word, should not only take into account
the ‘what’ of events, but also ‘why’ they occur. Why is the Christian religion, as it became
known as ‘Christendom’ within the Western world, rapidly losing its relevance? When
studying the disconcerting fact of Christendom’s demise (the ‘what’ question), the
understanding dawns that God, in his missio Dei (his mission of saving grace directed
towards a lost humanity) can bypass his church (the ‘why’ question). Missiology, as a
focus within theology, provides at this point the only hope-filled way (back) to God’s
future.
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Paying unpaid debts.

Reformational antidotes
for some of the challenges
posed by prosperity
gospel theology
P.J. (Flip) Buys
Faculty of Theology
South Africa
Introduction
It has often been stated that ‘cults live off the unpaid debts of the church’. It implies that
when churches neglect and deviate from key biblical truths, it may give rise to theological
ideas and practices that overreact to voids that developed in churches and the spirituality
of Christians. Spykman (1972:33) used this well-known phrase to explain a typical
recurring trend in church history: When churches fail to proclaim the whole council
of God with fervency and effectiveness, a seedbed is created and a foundation laid for
the growth of movements that are poor substitutes, since they inevitably preach a
How to cite: Buys, P.J., 2017, ‘Paying unpaid debts. Reformational antidotes for some of the challenges posed by prosperity
gospel theology’, in S.P. van der Walt & N. Vorster (eds.), pp. 87–106, Reformed theology today: Practical-theological, missiological
and ethical perspectives, AOSIS, Cape Town. https://doi.org/10.4102/aosis.2017.rtt47.06
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reductionistic gospel. Such movements then overemphasise some part of the truth,
present it as the whole truth of God’s Word and may neglect core aspects of the gospel (cf.
also Downes 2007; Gardner 2011:1; Roberts 1998:2; Van Baalen 1962).28
It has often happened that church leaders then draw from pagan and occult ideas and
‘baptise’ these with Bible verses pulled out of context, leading to teachings that may
eventually produce stumbling blocks in the progress of Christ’s kingdom.
If applied to the prosperity gospel theology (PT)29 Kasera (2012) says that PT may also
be a wake-up call to the evangelical churches especially on issues of faith. The question
arises: To what extent have Christian churches deviated from important aspects of the
gospel and thus created gaps that proponents of PT are trying to fill? Wilhelmsson (2017)
formulates:
The so-called ‘Faith Movement’ arose in the context of a Christianity that has lost much of her
original message and practice. This must be recognized as true whether the church is viewed
from the traditionalist wing or the charismatic/Pentecostal wing of Christendom. (n.p.)
Magezi and Manzanga (2016) pointed out how a lack of a compassionate proclamation
and teaching of the providence of God in the midst of suffering, provided a seedbed for
the development and flourishing of PT in Zimbabwe. Kasera (2012), evaluated in his
master’s thesis the rapid growth of prosperity theology in the context of Namibia and
concluded that PT is flourishing because of the lack of church-based community
development and poverty alleviation as one of his findings.
At an international consultation facilitated by the Lausanne Movement on ‘Prosperity
theology, poverty and the gospel’, in Atibaia, Brazil, Haakon Kessel (2014) made
challenging statements in his report about PT in Europe, especially Scandinavia, about
people belonging to the mainstream, national church, drifting away to PT-type
fellowships. The findings of his research are that they have a desire to experience God
more tangibly, more real, to get an assurance of his existence. They want a more radical
walk of faith. In that sense, their walking out of mainline churches represents a silent
critique of the traditional church. In interviews, they expressed the view that the national
church became spineless, rationalistic and irrelevant. They have a longing for deeper
fellowship, in praise and prayer.
28. It seems that the phrase ‘paying unpaid debts’ was of Dutch origin, but it cannot be established who
was the first person to use it, ‘[i]n de uitspraak: “sekten zijn de onbetaalde rekening van de kerk” zit zeker
een kern van waarheid. Als de kerk bepaalde gedeelten van de leer verwaarloost dan gaat vaak een sekte
daar op onverantwoorde manier mee aan de haal ’ (Geelhoed 2016).
29. This article will follow the practice – as it is done in the Lausanne Movement documents – to use
the abbreviation PT when referring to prosperity gospel theology (cf. Lausanne Movement 2010; 2014;
cf. also Kasera 2012).
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At the same international conference Freston (2014) delivered a paper in which he

analysed the social factors that feed PT. He stressed the point that we need to understand
and empathise with adherents of PT before the fallacies are exposed. He states:
This is good sociological practice, but also good Christian practice. The ability to put
ourselves in others’ shoes, to see things in the round, to find good where none seems to
exist […] these are Christian virtues. They don’t mean losing our critical sense, but putting
it on hold. In the end, we might be just as critical […] but perhaps better informed in our
criticism. (p. 1)
It is indeed true that all religious expressions are influenced and shaped by historical
settings and socio-cultural contexts.
In the final recommendations of the Lausanne Global consultation in Atibaia
(Lausanne Movement 2014), it was stated that:
[W]e recognize that we have often been too quick to judge and recognize that we have often
denounced the excesses of PT while failing to denounce the ways a therapeutic or self-help
gospel has replaced the supremacy of Christ in many of our churches. (p. 2)
I fully embrace the acknowledgement made by the Atibaia Lausanne consultation that it
is not enough simply to claim that ‘the Bible is on our side’, since Christians with different
convictions, who would also affirm the authority of Scripture, will make the same claim,
pointing to numerous texts that they believe support their practices (Lausanne Movement
2014:3). It will be more fruitful to go beyond the Bible verses being used and try to
understand the historical backgrounds, world views and sociological motives of PT
proponents in order to offer alternatives for consideration.
This chapter is an effort to do what is stated in the concluding sentence of the Atibaia
(Lausanne Movement 2014) consultation:
We trust that it will inspire biblical preaching, teaching and living that confronts the abuses of
Prosperity Gospel Theology, and that it will encourage Christians to lead ethical lifestyles that
indeed make us bearers of a better hope, the hope we have in Christ Jesus. (p. 3)
It is a pity that the Atibaia consultation did not consider how the doctrine of the
sovereignty of God and the providence of God may offer some corrective for the
weaknesses of PT. It is not possible to describe and evaluate all aspects of PT within
the limitations of this chapter. I will endeavour to compare the view of God and the
teaching of the providence of God in the midst of suffering, of proponents of PT
with theological tenets in the theology of Martin Luther that influenced thought
patterns of the 16th-century Reformation on these issues.
In order to understand the deviations of prosperity gospel theology its historical roots
will first be considered.
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Background and summary of prosperity

gospel theology
Extent
Several researchers (Fee 1984:39; Hollinger 1988:145; Sarles 1986:329) established
beyond doubt that PT is a broadly-based, worldwide movement with influence on both
charismatic and non-charismatic churches and denominations. Among these researchers
there is general consensus that PT certainly has a charismatic flavour to it, but is by no
means limited to Pentecostal or new Pentecostal churches and actually did not originate
in Pentecostal circles. The movement radiates a strong influence of the existentialism of
the present age, with a heavy emphasis on human experience to authenticate the Christian
faith. It also borrows heavily from the materialistic emphasis of affluent, suburban
Christianity.
Some of the prominent personalities who have strongly propagated PT in the
past five decades include Kenneth Hagin, pastor of the Rhema Bible Church in Tulsa,
Oklahoma; Kenneth and Gloria Copeland, founders of Kenneth Copeland Ministries in
Fort Worth, Texas; Bob and Marte Tilton, founding pastors of the Word of Faith
Church, Farmers Branch, Texas; John Osteen, pastor of the Lakewood Church,
Houston, Texas; Jerry Savelle, evangelist and former associate of Kenneth Copeland;
Charles and Frances Hunter, faith healers and founders of the City of Light, Kingwood,
Texas; The New Apostolic Reformation (Ocaña 2014); Korean minister, Paul Yonggi
Cho; Joseph Prince from Singapore (Van der Breggen 2015:1), Ulf Ekman from Sweden
and his Word of Life church and organisation (Kessel 2014:2) and many from Africa
and Latin America.
In July 2007, both Christianity Today and The Christian Century published articles that
pointed out the global influence of PT (Glifford 2007; Phiri & Maxwell 2007).
This observation is confirmed by a Time magazine poll, which determined that in the
United States of America, ‘17% of Christians’ who were surveyed ’said they considered
themselves’ to be part of the ‘Prosperity Theology’ movement (Van Biema 2006).
Additionally, a ‘full 61% believed that God wants people to be prosperous’. On the African
continent, the Pew Research Center conducted a survey in 2006 in which individuals
were asked whether God would ‘grant material prosperity to all believers who have
enough faith’ and whether ‘religious faith was “very important to economic success”’.
Roughly 9 out of 10 participants from Nigeria, South Africa and Kenya agreed
wholeheartedly (Phiri & Maxwell 2007). Magezi and Manzanga (2016) made it clear how
widespread the trends of PT are in Zimbabwe and Kasera (2012) proved the rapid growth
of PT in the Namibian context.
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Historical origins
McConnell ([c.1998] 1995), who holds to charismatic convictions himself, has conducted
research which is extremely illuminating in establishing the origins of PT. While
Kenneth Hagin is seen by many as the father of the PT movement, McConnell in his
research documents Hagin’s extensive plagiarism of E.W. Kenyon. McConnell ([c. 1988]
1995; cf. also Hollinger 1988:142; Jackson 1989:16; Johnson 1995:114) sums up:
Whereas Hagin appears to have copied only occasionally from sources other than Kenyon, he
has plagiarized Kenyon both repeatedly and extensively. Actually, it would not be overstated to
say that the very doctrines that have made Kenneth Hagin and the Faith Movement such a
distinctive and powerful force within the independent charismatic movement are all plagiarized
from E. W. Kenyon. (pp. 3–13)
Gnostic-metaphysical origins
The immediate origins of PT over the past five decades can be traced to the USA and later
spread to other countries around the world, promising people health, wealth and happiness.
It actually developed out of the New Thought movement that began around 1895.
New Thought writers include Phineas Quimby, Ralph Waldo Trine, Norman Vincent
Peale, Ernest Holmes, and Charles Fillmore (Jones & Woodbridge 2011:231–232).
Among the prominent pioneers of the New Thought movement in the USA were Mary
Eddy Baker, the founder of Christian Science. She developed a trend of thought similar to
that of the pioneers of New Thought in that her Christian Science basically represents a
denial of the material world (Tucker 1989:149).
McConnell’s research proved that the dominating influence on Kenyon’s theology were
the Gnostic-metaphysical cults which abounded at the turn of the 19th century in the USA.
Kenyon attended the Emerson College of Oratory in Boston, during the last decade of
the 19th century, a college which was at the time immersed in the Gnostic-metaphysical
cults and the underlying New Thought.
New Thought developed out of the theology of Emanuel Swedenborg, and the
theosophical ideas of Blavatsky and Olcott as a spiritual movement in the 19th century,
along the lines of the teachings of Phineas Quimby. Some of the key underlying
principles of New Thought are the pantheistic world views of the existence of an
omnipresent God immanent in nature, universal life, intelligence and energy,
underlying and pervading the universe, finding expression in every created entity
(Allen 1908–1926:359). The spirit is the totality of real things, true human selfhood is
divine, divine thought is a force for good, sickness originates in the mind, and ‘right
thinking’ has a healing effect.
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The leaders of the New Thought movement had an intuitive belief in the all-saving
power of healthy-minded attitudes as such, in the conquering efficacy of courage, hope
and trust, and a correlative contempt for doubt, fear, worry and all nervously
precautionary states of mind. The trouble is in the mind, for the body is only the house
for the mind in which it dwells. Therefore, if your mind had been deceived by some
invisible enemy into a negative belief, it becomes some form of a disease, with or
without your knowledge.
It is interesting to see that one of the key leaders in the New Thought movement,
J. Allen, already published a book in 1903 with the title From poverty to power (Allen 1903)
and in 1907 on The path to prosperity (Allen 1907).
Quimby (in Hollinger 1988) embraced these ideas and formulated his healing
methodology in this way:
By my theory or truth, I come in contact with your enemy, and restore you to health and
happiness. This I do partly mentally, and partly by talking till I correct the wrong impression
and establish the Truth, and the Truth is the cure. (p. 140)
McConnell ([c.1988] 1995:19) pointed out the indisputable influence of the New
Thought metaphysical cults in Kenyon’s work. While he claims to remain resolutely
Christian, and indeed explicitly refutes some elements of the metaphysical cults, he at
the same time, often in the same breath as his rebuke, asserts the foundational beliefs
of these cults.
Living at a time when the New Thought metaphysical cults were growing rapidly,
Kenyon’s ‘Christian’ response was a ‘Christianised’ form of the metaphysical cult. Because
of the failure of the mainline churches to produce signs and wonders, Kenyon was keen
to redress an anti-supernatural tendency. He sought to establish a teaching which
provided Christians with all the benefits of the metaphysical cults, while continuing
to profess basic Christian beliefs. The result was prosperity theology, which is, with a
very few trappings, the theology of the present-day ‘Word of Faith’, which is part of the
wider PT movement!
Gnostic world view background

It is important to understand the Gnostic dualistic world view inherent in these
metaphysical New Thought cults, that became a major influence on the world views of
the proponents of PT.
Gnoticism is used here to refer to the religious systems exemplified by the ‘Great
Gnostics’ which flourished from the 2nd to the 4th century CE, such as those of Cerinthus,
Manander, Saturninus, Valentinus, Basilides, Ptolemaeus and the ones contained in the
apocryphal gospels of Judas (Iscariot), Philip and Thomas. Several researchers unveiled
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the conceptual links of Gnosticism to Judaism, Zoroastrianism and Hellenistic philosophy.

The movement has basically dualistic and syncretistic roots and spread throughout the
ancient Near East immediately before and after the time of Christ (Helmbold 1975).
It became best known through the apologetic writings of Irenaeus, a 2nd-century
Greek church father, who described certain groups of heretics as the ‘gnostic heresy’ and
Hippolytus of Rome (Roberts Donaldson & Coxe 1886:47). Since the discovery of the Nag
Hammadi Scrolls in 1945 and the translation, popularisation and publication of them
(Attridge & Pagels 1996; Robinson & Smith 1996), a floodgate of publications about
Gnosticism came on the market. Two collections of essays have been edited by K-W.
Tröger, one on Gnosticism and the New Testament, and the other on Gnosticism, the
Old Testament and Early Judaism (Yamauchi 1984:22).
Modern times witnessed the resurgence of Gnosticism in world views of the
Enlightenment, Hegel’s idealism, some existentialist currents, Nazism, Jungian psychology
and the New Thought Theosophical Society. All of these contributed to this resurgence
and prepared the way for dominant thought patterns in PT (Wright 2009). For the
engagement with core thought patterns in PT it is important to recognise how it relates
with Gnostic world views.
Gnostic world views blended with Charismatic

Pentecostalism
McConnell did not sufficiently point out other influences on PT other than the theology
and publications of Kenyon. For example, Kenyon rejected ‘speaking in tongues’ as being
altogether too subjective an experience, while for the Faith movement, speaking in
tongues today is often stressed as a necessary sign that one has been baptised in the Spirit.
Charismatic Pentecostalism has also left its mark on PT, especially so because such are the
roots of many of those in the PT movement today. Thus, while the original doctrines are
undoubtedly those of Kenyon, very often the current practices are mostly those of the
charismatic Pentecostals (Hollinger 1988:140).
The theme of prosperity is found early on in the healing revival movement. In the
1950s the controversial A.A. Allen began to accentuate the financial blessing theme. In
1963 Allen claimed to have received a revelation directly from God. In a personal
encounter with God, God said to him (quoted by Hollinger 1988):
I am a wealthy God! Yea, I am not poor […] But I say unto thee, claim my wealth in thy hand,
yea, in thy purse and in thy substance. For behold, I plan to do a new thing in the earth! (p. 140)
Key aspects of Gnosticism that also appear in the writings and sermons of Kenyon and
the PT preachers will be indicated in the following paragraphs.
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Experience the gateway to truth

In an article with the title ‘The heresy that wouldn’t die’ Jenkins (2007:n.p.) said, ‘though
Gnostic sects faded in the early church, Gnostic ideas have had a long shelf life’.
He then argues convincingly that key aspects of the Gnostic world view and main
themes survived, especially the idea of seeking a mystic ascent to God.
For the Gnostics, knowledge of God is based on personal, intuitive, private and
mystical experiences (Scholer 2007). Gnostics believe that humanity is trapped in the
material world and the human body. In order to provide salvation, the ultimate God sent
a redeemer, who navigated the journey from the Pleroma through the intermediary
beings to earth. Inner personal experience is the only true knowledge.
God is not in any way accessible through reason or rational understanding. Not
doctrinal teaching, but a flight from the mind into pure reason-free experience, is the way
to God. Gnostics distinguish sharply between mind and spirit. We must escape from the
prison house of the rational mind and explore our non-rational spirits if we are to know
God and ourselves. The Apocryphal book of James puts it this way, ‘hence become full of
the Spirit, but be in want of reason, for reason (belongs to) the soul; in turn it is (of the
nature of) soul’ (Williams 1996:35).
In order to attain this non-rational state of consciousness Gnostics use chanting, often
of nonsense words to disengage rationality and induce raw spiritual ecstasy (Bean 2015).
This flight from reason is revealed in the writings and rituals practiced by several
proponents of the Word of Faith PT. As a result, the Christ of experience replaces the
Christ of Scripture as the centre of key figures of PT as it can be seen in videos of their
sermons where personal experiences of contact with God are presented as having more
weight than biblical and theological teachings (Rosebrough 2015; Thompson 2015).
Divine nature of the human soul

One of the core convictions of Gnosticism is that the human spirit is a spark of divinity
encaged in a body of flesh. To know God, is ultimately identical to knowing your inner
self as being divine. In yourself there is a divine spark which your outward trappings like
your upbringing and social context have squashed. The basic problem of evil is that man
has forgotten his own divine nature. The function of Jesus is that he restores to us the
knowledge of our divine self and awakens us to a sense of our own divinity. We ourselves
become Christ’s through the spirit of enlightenment of our inner self (Wright 2009).
Man is composed of body, soul and spirit. The spirit is man’s true self, a ‘divine spark’,
a portion of the godhead. In a tragic fall, man’s true self, or spirit, was thrown into this
dark world and imprisoned in each individual’s body and soul.
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This Gnostic conviction is also widely proclaimed by adherents to PT. Paulk (1984:97)
said, ‘[u]ntil we comprehend that we are little gods, we cannot manifest the kingdom of God.’
Hagin (1989:35–35) teaches that Adam was created equal with God – an exact
duplicate of God, in the same class of being as he, and can therefore stand in his presence
without any sense of inferiority whatsoever (Hagin 1989:35–36).
Referring to the creation of man, Copeland (2016) adds ‘God and Adam looked
exactly alike’.
In the words of Hagin (1980:14) the Christian is as much an incarnation of God as was
Jesus of Nazareth.
In PT Word of Faith mythology, Adam lost his privileges and status as a god. Man
recovers them through conversion to Christ. Benny Hinn (1991:n.p.) says of himself,
‘I am a little messiah walking on earth, […]. You are a little god on earth running around.
Christians are little messiahs. Christians are little gods.’
Elsewhere he (Hinn 1991:n.p.) says, ‘[a]re you a child of God? Then you’re divine!
Are you a child of God? Then you’re not human!’
Newman (1997) refers to this trend in the following way:
Any well-thinking, discerning believer finds himself greatly alarmed when Kenneth Hagin
claims that all Christians are ‘little gods’ spawned by God just as a dog has a litter of puppies, or
when Kenneth Copeland declares that when Christ called Himself the great ‘I Am’, in Copeland’s
own words, ‘I say, “Yes, I am too!”’ (p. 142)
The God concept in the teachings of prosperity gospel preachers, proves to be the same
as the pagan and Gnostic views of God. Pagan religions and Gnosticism split the difference
between God and man, by reducing God to become more like a human and exalting man
to the status of a god. Mythology, whether ancient or modern, invariably diminishes God
to less than what he is, and exalts man to the same level as God (Geisler 1999:273–275).
At the Lausanne global consultation on ‘Prosperity theology, poverty and the gospel’
in Atibaia, José Daniel Salinas (2014) formulated the impact of PT’s view of God for Latin
America in this way:
PT’s Christology has left our people with a powerless Christ. PT proposes a faith that we
control, a deity we manipulate. This is similar to animistic or pantheistic religions where the
gods exist to give us what we want because we perform some rituals which are supposed to
appease them and to convince them to act in our favor. (n.p.)
Smalling (2010) in his book The Prosperity movement: Wounded charismatics, summarises
as follows:
Christian revelation, in contrast, brings man and God together in a relationship, while leaving
both intact. The meeting point between God and man in Christianity is a mutual righteousness,
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that of Christ, credited to the believer’s account through faith in Jesus (Romans 3 & 4). No
change in quality of existence or essence of being takes place in either God or man. (p. 33)
The Bible teaches union with Christ through the Spirit. Gnosticism and PT doctrine
teach joining with Christ through a mix of our supposed divinity with his.
In pagan thinking where gods are seen like human beings, people think that they have
to manipulate gods with sacrifices and rituals to obtain health wealth and prosperity.
That is why God revealed himself as totally different from the pagan gods when he
said to his people according to Deuteronomy 10:17, ‘[f ]or the Lord your God is God of
gods and Lord of lords, the great, the mighty, and the awesome God, who is not partial
and takes no bribe’.
In paganism, in Gnosticism, and with proponents of PT a progression takes place.
Firstly, a human is like a god. Then he is part god. Then he is a god. Ken Copeland, Creflo
Dollar, Joyce Meyer, Paul Crouch, Paula White and Benny Hinn, all openly state in their
recorded sermons that we are little gods (Rosebrough 2015; Thompson 2015).
Visualisation and positive confession

Visualisation and positive confession are of vital importance in PT and are inseparably
linked together as one spiritual law. In his booklet, I believe in visions, Hagin (1979b:20)
based his whole theology on the personal visual experiences he had of Jesus visiting and
communicating with him. Hagin (1979a:23) then teaches that if believers want to be
successful in their circumstances they must confess, and confess positively. In doing so,
their words have power to create a positive reality.
The use of a visualised Christ in order to enter an altered state of consciousness, also
became a vital part of ‘inner healing’ techniques. This process of meeting a visualised
‘Christ’ in the imagination is a recurring theme in the writings of the Christian visualisers.
It originated with Agnes Sanford (1897–1982). After the publication of her book ‘The
healing light’ (1947), her worldwide ministry had an enormous influence on the
subsequent development of the use of healing in the charismatic movement. She later
published The healing gifts of the spirit. She taught that ‘experience comes before theology’,
and offered various visualisation techniques, emphasising that one could forgive another’s
sins through visualisation (Sanford 1966:100–113).
Another major influence in the use of this visualisation technique with the goal to
‘inner healing’ was Ruth Carter Stapleton, the sister of the former president of the
USA, Jimmy Carter. She packaged visualisation into a form of therapy which she called
‘faith imagination’. She recommended that people visualise, as vividly as possible, Jesus
coming into their past experiences and taking charge of any seriously troubled and
disturbing situation. In this process of faith imagination, with Jesus at the centre, deep
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healing inside the person occurs. As Jesus dominates the visualisation, persons are
guided to experience freedom and allow themselves to become whole again (Abi &
Malony 1999:624).
One of the prime reasons for the use of visualisation in the imagination is to effect
extraordinary changes in people’s lives and in their circumstantial environments
through powerful visualisation of the desired change. A good example of this
technique is the charismatic Korean minister, Paul Yonggi Cho. In his book, The fourth
dimension: The key to putting your faith to work for a successful life (1979), Cho develops
a doctrine of prosperity through the use of ‘mind power’ which any occultist would
enthusiastically applaud.
A simple perusal of his books reveals a theology which has been ‘ripped off’ from
some primary teachings of new Gnosticism. Cho has devised a theory which he calls
‘incubation’. He uses this to refer to a period of development which is needed in the
imagination before a desired object can be physically manifested. He argues that
because Scripture tells us that faith is the substance of things hoped for (Heb 11:1),
this substance must undergo a period of ‘incubation’ in what he calls the ‘fourth
dimension’ before its usage can be full and effective (Cho 1979:9). His proof text for
this occurs in Genesis 1:2, where the Hebrew states that the Spirit of God was
‘brooding’ over the waters. Cho, claims this act of Creation can be repeated by each
Christian believer, who only has to visualise something in his or her mind’s eye and
it will become a reality, provided it is painted in sufficient detail. He (Cho 1979:31)
puts it like this, ‘[w]hat becomes pregnant in your heart and mind is going to come
out in your circumstances’.
These developments make it clear that if we are not to drift into Gnosticism or new
Gnosticism, or merely experience PT spirituality, we have to insist that God is not
accessible to us through some mindless mystical, or mere emotional experience that
bypasses or twists the truth of Scripture or annihilates the rational mind. God is accessible
through scriptural truth as grasped by a spiritually enlightened mind that although he has
not been seen, ‘you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him
and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy’ (1 Pt 1:8). Referring to the Westminster
confession Hollinger (1988:145) warns that it is the enjoyment of God, not the glory of
God, which seems to have captivated the hearts and minds of adherents of PT.
New revelations
As part and parcel of their experienced-based spirituality, Gnostics claim that they receive
guidance and inspiration from spirit guides, exalted beings from a higher spiritual realm
that reveal mysteries to the spiritually receptive. Gnostics often appeal to private
revelations and visions. For example, the Gnostic apocalypse of Paul describes Paul’s
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alleged ascent into the different heavens culminating in the tenth heaven. There –
according to this apocalypse of Paul – he obtained a record of the esoteric truths and
learned things there which are not to be found in the New Testament (Laird 2016).
Thus, Gnosticism was seen as an esoteric knowledge of higher religious and philosophic
truths to be acquired by an elite group. They claimed that they were more enlightened than
the Apostles. A Gnostic is one who has gnosis (a Greek word for ‘knowledge’) – a visionary
or mystical ‘secret knowledge’ – capable of joining the human being to the divine mystery.
How do these ‘new revelations’ surface in PT?

In his booklet, Two kinds of knowledge, Kenyon (1942:20) falls into the typical Gnostic and
mystic trap by using reason to deny the validity of reason. Information derived from our
five senses, he terms ‘sense knowledge’ and the correlation of that information is done by
logic. But ‘revelation knowledge’ comes directly to our spirit, bypassing both reason and
the five senses. Kenyon believed that since God is spiritual, it is impossible to understand
God or spiritual truth without this special ‘revelation’.
In Chapter 6 of his book McConnell ([c. 1988] 1995:107–110) also provides evidence
of the strong parallels between the doctrines of revelation and Gnosticism supported by
Kenyon and the metaphysical cults in terms of dualism, antirationalism and classification.
Adherents to PT see faith as a mystical force that we use to manipulate situations to
our advantage. In combination with our spoken words, faith becomes a catalyst to create
our own reality. In the words of Hagin, ‘[o]ne must by-pass the brain to get into the
things of God’ (quoted by McConnell [c. 1988] 1995:109).
Copeland (1989:10) describes faith as a powerful force. It is a tangible force. It is a
conductive force and has the ability to effect natural substance.
In his evaluation of the New Apostolic Reformation (NAR), which is rapidly spreading
in several Latin American countries, Ocaña (2014) observed that this blend of PT,
according to which ’God speaks directly today’ means in fact that, (1) the Bible is not
enough or sufficient as the authority with regard to faith, doctrine and praxis, (2) the
Word of God is not limited by the canon that is expressed in Scripture, but goes beyond
it and (3) God speaks today by other ways, that in the practice of the NAR are known as
the ‘rhemas’, supposedly a fresh voice, that can in some cases be audible.
In his qualitative empirical research conducted in several countries in Latin America
he always heard the same reasoning, ‘[i]t is that you haven’t experienced what we have
experienced’ Ocaña (2014). His conclusion is that the intention of the NAR is to
substantiate their theological proposals in the experience for two possible answers,
(1) open the revelation of God, leaving behind the canon inherited and (2) bring a
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new revelation, leaving behind the tradition or memory. Both answers, of course,

endeavour to ensure that Christianity ceases to be ‘the religion of the Book’ to make it the
religion of experience, feeling and emotion. The sola scriptura is being replaced with ‘sola
experience’.
Attitude to Scripture and valid hermeneutics

In the Gnostic Nag Hamadi scrolls, dreams and visions are given the same or more
authority than the Bible (Attridge & Pagels 1996:75–76).
Oepke (1964:436) proved that by and large, the religious evaluation of dreams is only
on the margin of New Testament piety. The essential point of revelation is not to be
found in dreams, but it lies in the historical self-demonstration of God, → ἀποκαλύπτω.
‘The dreams of Gnostics are something totally different and dangerous and morally
suspect delusions’ (Jude 8).
Several authors have pointed out that the hermeneutics of the PT leave much to be
desired. In painting the Latin American picture of PT’s use of the Bible, Salinas (2014)
puts it this way:
In postmodern hermeneutics the reader has control over meaning, that is, any text can mean
whatever the reader decides. Until recently, finding the author’s intention has been the
hermeneutical key for biblical interpretation. The idea used to be that you came to the Bible to
find what God wanted to tell us, since God is the author of the Bible. However, PT has bought
into today’s hermeneutical tendencies. What we hear in their preaching is an imposed meaning
over the text, a meaning that supports the preacher’s ideas and agendas. People go to church
thirsty for God’s words only to receive lies. (p. 4)
Sarles (1986) wrote about the Hermeneutics of PT teachers:
Prosperity hermeneutics also leaves much to be desired. The method of interpreting the biblical
text is highly subjective and arbitrary. Bible verses are quoted in abundance without attention
to grammatical indicators, semantic nuances, or literary and historical context. The result is a
set of ideas and principles based on distortion of textual meaning. (p. 339)
The fact that the biblical author’s original intent would have been plain to his original
audience to whom the words were originally addressed in their context is seldom
considered in PT preachers’ sermons and teachings. The PT preachers read their
suburbanised culture of the late 20th-century setting back into the text.
A survey of the volumes of literature produced by the PT teachers yields numerous
examples of such misinterpretations (Jones 1998:81). An analysis of all such examples of
misinterpreted texts would fall beyond the limitations of this chapter.
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Proposal for some reformational antidotes

from the theology of Martin Luther
The sovereignty and providence of God

In the light of the prevailing ideas of Gnosticism and PT that man is a little god, and that
God can be manipulated with chanting and repetition of words as pointed out above, it
may be helpful to reconsider the predominant views of God of Martin Luther and
prominent 16th-century Reformers.
At the heart of Martin Luther’s theology was his understanding of God. Henriksen
(2016) summarises:
Luther’s understanding of God saturates his oeuvre, and in turn, this understanding is saturated
by his doctrine of the justification of the sinner. God is the sovereign source and origin of all
that is, and Luther develops his understanding of God in a manner that tries to safeguard this
position in such a way that the personal relationship to God becomes the focus point for all he
says. (n.p.)
The main traits in his understanding of God become apparent in two of his ‘classic’ texts
on the matter, the Large Catechism (Luther 1530a) and On the bondage of the will (1984)
(Latin: De Servo Arbitrio, literally, ‘On Un-free Will’), that was his reply to Desiderius
Erasmus’s De libero arbitrio diatribe sive collatio or On free fill (Luther 1984).
Luther knew that Erasmus, more than any other opponent, had put his finger on
the deepest issue at stake, namely ‘whether human beings are so sinful that God’s sovereign
grace must create and decisively fulfil every human inclination to believe and obey God’
(Piper 2016:n.p.).
The sovereign omnipotence of God is a central tenet of Luther’s and Reformed
religion. For Luther and 16th-century Reformers after him, the assertion of God’s
absolute sovereignty over creation, and in providence and grace is basic to biblical belief
and biblical praise.
The sovereignty of God indicates the supremacy of God, the kingship of God, the
godhood of God. To say that God is sovereign is to declare that God is God. To say
that God is sovereign is to declare that he does according to his will amongst the host
of heaven and amongst the inhabitants of the earth. Luther (2001) translated Daniel
4:35 as:
[G]egen welchen alle, so auf Erden wohnen, als nichts zu rechnen sind. Er macht‘s, wie er will,
mit den Kräften im Himmel und mit denen, so auf Erden wohnen; und niemand kann seiner
Hand wehren noch zu ihm sagen: Was machst du? (n.p.)
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Luther often states in his many publications that God works all in all. He is the sovereign
source of reality, of goodness, and to God alone all honour is due. In his comment on
Psalm 112:2 Luther praises the vast majesty of God and that Christians in their prayers
should constantly glorify and praise the Lord for everything he has created, and still
maintains through his sovereign omnipotent providence (Luther 1530b).
He often made it clear that God can be God only if he is the only source of goodness.
In explaining the 2nd and 3rd Commandments he (Luther 1530a) wrote:
Thus you can easily understand what and how much this commandment requires, namely,
that man’s entire heart and all his confidence be placed in God alone, and in no one else. For
to have God, you can easily perceive, is not to lay hold of Him with our hands or to put Him
in a bag [as money], or to lock Him in a chest [as silver vessels]. But to apprehend Him means
when the heart lays hold of Him and clings to Him. But to cling to Him with the heart is
nothing else than to trust in Him entirely. For this reason He wishes to turn us away from
everything else that exists outside of Him, and to draw us to Himself, namely, because He is
the only eternal good. As though He would say: Whatever you have heretofore sought of
the saints, or for whatever [things] you have trusted in Mammon or anything else, expect it
all of Me. (n.p.)
This fundamental conviction lasts through all controversies with and about Luther: He
lays emphasis on the free, absolute sovereignty of God and his merciful acts of grace
toward creatures who are full of sin and separated from him (Henriksen 2016).
To say that God is sovereign is to declare that he is the Almighty, the possessor of all
power in heaven and on earth, so that none can defeat his counsels, thwart his purpose,
or resist his will (Ps 115:3). To say that God is sovereign is to declare that he is ‘[t]he
Governor among the nations’ (Henriksen 2016), setting up kingdoms, overthrowing
empires, and determining the course of dynasties as it pleases him best.
Luther’s (2001) translation of Psalm 22 brings it out clearly:
Es werden gedenken und sich zum HERRN bekehren aller Welt Enden und vor ihm anbeten
alle Geschlechter der Heiden. Denn des HERRN ist das Reich, und er herrscht unter den
Heiden. (v. 28)
Luther constantly expressed in explicit terms that the Lord reigns as king, exercising
dominion over great and tiny things alike. God’s dominion is total: He wills as he chooses
and carries out all that he wills, and none can stay his hand or thwart his plans. With
regard to Romans 8:28 he explains that God even uses the sins of his children to work out
the best for them as instruments in the coming of his kingdom. To prove his point he
explains it from the history of the sins of the brothers of Joseph, who sold him and that
through the seduction of an adulterous woman he even ended up in prison. Joseph saw
God’s sovereign providential plan in all when he confessed, ‘Ihr gedachtet’s böse mit mir zu
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machen; aber Gott gedachte es gut zu machen, daß er täte, wie es jetzt am Tage ist, zu erhalten viel
Volks [As for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good, to bring it about
that many people should be kept alive, as they are today]’ (Luther 1535).
To acknowledge and confess the sovereignty of God gave Luther peace that no matter
what happened to him, God is in control because he has even counted the hair on my
head. What minute knowledge is this! In a sermon on Exodus 15:2 Luther (2015) said:
If God is my Strength and Power, who or what can do harm to me? Grief or tribulation, or
distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword (Ro 8:35). Then I may
confess, even if I am only a little worm, the power of God is with me. (p. 55; Ps 22:7; Is 41:14)30
To confess that he is sovereign with regard to health and sickness and life and death, is to
confess with the words of Deuteronomy 32:39 that he alone is God and there is no god
beside him, he kills and he makes alive; he wounds and he heals; and there is none that
can deliver out of his hand.
Luther’s (2001) translation reads:
Seht ihr nun, daß ich’s allein bin und ist kein Gott neben Mir! Ich kann töten und lebendig
machen, ich kann schlagen und heilen, und ist niemand, der aus meiner Hand errette. (n.p.)
None lives and none dies but by God’s sovereign decree.
Ultimately God controls the ability of people to hear or see, as he says to Moses at the
burning bush, ‘Who has made man’s mouth? Who makes him mute, or deaf, or seeing, or
blind? Is it not I, the LORD?’ (Ex 4:11; see also 2 Cor 12:7–9).
Effects of the doctrine of the sovereignty of God

in our lives
In Luther’s understanding, true godliness is described as a child-like fear of God, (timor
filialis) which must be distinguished from the fear a slave has for his master (timor servilis).
It is a combination of holy respect and glowing love (Exalto 1993:152). To fear God is to
have a heart that is sensitive to both his godliness and his graciousness. It means to
experience simultaneously great awe and a deep joy and it produces peace in the heart of
a child in the presence of a strong and loving father when you begin to understand who
God really is and what he has done for us.
It is a feeling of deep awe and respect about his magnitude. It gives the child of God a
deep inner peace and calm.
30. My translation from the Dutch translation of selected Luther (2015) quotes organised according to
the structure of the Heidelberg Catechism.
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To fear God is to completely surrender one’s life to God and lose it, in order to regain
it from God. It is fear that is at the same time confidence, surrender, as well as enthusiasm
and boundless trust in God’s presence and leading in your life.
In a sermon from Matthew 5:6, Luther made it clear that a real pious person who lives
a godly life, is often not wealthy and does not serve God merely for the sake of receiving
personal benefits and blessings. But those who use wrong means and go along with lies
and fraud often become extremely wealthy. He (Luther 1544) said:
In the sermon on the mount God warns us not to be misled by the examples of the world. Maintain
true piety and fear God and don’t be disturbed by the progress in wealth of others in the world.
You will receive God’s blessings in this life and have abundance in eternity. (n.p.)
The results of true godliness are described as including transformed minds and hearts,
words and actions, prayerfulness, and a life that continually grows into the image of
Christ.
The importance of Luther’s theology of the Cross

At the Heidelberg disputation in 1518, Luther offered some important theses which
encapsulate not only the heart of Luther’s theology but also marked his piety (quoted by
Trueman 2005):
19. That a person does not deserve to be called a theologian who looks upon the invisible things
of God as though they were clearly perceptible in those things which have actually happened
(Rm 1:20).
20. He deserves to be called a theologian, however, who comprehends the visible and manifest
things of God seen through suffering and the Cross.
21. A theologian of glory calls evil good and good evil. A theologian of the Cross calls the thing
what it actually is.
22. That wisdom which sees the invisible things of God in works as perceived by man is
completely puffed up, blinded, and hardened. (n.p.)
Luther sees God’s supreme revelation of himself through the humiliation, suffering and
death on the Cross, as axiomatic to all theology and all of life. God’s divine power is
revealed in the weakness of the Cross, for it is in his apparent defeat at the hands of evil
powers and corrupt earthly authorities that Jesus shows his divine power in the conquest
of death and of all the powers of evil. When most people think about power, they think
of achievement, getting things done, being successful and being acknowledged. Luther
makes it clear that if you think of God’s power in this way, you actually remake God in
your own image. But divine power is to be conceived of in terms of the Cross – power
hidden in the form of weakness.
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God’s supreme wisdom is seen on the Cross. The Cross is not only the way God
atones for our sins, but a revelation of the way God deals with the people he loves. The
Cross is the way that God works through everybody he loves, not just through the life
of Jesus. The ultimate triumph of good over evil is that when evil happens, God uses it
for good. That was what the Cross was all about. Luther reveals that God allows bad
things to happen to good people because he blesses them through it. In a sermon from
John 15:1 where Jesus said, ‘I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinedresser’ Luther
exclaimed, ‘[a]nd you Devil, is just the dung’ and then explained how God uses the evil
of the Devil to work out the good in those who look to the Cross of Christ in faith
(Luther 1544).
A revitalisation and rekindling of this kind of piety may fill one of the greatest gaps in
PT, namely the peace of God that transcends all understanding and is not dependent on
health, wealth and happiness as promoted by PT preachers.
Main trends in Luther’s hermeneutics

In considering the way that the Bible is used and interpreted in PT circles, it is important
to stress the supreme and final authority and the sufficiency of Scriptures as the primary
way the will of God for the lives of Christians is revealed.
Luther clearly had a burning desire in his heart to get the Word of God into the hands
of the people. He not only translated the Bible into the language of the people, but laid
down key principles concerning its interpretation (Dockery 1983:190). Realising that
there was no unanimity among the Church Fathers except in the most basic doctrines,
Luther preferred the Scriptures in contrast to the early writings of the Fathers.
Although Luther in the early years of his ministry was still functioning within the
constraints of the medieval fourfold method, applying it more ‘intensively’ and more
‘on principle’ than other exegetes of his time, the conviction was that the historical and
literal sense of Scriptures alone is the essence of faith and Christian theology. He
observed that heresies and errors originated not from the simple words of Scripture
but primarily from the neglect of those words. He eventually fundamentally shifted the
ground of the fourfold approach by arguing that the literal sense is already a
Christological sense (Leithart 2007).
The ‘I’ of the Psalms – even the penitential Psalms – is Christ, and from this
Christological-literal sense, Luther developed the other senses so that they uncover a
theology of the Cross embedded in the text.
Farrar (as quoted by Dockery 1983) summarises Luther’s basic rules for valid
interpretation as follows:
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He insisted (1) on the necessity for grammatical knowledge; (2) on the importance of taking
into consideration times, circumstances, and conditions; (3) on the observance of the context;
(4) on the need of faith and spiritual illumination; (5) on keeping what he called ‘the proportion
of faith’; and (6) on the reference of all Scripture to Christ. (p. 191)
In order to stop unbridled, speculative and fanciful interpretations of Scripture, the
Reformers set forth the fundamental axiom that should govern all biblical interpretation.
It is called the analogy of faith, which basically means that Holy Scripture is its own
interpreter (Johnson 1988:79)
This principle of interpretation implies that clearer passages of Scripture should be
used to interpret more obscure or difficult passages. Thus, the analogy of faith is the
harmonious relationship between the overall teachings of Scripture brought to bear on
the exegesis of particular passages. For Luther, Christ is the analogy of faith, so that
Scripture needs always to be interpreted as testifying to Christ.
When it is accepted that the Bible is the Word of God, Luther and the Reformers
expected the entire Bible to be coherent, intelligible and unified. On this basis, the
reformation principle, Sacra Scriptura sui interpres [Scripture is its own interpreter]
developed.
Conclusion
Some of the ‘unpaid debts’ that may have prepared a seedbed for PT are the following:
Firstly, a lack of a theology of the Cross in the footsteps of Luther lead to a ‘theology
of glory’ focusing on human effort intended to earn God’s favour and blessings, and
exalted human achievement. Lutheran theologian Gerhard Forde (as quoted by
Tchividjian 2012) puts it as follows:
A theology of glory […] operates on the assumption that what we need is optimistic
encouragement, some flattery, some positive thinking, some support to build our self-esteem.
Theologically speaking it operates on the assumption that we are not seriously addicted to sin,
and that our improvement is both necessary and possible. We need a little boost in our desire
to do good works […]. But the hallmark of a theology of glory is that it will always consider
grace as something of a supplement to whatever is left of human will and power.
Trueman (2005:n.p.) says with regard to the implications of Luther’s theology of the
Cross, that as, ‘an antidote to sentimentality, prosperity doctrine, and an excessively
worldly eschatology, this is theological gold dust.’
Secondly, a lack of genuine submission to the sovereignty of God and humble trust in
his omnipotent providence, also in the midst of suffering, opens a wide door for
acceptance of PT’s pursuit of health, wealth and happiness.
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Revisiting Luther’s basic rules for valid interpretation may provide an antidote for the
widespread drift into Gnosticism or new Gnosticism, and mere emotional, experienced-
based applications that bypass or twist the truth of Scripture.
Summary: Chapter 6
Prosperity gospel theology has become one of the fastest growing religious movements in
the world. Several international consultations in the last decade have dealt with it and
provided constructive critique to understand it and offer correctives. However, a more
in-depth study into the Gnostic and mystic world view that influenced the development
of prosperity gospel theology may be helpful to offer some antidotes for the challenges
that prosperity theology has raised. In the light of the 500th anniversary of the Reformation
this chapter endeavours to consider the view of God, the doctrine of the providence of
God and its implications for the processing of suffering in the life of a believer, and the
hermeneutics of key prosperity gospel theology preachers. Their underlying theology
and world view are then compared with some of the key theological principles that
emerged in the theology of Martin Luther.
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Towards a pastoral care

for Africa: Some practical
theological considerations
for a contextual approach
Alfred R. Brunsdon
School of Human Sciences
Faculty of Human & Social Sciences
South Africa
Introduction
This chapter focuses on on the field of practical theology, pastoral care and the African
context. Commemorating 500 years of Reformed theology not only calls for
celebration, but also for a reappraisal of how Reformed theology is applied in different
contexts. As such, this contribution is located within the discourse on the
contextualisation of pastoral care and counselling within the African context from a
Reformed perspective. As a traditional Western approach to theology is increasingly
criticised as unfit for the African context, the design of an authentic African practical
theology and pastoral care is currently one of the very relevant discourses within
practical theology (cf. Dames 2014).
How to cite: Brunsdon, A.R., 2017, ‘Towards a pastoral care for Africa: Some practical theological considerations for a
contextual approach’, in S.P. van der Walt & N. Vorster (eds.), pp. 107–122, Reformed theology today: Practical-theological,
missiological and ethical perspectives, AOSIS, Cape Town. https://doi.org/10.4102/aosis.2017.rtt47.07
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Towards a pastoral care for Africa
The urgency for such a design was already highlighted more than two decades ago by
veteran South African pastoral theologian De Jongh van Arkel (1995:189), who suggested
that the pastoral care and counselling movement in South Africa is a Western-dominated
enterprise which is to the detriment of Africans. It is an argument built on the notion of
John. S. Pobee (1989:2) that ‘Africa is in some form of North Atlantic captivity – one
consequence of the colonial history of most African peoples.’
In a country where 80%, of the nearly 55 million inhabitants, are black Africans
(Mudzuli 2015) a Western stronghold on pastoral theory poses obvious challenges. How
appropriate can theology, developed in the Western world, really be when issues like
family, illness and death – which carry a different weight in Africa – are involved? How
can theological training from typical Western frameworks prepare African clergy for
attending to the pastoral needs of rapidly expanding African flocks? It cannot, because
Western approaches to theological training negate the particularities of African beliefs,
thinking and practices (Brunsdon & Knoetze 2014:268). Consequently, the matter of a
contextual approach to pastoral care and counselling for the African context demands
ongoing reflection from all stakeholders to serve the diverse populace of Southern Africa.
Rationale, research question, aim and objectives

As the title of this contribution suggests, this research is interested in the journey towards
a pastoral care for Africa. Its purpose, therefore, is not to design a pastoral approach to a
particular problem typical of the African context nor does it have a specific African
country in mind. A number of researchers have already addressed prevalent African
phenomena with certain countries in mind. Several authors like Brown and Hendriks
(2004), Buffel (2006), Magezi (2007), Magezi and Myambo (2011) as well as Motsi and
Masango (2012) engaged issues such as the HIV and AIDS pandemic, poverty, trauma
and even avenging spirits encountered in Southern Africa. Instead, the study focuses on
some of the practical theological considerations that precede the design of pastoral
approaches aimed at the broader African context. Quite often, it seems that attempts at
designing pastoral approaches to African issues end up in ‘either-or’ scenarios, where
either the Christian tradition or African context overpowers the other.
The work of Mwiti and Dueck (2007) serves as an appropriate example in this regard.
In their quest for a contextualised pastoral approach they opted for an ‘African Indigenous
Christian Counselling Model’ (Mwiti & Dueck 2007:68). They describe this approach as ‘an
eclectic model of counseling and psychotherapy that integrates indigenous cultural
sensitivity, biblical grounding, and carefully selected non-African biological, social, and
psychological insights’ (Mwiti & Dueck 2007:68). In explicating ‘biblical grounding’ further,
they call God ‘our creator, sustainer, and redeemer’ (Mwiti & Dueck 2007:69) and also that
‘it is in the light of Christ that we Christians find the standards for behavior in culture’,
adding that ‘our confession also serves as the basis of interpreting and assessing indigenous
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cultures’ (Mwiti & Dueck 2007:69). Although theologically sound, it is not clear how the
Christian paradigm engages indigenous cultures. Consequently, it creates the impression
that Christian theology assumes a normative position, which inevitably steers the pastoral
process into an ‘either-or’ activity where indigenous beliefs are simply replaced with
Christian beliefs and practices. While this might not be problematic within a Christian
paradigm, it could well be incomprehensible within an African context and casting
suspicion on Christian approaches as theology that assumes a paternalistic position. In this
regard Berinyuu (1988) remarks that:
Christian pastoral theology is not simply a matter of applying principles of pastoral care taken
from another situation, or just applying some Biblical or Christian doctrines to the African
situation. (p. 91)
This emphasises the need for greater clarity on how practical theology should engage the
African context, culture and world view to develop a pastoral care suited for Africa.
Hence, the main question this chapter seeks to address is what does practical theology
need to consider in the quest for a pastoral care approach for Africa? Embedded in this
question is the assumption that practical theology serves as the scientific ‘engine room’
for pastoral care. Given that this engine can be driven by different fuels (epistemologies),
careful consideration should be given to which would be best suited to engage contexts
other than the Western.
The main aim of this research would subsequently be to identify and discuss some of
the pivotal considerations or prequestions that should precede pastoral care aimed at the
African context.
To this end, the set objectives are:
• To clarify the concepts of pastoral care and the African context.
• To engage in a critical discussion of different approaches (voices) discernible in the
quest to produce a pastoral care approach for Africa: indigenisation, Africanisation,
an intercultural approach, postcolonisation, a contextual transformative approach
and a contextual approach.
• To critically assess a recent example of an attempt at authentic African pastoral care
to consider three possible epistemologies for a contextual approach: diaconiology,
practical theology and a postfoundationalist notion of practical theology.
• To articulate the practical theological considerations necessary in the quest for a
contextual approach to pastoral care suited for Africa (synthesis).
Whence pastoral care and whither Africa?

Clarity on pastoral care and the African context is imperative in the quest for a pastoral
care for Africa. What is pastoral care conceived to be and what is meant by the African
context within the framework of this research?
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Pastoral care is used here, in the generic sense of the word, as an umbrella term
denoting all pastoral actions within a Christian framework on both a formal and an
informal level. Heeding the classic Latin terms Pastorem [shepherd] and cura animarum
[care of souls], pastoral care inevitably points to care within the faith community towards
one another. Whether pastoral care is an exclusive Christian action depends on who is
performing such action and why. Generally speaking, any care for a fellow person can be
described as a pastoral action, although historically pastoral care is closely associated with
the Christian tradition (Gerkin 1997:23). This is mainly due to the shepherd motif, found
in both the Old and New Testament (cf. Ps 23; Jn 10:10), which associates God and his
Son – and later their followers – with the qualities of compassion and caring. In this
sense, pastoral care is particular to the Christian tradition (McClure 2012:269).
Within the Christian tradition the motive for pastoral care towards another is found
in God’s love for his Creation. In the classic Reformed summation of pastoral care, De
Klerk (1978:2) states that God chose to reveal himself in the Old Testament as shepherd
based on his covenant love for the weak and vulnerable. Jesus Christ personified this
metaphor in the New Testament. It is indeed this metaphor that became the model
according to which Christians initially took care of one another.
Since pastoral care has never occurred in a vacuum, societal development necessitates
critical thinking about its effectiveness. Questions about who should be offering pastoral
care, who should receive care and how it should be performed occupied the minds of
early church figures like Chrysostom, Augustine and Gregory the Great alike (cf. Gerkin
1997:33–39). Advances in scientific thinking brought about even greater impetus for
theorising about pastoral care, as seen in the contributions of Richard Baxter (1656) and
John Watson (1896) (in McClure 2012:271). This already suggested that although
pastoral care is driven by God’s love, it is also concerned with both context and method.
Where early developments in pastoral care were predominantly steered theologically,
20th-century developments brought about a fusion with developments in the field of
psychology changing the course of pastoral care to this day. The contribution of Anton
Boisen in his seminal work The exploration of the inner world, published in 1971, testifies to
the cross insemination between psychology and pastoral care. While it is outside of the
scope of this chapter to engage in an extensive discussion of the influence of other disciplines
on pastoral care, it has to be noted that since the dawn of the 20th century pastoral care has
drawn much on the labours of other disciplines like psychology, lending it some flavour of
the human and social sciences and robbing it from any claims to be ‘pure theology’. Brunsdon
(2014:2 of 9) refers to this as the ‘innate tension’ of pastoral care, given that pastoral care is
deployed within the tension field between revelation and experience and forever seeking to
strike a balance that honours both the biblical and the human text.
Currently, pastoral care has many faces and many applications. The fourfold
distinction of De Jongh van Arkel (1995:197) still serves the multifaceted character of this
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craft well in claiming that pastoral care can be expressed as mutual care, pastoral care,
pastoral counselling and pastoral therapy. Pastoral care can thus be spontaneous and
informal, but also organised and highly formal or professional. It can have as only
prerequisite the Christian love for thy neighbour or it can require years of formal training
at an institution of higher learning. The Western world especially opted for the latter
approach as it is apparent in the history of pastoral care and how it developed within
Western thinking, namely as a specialised approach to human problems, cognisant of
political, economic and social contexts (Lartey 1997:26).
When deconstructed, however, pastoral care denotes a unique approach to helping,
in that it involves both informal and specialised care towards the other based upon the
love of God, aimed at building faith which empowers the fellow human being to conquer
challenges and embrace a life abundant (cf. Jn 10:10). This research is interested in how
this form of care can be appropriated within the African context.
If it is accepted that pastoral care is some form of cultural captivity and needs to go
beyond the Western world, clarity about these other contexts is paramount. In the case of
this research, the African context deserves such clarification.
Publications pertaining to the so-called African context have become abundant.
Phenomena such as the African Renaissance (cf. Villa-Vicencio, Doxtader & Moosa 2015)
and the current expanse of the Christian church on the African continent (Clarke 2014:1)
have brought the African context into the scope of many recent social and theological
studies. More often than not it seems that the African context is used in a generic sense,
suggesting that the African context refers to a single place or a homogenous group of
people.
Owing to the vastness of the African continent and the diversity of people and ethnic
groups represented in each country, a generic use of the concept is highly contestable.
The classic book of Mbiti (1970), Concepts of God in Africa, features the questioning of
more than 270 different groups of Africans on their views of God as reminder of the
plurality within Africa in terms of faith, beliefs and understanding. Even in the same
country, Africans themselves do not represent a homogenous group in terms of ethnicity
and expression of cultural practices and beliefs. Current factors like globalisation and
urbanisation are instrumental in further diversifying the value systems of Africans,
contributing to the fluidity of the notion of a uniform African context. In light of this, the
quest for a pastoral care model for Africa inevitably needs to be careful of a generic
approach to the African context and always attempt to be specific about which context is
at stake.
In turn, this does not imply that no similarities among Africans exist and that no
generalisations can be made when thinking and writing about the African context. It is,
for example, possible to talk about aspects of an African world view and African culture
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which many Africans share, irrespective of their specific contexts. Some of these include
sociality and the view of time and ancestors (Van der Walt 2008:172–175). Still, caution
needs to be taken to always respect the uniqueness of specific peoples and their self-
understanding.
Subsequently, it is contended here that the African context must be understood as any
location with a concentration of African people, thus creating a specific context. An African
context thus not only exists in Ghana, Kenia or any other African country, but also in a
multicultural country like South Africa. It is significant that Mudzuli (2015) indicates that:
[The] black African population remained in the majority at 44.23 million, or 80 percent of the
total population, with whites estimated at 4.53 million, coloureds 4.83 million and Indians/
Asians at 1.365 million. (n.p.)
Contemporary South Africa can therefore essentially be deemed ‘African’, as it translates
to a predominantly ‘African context’. It would, however, be wrong to assume that South
Africa represents a uniform African context. Instead it is home to the proverbial rainbow
nation, comprising a range of ethnic groups within the more than 44 million Africans.
This underscores the fact that all so-called African contexts will necessitate thorough
analysis of their specific ethnic and cultural uniqueness and that this should be the starting
point of the journey towards pastoral care in Africa, rendering each project of
contextualisation unique and specific.
Different voices in the quest for a contextual

approach
As suggested earlier, the search for a pastoral care approach for Africa is not a new-found
endeavour. Consensus about the necessity to appropriate the tenets of Christian theology,
within African contexts, has been around for some time. It would thus be of benefit to
consider some of the different voices (methods) that have arisen in this quest.
Indigenisation31
Indigenisation is mainly aimed at stripping a Christian theology from all Western cultural
adornments, according to Turaki (1999:17), whereby ‘the indigenisation principle deals
mainly with cultural contextualisation’ of Western theology (Turaki 1999:18).
31. In this section the spelling of the featured authors is followed for terms like ‘indigenisation’ and
‘Africanisation’. When it is used by the author in the rest of this chapter, United Kingdom spelling is used.
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A critical evaluation of theology in general, and pastoral care in particular always

reveals a great deal of cultural saturation. This is especially true of pastoral theology
which has come of age in the Western world. Heavily influenced during its early
history by questions emanating from the Western world and focusing on problems
unique to the then First World, led pastoral theology to become heavily laden with
concepts that are in fact unique to the Western experience and culture. This, of
course, rendered any attempts of an uncritical use of Western approaches within
African contexts untenable.
Recognising the deep Western influence on pastoral care creates concern about the
question whether cultural contextualisation is sufficient to appropriate pastoral care
within African contexts.
Africanisation
Closely related to indigenisation, but aimed at putting Africans in ‘charge and control’
(Turaki 1999:19) as well as devise theology themselves, is the notion of Africanisation.
Carrying with it the political yearning to be independent from the Western
(missionary) yoke, Africanisation is ‘a conscious and deliberate assertion of the right
to be an African’ and argues that only Africans can document and communicate the
African experience, as experience is not transferable, but only communicable
(Ramose 1998:vii).
Turaki points out how the Africanisation approach did not entirely succeed to
come up with a truly indigenous African theology, given that Africanisation was
more focused on gaining control of the administrative or external functions of the
church itself – rather than on the development of a truly indigenous theology (cf.
Turaki 1999:19), thereby disqualifying itself as a way to pursue an authentic African
theology.
An intercultural approach
Not solely focusing on the African culture, Lartey suggests an intercultural approach to
pastoral theology. This approach values the diversity of cultures, but is wary of dominant
cultures that ‘deliberately or unwittingly seek to impose their culture and perspective
upon all others’ (Lartey 1997:10). Instead theology must at least take seriously the context
and world view of the people it serves, recognising that multiple perspectives exist and
engage with the cultures of others in an authentic way. It points to a true faith in and
understanding of the foreign culture on both a cognitive and affective level. Above all, an
intercultural approach is opposed ‘to reductionism and stereotyping in any form’ (Lartey
1997:11).
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While the notion of an intercultural approach has much potential, it may prove
difficult to achieve in practice. It is especially Lartey’s strict opposition to any form of
reductionism or stereotyping that prohibits the ‘categorising’ of any group or person,
thereby attributing certain characteristics to a group or individual that creates some
serious challenges. For one, the negative stance towards understanding a group of people
in terms of their culture becomes a problem when in fact no group of people can ever be
viewed as acultural as all groups of people clearly exhibit certain traits, beliefs and
practices.
Postcolonisation
Nearly two decades after Lartey’s suggestions about an intercultural approach (1997), he
published Postcolonializing God: An African practical theology (2013), which is a bold attempt
at a true ‘African practical theology.’ In doing so, Lartey articulated some of the meaning
of the postcolonial discourse in search of a practical theology suited to the African context.
As Beyers (2016:6 of 10) however suggested, the notion of postcolonialism should not be
used in an unqualified way. Remarking on Lartey’s contribution thus also calls for some
qualification. In following Sugirtharajah (2006:8) the hyphenated form ‘post-colonial’
denotes the historical period where previously colonised societies regained freedom from
colonial rule while the unhyphenated form refers to a dialogical response to knowledge
systems imposed during the colonial period. According to Glück (2008:1) the ‘basic idea
of this process is the deconstruction of old-fashioned perceptions and attitudes of power
and oppression that were adopted during the time of colonialism’.
In this framework Lartey’s attempt at Postcolonializing God can be regarded as a
dialogical response to practical theological thought imposed on Africa. Lartey himself
refers to postcolonisation as a form of criticism which is ‘life enhancing […] opposed to
every form of tyranny, domination and abuse, its social goals are non-coercive knowledge
produced in the interests of human freedom’ (Lartey 2013:x).
In theological terms then, it seems like postcolonisation essentially seeks to restore
theology (faith) to what it was before colonisers colonised the minds of their subjects
(irrespective of who the colonisers and subjects might have been) in order to restore
some kind of tabula rasa theology for the African context.
In the process space is created for ‘constructive critique of received theologies’ (Lartey
2013:11) and a reappraisal of the ‘African religious heritage’ (Lartey 2013:25), which
includes aspects such as ‘mystical connectivity through communal ritual’ (Lartey 2013:28)
and ‘pragmatic spirituality’ (Lartey 2013:30).
What transpires, as evident in this approach of Lartey, is the use of postcolonisation
as hermeneutic key for practical theology and pastoral care aimed at Africans – as if
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colonisation is the only challenge for Africa. Unfortunately, this creates the possibility of
a reductionist and exclusive approach to pastoral care. Viewed from a Reformed
perspective, hermeneutic keys for practical theology and pastoral care are
traditionally sought in the inclusive attributes of God rather than in the exclusive political
motives of man.
A contextual transformative approach

A more recent and local voice, became discernible in the approach of Dames (2014) who
suggests a contextual transformative approach to practical theology in the South African
context. On the necessity of such an approach Dames (2014:13) refers to Botman
(2000:201), who states, ‘Practical theology should arise out of a status confessionis and a
prophetic theology with a liberation emphasis located in the experience of the poor black
people.’
Dames shares the sentiment of Buffel (2006) in this regard, who seriously questions
pastoral theology that is neither contextual nor liberating. This contextual transformative
approach is clear in terms of its agenda, not seeking a general contextualisation of pastoral
care, but focused on addressing issues pertinent to the South African context including
pathological socioeconomic conditions, HIV and AIDS, intercultural theological training
and moral formation (Dames 2014:99, 113, 122, 145).
Dames’s focus on the role of mission (Dames 2014:78) and the possibilities of a
transversal model of a cross-disciplinary approach marks his contribution as an
approach that warrants further exploration in the quest for a pastoral care approach for
Africa.
A contextual approach (contextualisation)

The last voice explored is contextualisation. This approach is not, in the first place,
concerned with culture or the eradication of some form of political-historical deficit, but
with making theology itself relevant within a certain context.
According to Turaki (1999:19), the ‘overriding goal [of contextualisation] is that of
making theology relevant and meaningful in its application within context’. As such,
contextualisation goes beyond indigenisation and Africanisation and is interested in
theological relevance. Hence, Turaki (1999:20) states, ‘[c]ontextualisation as a tool of
doing theology in Africa focuses principally on making the essence of Christianity
relevant and understood within context’. This way both revelation (the Word of God)
and experience (context) are deemed non-negotiable variables in the search for a pastoral
care approach for Africa.
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From a Reformed perspective contextualisation holds much potential for addressing

the issue of pastoral care in Africa, given its focus on making theology relevant within a
certain context.
A critical assessment of a recent attempt at

authentic pastoral care for Africa
The previous sections set out to address some of the prequestions deemed important in
the quest for a pastoral care approach for Africa. It showed that such an endeavour should
at least have a clear definition of pastoral care in mind; respect the contextual uniqueness
of all African contexts; and apply a method that serves both context and revelation. In the
following section, the focus now shifts to a critical assessment of a recent example of a
pastoral approach aimed at the African context in order to identify issues practical
theology should explore further in terms of contextualised pastoral care.
Pastoral theology in African contexts

After considering typical Western notions of pastoral care, including those of Clebsch
and Jaekle as well as Clinebell (Masango 2013:744–745), Masango contends that
pastoral care among Africans begins with a mother and members of a village nurturing
a child that the child may become ‘a good person among other villagers’ (Masango
2013:745).
This way Masango broadens the individualised Western concept of pastoral care to
an approach that is community based and ‘cares for life instead of problems’ (Masango
2013:746). At the very core of this community-based approach lies the African notion of
ubuntu, which Masango explains in the words of Mbiti (1986:85), ‘I am because you are
[…] You are because I am.’
In terms of the African people (as caregivers) Masango distinguishes between the
village and villagers with rural Africans in mind and those in urban areas who became
caught up in modern Western systems, influencing their own understanding of ubuntu.
Following Mucherera (2009), Masango recognises that Africans are currently caught
between ‘worlds and cultural systems which challenge old patterns of life’ (Masango
2013:747).
Irrespective of this ambiguity, Masango (2013:750) maintains the opinion that
Africans honour ubuntu in as much as they honour the elders among them as well as the
memories of those who passed on (good ancestors). Here the notion of honouring the
dead and communicating with them comes to the fore, as Masango highlights the African
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belief that those who had led a good life are with the Lord and respecting their memory
aids communication with God (Masango 2013:750).
This line of thought is also carried forth by the African imperative to nurture
communal life. ‘Therefore, when we care for each other, we are caring for God, who lives
within us’ (Masango 2013:750).
This communal character of an African pastoral care approach directly opposes and
challenges the Western notion of individuality. ‘African scholars are of the view that the
western world rotates around being self-centred, the right to privacy and respect of
personal space in their lives’ (Masango 2013:751). Opposing this, the African notion of
pastoral care seeks to nurture ubuntu by handing the African values down to the young
by drawing on ‘music, folk stories, proverbs and idioms’ and at the same time ‘engage the
monster of globalization’ which is the greatest threat to the African way of pastoral care
(Masango 2013:753).
Reviewing Masango’s work on the pastoral framework described earlier on in this
contribution, leads to at least the following conclusions.
It seems like Masango’s notion of African pastoral care relies heavily on the romantic
ideal of the ‘village’ and the purpose of such pastoral care is upholding mutual respect for
the living and the dead, grounded on the principles of ubuntu.
One of the most pressing questions, which arises from a critical engagement with this
approach, concerns the sufficiency of such an approach for current African contexts. Are
the majority of African people today still part of the ‘village’ and is nurturing traditional
African values still adequate to care for Africans confronted with new contexts and new
challenges? Davis (2014) reminds that urbanisation is on the rise and the ‘village’ is
shrinking as ‘too many people are moving to South African cities’. Seen within the bigger
context of the African continent itself, South African urbanisation patterns merely echo
the trends across Africa. ‘At present, the African continent is 40 percent urbanised’ and
‘according to the United Nations Department of Economic and Social Affairs (UNDESA)
[…] Africa will be 50 percent urban by 2030 and 60 percent urban by 2050’ (Van der
Merwe 2014).
Especially in the light of Masango’s own observation that urban and rural Africans do
not share the same value system any more, this should signal that a paradigm shift or
shifts are on the cards for African pastoral theology. Just as urbanisation is responsible for
Africans contracting typical ‘Western’ illnesses (cf. Puoane & Tsolekile 2008), so will
urbanisation create new spiritual and emotional challenges in the long term that will not
necessarily be addressed by the notion of African pastoral care as conveyed by Masango.
Other themes that will beg the attention of a contextualised approach from a practical
theological perspective are the concept of ‘good ancestors’ and the absence of Christian
texts as epistemological basis for an African pastoral care. While the inclusion of ancestors
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within an African pastoral framework and the role of care for the community, ubuntu,
music, folklore and such are all true to the African context, it is foreign to the Christian
character and paradigm of pastoral care as previously suggested. Seen within the
framework of this study then, it implies that from a practical theological vantage point,
more should be done in order to devise a theologically anchored approach to a pastoral
care for Africa.
This requires exploring a number of epistemologies that could possibly aid the integration
of the African context into the development of a pastoral care approach for Africa.
Three possible epistemologies for a contextual

approach: Diaconiology, practical theology and
a postfoundational notion of practical theology
Diaconiology
This epistemology undergirded early pastoral theorising in Southern Africa. Derived
from the Greek diakonia [service] and logos [word] and anchored in the theological
tradition of Abraham Kuyper (Heyns & Jonker 1977:297), diaconiology deduced
principles from the Word of God regarding the practical service of the church in the
world, including pastoral care. Given the strong focus on the Bible as point of departure,
diaconiology may even be called true to the reformational sola scriptura. Janse van
Rensburg (2000:77) remarks that this epistemology acknowledges the objective truth
of the Bible thereby providing a strong normative or ethical basis for theological
theory.
In terms of pastoral care based on a diaconiological epistemology, a metaphor like
that of the shepherd (Ps 23; Jn 10:10) plays a pivotal role in that it provides clear guidelines
for the pastoral work of the church (cf. De Klerk 1978). Although a diaconiological
epistemology considers both biblical principles and in fact the findings of the human
sciences as well, Janse van Rensburg (2000:78) points out, it would still be fair to conclude
that a diaconiological epistemology proceeds from the Word to praxis (context) in order
to determine, in this case, the scope and method of pastoral care. In this equation, the
Word of God thus carries more weight than the context.
The greatest challenge in using a diaconiological epistemology to engage the African
context would, therefore, be to avoid a mere ethical evaluation of cultural aspects foreign
to Scripture (Mwiti & Dueck 2007). Such a pastoral care would most probably not be true
to the spirit of honest contextualisation, as it would be disqualifying all African beliefs
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and values that are foreign to the Scriptures and only apply Christian principles within
the African context.
Practical theology
Whereas the diaconiological epistemology takes the Bible as point of departure, the
subsequent practical theological epistemology, championed by inter alia Friedrich
Schleiermacher and Jürgen Habermas (Janse van Rensburg 2000:80), centres on the
context. If a diaconiological epistemology causes a division between nature and grace,
practical theology seeks to bring nature into the scope of theological investigation to
thereby move from context to Scripture and from Scripture back to the context, creating
a practical theological circle. This is evident in several of the definitions of practical
theology that have become known in the field, of which the following are but two. Heyns
and Pieterse (1990:6) state that ‘practical theology is one of the fields of theological study.
It focuses on people’s religious actions, with the accent on the word “actions” – these
represent the object of study’. Swinton and Mowat (2006) argue that practical theology is:
[C]ritical, theological reflection on the practices of the Church as they interact with the
practices of the world with a view to ensuring faithful participation in the continuing mission
of the Triune God. (p. 25)
The claim in both instances that practical theology represents theological study and
reflection emphasises the circular movement between context, Scripture and context.
In terms of both pastoral care and the context, a practical theological epistemology
provides more assurance that the context receives careful attention, in fact, that both
Scripture and context are considered. For the purposes of a contextualised pastoral care
for Africa then, it seems that much potential resides in this epistemology. If Lartey’s
(1997:11) conception of ‘authentic participation’ in terms of intercultural engagement is
taken seriously, however, the question remains if it will be able to critically reflect on
contexts like the African in a truly unbiased way. Given this concern, a postfoundational
view of practical theology is worth considering.
Postfoundational practical theology

Postfoundational practical theology attempts to transcend the challenges presented by
diaconiology and practical theology in terms of their bias towards ‘foundations’, presented
by both revelation and context, as well as the school of thought that suggests that no
foundations exist, thus being anti- or nonfoundational.
Müller (2011:2) suggests that practical theology follows the route of a postfoundational
notion of practical theology that ‘consists of an effort to move beyond both foundationalist
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and nonfoundationalist claims’ (Müller 2011:2 of 5). Also referred to as ‘transversal

rationality’, it offers a ‘responsible and workable interface between disciplines’ (Müller
2011:3 of 5) and, therefore, contexts. In this regard Müller (2011:3 of 5) explicitly states,
‘[c]ontextuality is a key concept in the postfoundationalist approach’.
According to Van Huyssteen (1997), a postfoundationalist approach to practical
theology endows the theologian with the responsibility to look beyond his or her own
discipline and culture in search of a true interdisciplinary dialogue.
In terms of the search for a pastoral care for Africa with a true, contextualised theology
as the outcome, a postfoundational view to practical theology presents the possibility for
engaging the African context transversally rather than conversationally. Apart from creating
space for a true authentic participation with the ‘other’, it will most probably facilitate
greater potential for an authentic understanding of the ‘other’. Müller (2011) points out
that a postfoundationalist approach implies:
• Real concern about a real person. Concerns in this paradigm are never theoretical, but
always local and embodied.
• A not-knowing approach, but at the same time an approach of active engagement.
• Holistic in the sense of being fully committed to the real contextual story, but also committed
to the exploring of traditions of interpretation.
• A social-constructionist approach where a person is part of the development of a preferred
reality that makes sense to him or her. Such an approach creates both the most profound
and the most fragile moment, a moment of true pastoral concern. (p. 3 of 5)
From a Reformed perspective, concerns regarding the normativity of Scripture in a
postfoundationalist approach are obvious. Van Huyssteen (2007), however, raises the so-
called ‘degrees of transversality’, which safeguard interdisciplinary or intercontextual
dialogue against transgressing the own discipline’s or context’s natural boundaries. This
means that even a postfoundational approach will ultimately heed the boundaries of its own
chosen method, while at the same time creating what Müller (2011:4 of 5) refers to as an
‘ecotone’ where interdisciplinary dialogue may take place to the benefit of all stakeholders.
Synthesis
This chapter sets out to engage practical theology, pastoral care and the African context on
the grounds that a need to appropriate pastoral care in the African context exists. The focus
centres on the prequestions for practical theology, that is, what the most basic issues are that
practical theology should consider in the quest for a pastoral care approach for Africa.
This focus gives rise to the imperative of establishing a clear definition of pastoral
care so that practical theological theorising may be clear on what it intends to appropriate
within the African context. Pastoral care represents a unique means of support to the
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Christian paradigm in its aim to build faith that empowers fellow humans to conquer
challenges and embrace a life abundant.
Research into the quest for a pastoral care approach for Africa also warns against a
generic use of the African context. Although it is recognised that some similarities
between African people exist, in terms of culture and world view, the African context
represents a diverse phenomenon. An African context comprises any concentration of
Africans and yet the diverse nature of the African people requires careful exegesis of
specific contexts, rendering every African study unique. This would imply that a generic
African pastoral care model would be difficult to attain and that pastoral studies within
African contexts should be specific and unique to a certain context.
As attempts to appropriate pastoral theology within African contexts are not new, the
chapter also considers different approaches like indigenisation and Africanisation. Owing
to the political inclination of most of such approaches, contextualisation is indicated as
method of choice from a Reformed perspective in that it is concerned with making
theology itself relevant within a certain context. Given that pastoral care is representative
of a Christian (theological) approach, contextualisation makes provision for sustaining
the theological character of pastoral care within different contexts.
In the light of these considerations, a recent attempt at a pastoral care approach
for Africa was critically assessed and found to rely heavily on typical African concepts
such as ubuntu and the welfare of the ‘village’. The biggest difference between a
Reformed and African approach seems to be on the theological nature of pastoral
care, since no biblical base could be identified in the latter approach. Another point
of concern is the applicability of this approach to current African contexts, where
notable shifts in terms of world views and the influence of phenomena like
urbanisation are taking place.
On these grounds it is suggested that the quest for a pastoral care for Africa would
indeed benefit from further practical theological investigation and hence the description
of three different epistemologies for further practical theological study. Cognisant of a
diaconiological, practical theological and a postfoundational conception of practical
theology, it is concluded that practical theology can be utilised as a means to engage
African contexts theologically in the quest for a pastoral care for Africa.
Summary: Chapter 7
This chapter is located within the discourse on the contextualisation of pastoral care and
counselling within the African context from a Reformed perspective. It is based on the
notion that Western approaches to pastoral care cannot uncritically be applied within
African contexts. Assuming that practical theology serves as the theoretical engine room
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for pastoral care, this study is interested in the practical theological questions preceding
pastoral care aimed at Africa. It attempts to clarify basic concepts such as pastoral care,
the African context and some of the approaches previously applied in the appropriation
of pastoral theology in African contexts, like indigenisation, Africanisation,
contextualisation and such. Having opted for the contextualisation of pastoral care within
the African milieu, it critically assesses a recent example of an African pastoral care
approach. In light of several theological concerns, the research suggests that the quest for
a pastoral care for Africa can indeed benefit from further practical theological
investigation. To this end, three different epistemologies for further practical theological
investigation are described. Cognisant of a diaconiological, practical theological and
postfoundational notion of practical theology, it is concluded that practical theology has
the means to engage African contexts in an unbiased way, in the continuing quest for a
pastoral care approach for Africa.
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Chapter 8
Xenophobia and social

prejudice through the lens
of Calvin: From ‘iron
philosophy’ to homo
sympatheticus in a
practical theology of home
within the global dilemma
of displaced refugees
Daniël J. Louw
Extraordinary Professor
Faculty of Theology
South Africa
How to cite: Louw, D.J., 2017, ‘Xenophobia and social prejudice through the lens of Calvin: From “iron philosophy” to
homo sympatheticus in a practical theology of home within the global dilemma of displaced refugees’, in S.P. van der Walt &
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Xenophobia and social prejudice through the lens of Calvin
Introduction
On the question, posed by a friend from the Netherlands, ‘[h]ow is it to live in South
Africa?’ the poet Louis Esterhuizen, answered: alarming and frightening, terrible and
frightening, estranging and dividing (Kwart voor skrikwekkend in dié land).32
The former president F.W. de Klerk (2014:2), commenting on 20 years of democracy
is convinced that South Africa is heading for a bright future if we stick to the basic ethos
of our constitution. However, the so-called rainbow nation and dream of peace based on
a constitutional dispensation for transformation in South Africa, is becoming a paranoiac
nightmare. New forms of racist #MustFall campaigns fuelled by fear of the other
(xenophobia) are deepening existing cultural and social divisions. Neo-racism is surfacing
on the horizon of the ‘rainbow nation’.
Since the second half of the 20th century the African continent has been exposed to
the rapid rise and tsunami of liberation and democratisation.33 The so-called ‘rainbow
nation’ (South Africa) is still struggling with the rapidity of radical social transformation
in the light of the apartheid legacy. Rather than unity, division is becoming a characteristic
of politics in South Africa. The schism of social divisions and systemic poverty ruin the
dream of political stability and the idea of economic hegemony.34
In a publication on the huge gap between the rich and the poor in South Africa, the
social and economic analyst Prof. Sampie Terreblanche (2014) points to the division
factor in the South African civil society. Owing to unbridled market freedom and
deregulation (market fundamentalism as linked to the ‘gospel of trade, not aid’), division
and schism, rather than development and sharing, are bringing the South African society
to the brink of social chaos and possible, eventual economic destruction. Structural
inequality and corporative greed (to grab for oneself and to ignore the principle of mutual
sharing) contribute to social instability.
On a metalevel of values, virtues and moral frameworks, conflicting needs,
expectations and world views are contributing to social and political confusion and
relational conflicts. Schisms and social tensions point to the deeper meta-realm of
conflicting and inappropriate paradigms (patterns of thinking) that contribute to enmity
and hatred rather than to understanding and embracement.
32. See the article on Esterhuizen’s latest publication by Van Niekerk (2014:9).
33. ‘Die wêreld word al hoe kleiner en al hoe vinniger. En hier aan die Suidpunt van Afrika ontkom ons nie
aan die maalkolk nie’ (Van der Walt 1983:2).
34. De Villiers (2014:9) refers to the fact that, according to Terreblanche, we lost the chance and
opportunity in 1994 to transfer South Africa into a more equal and just society.
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Within the past history of the interplay between paradigms and religious thinking in
the establishment of the apartheid policy, the notion of Calvinism often surfaces (De
Gruchy 2009). Within reformed thinking, Calvinism was inter alia an attempt to explain
in theological terminology the fact of cultural diversity in creation and the interplay
between the will of God and cosmic plurality.
According to Coetzee (2008:157), ‘Calvinism’ provided an ideological framework for
the theological justification of discriminatory social practices – the so-called apartheid
policy. Calvinism in South Africa has become something of a swear word, especially
among the more liberal. According to John De Gruchy, ‘Calvinism had to do with the
Dutch Reformed Church, with the defence of apartheid, with narrowness of mind and
purpose, with censorship and Afrikaner nationalism’ (De Gruchy 2009:15).
De Gruchy (2005:8–11), in his historical overview on the role of the churches within
the political framework of apartheid, points out that the theological and religious
justification of the Nationalist policy of separate development was not so much determined
by Calvin’s thinking as such (De Gruchy 2005:10), but by the ideology of Calvinism,
namely, the ideology that the reign of God can be used to explain on a rational basis
cultural diversity and social differentiation.35 Diversity in the cosmos and creation has
become a divine principle and providential, God-willed ordination.
The fact is that Calvinism was often viewed as an abstract set of dogmatic principles and
rational framework of prescriptive rules (Coetzee 2008:157). However, when one reads
Calvin’s Institutes of the Christian Religion (1949), it strikes one how he starts the Institutes with a
reflection on the splendid glory of God as exposed by Creation and embodied within the
cosmic realm of life. One can call this approach a sanctifying aesthetic approach, rather than a
rational explanatory approach. Calvinistic thinking implies therefore more than justification
in terms of judicial categories. Justification, the indicative of salvation, implies also the
imperative of a sanctifying ethos and caring approach to human life and the preservation of
the cosmos. Sanctification points to the very fact that every aspect of life is a domain for the
exhibition of God’s doxa by means of a compassionate caregiving mode, rather than a
dominating exploiting mode. One should rather heal and help than divide and hate.
Xenophobia can be viewed as a very subtle form of discriminatory enmity and
schismatic form of social hatred. On the other hand, the Christian ethos of sacrificial love,
preaches a gospel of unconditional love. Thus, the intriguing research question: What are
the implications of a Christian understanding of xenophilia for social contexts that have to
35. According to De Gruchy (2005:9–10), Dutch Calvinism at the Cape was profoundly influenced by the
neo-Calvinism of Abraham Kuyper, ‘Kuyper’s idea of separate spheres of sovereignty embedded in
creation corresponded well with the Lutheran doctrine of the “orders of creation” as expounded by
German missionary science and embodied in NGK policy.’
125
deal with schismatic ideas and violent activism based on social stereotyping and
stigmatising perceptions? Very specifically the victimisation and stigmatisation of the
other as the intruding and threatening ‘cultural stranger’?
How should the pastoral ministry respond to the crisis of xenophobia, especially
within the framework of the refugee dilemma and the global migrant crisis?
Xenophobia: The threat of the ‘cultural other’

and ‘intruding stranger’
Xenophobia is about the existential fear and even hatred of the other (the stranger) due
to negative practices of discrimination and stigmatising perceptions.
Erving Goffman (1990:11–12), links the establishment of stigma to social settings.
The routines of social intercourse in established settings and first appearances, enable us
to anticipate ‘social identity’. We easily transform these anticipations into normative
expectations and presented demands. The demands we make ‘in effect’ and the character
we impute to a person can be seen as an imputation made in potential retrospect. When
this identity is assessed as negative, bad, dangerous, weak, even sinful, we reduce the
difference to wrong or evil. In our mind we reduce the person to a tainted, discounted
individual. Such an attribute becomes a stigma, especially when its discrediting effect is
very extensive. Sometimes it is called a failing, a shortcoming, a handicap. It constitutes a
special discrepancy between virtual and actual social identity.
Xenophobic paranoia is built upon three issues, (1) national exclusivism, (2) negative
social stigmatisation and (3) prejudice and existential resistance fed by the power play of
politics, gender exploitation and racial or tribal discrimination. In Africa, xenophobia is
closely related to economic discrepancies, racial and tribal issues due to the history of
colonial expansionism, and the tension between intruding ‘outsiders’ and native ‘insiders’.
In current postcolonialisation campaigns in South Africa it is becoming evident that the
interplay between fear for the other and resistance are causing social tension. It even plays
a role in current #MustFall campaigns in South Africa and the upheaval of new forms of
racism in many modes of activism. Mamphela Ramphele refers to the fact that the neglect
and undermining of African languages unfortunately exacerbates the pain of humiliation
that African people suffered over the decades of racist oppression (Ramphele 2012:38).36
36. Nadine Gordimer (1974:41) refers to one of the most painful outcomes of colonialism: racism. Racism not
as accidental detail, but a consubstantial part of colonialism, the highest expression of colonialism. ‘In fact,
racism is built into the system: the colony sells produce and raw material cheaply, and purchases manufactured
goods at very high prices from the mother country. This singular trade is profitable to both parties only if the
natives work for little or nothing.’ (Sartre 1974:19)
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Jean-Paul Sartre (1974:24) captures the inhumane reality of colonisation as

follows (Sartre 1974):
[T ]he natives are atomized – and colonist society cannot integrate them without destroying
itself. The bleak and desperate situation of the colonised boils down to the following: ‘And
when a people has received from its oppressors only the gift of despair, what does it have to
lose?’ (p. 25).
Colonisation is thus built on an ontological predicament, namely oppression, and
oppression means then first of all, the oppressor’s hatred for the oppressed (Sartre 1974:23).
And this hatred leads to the fact that the coloniser starts to deny human rights to human
beings whom it has subdued by violence, and keeps them by force in a state of misery
and ignorance – a subhuman condition (Sartre 1974:20).
The migrant crisis is underlining anew the tension between fear for the other and
reactionary measurements of exclusion and separatism. In fact, the global migrant crisis
puts the notion of foreclosure (Abschottung) (Bauman 2016) on the agenda of national
states, global policy makers and ecclesial structures.
The refugee dilemma within the global migrant

crisis: Between integration (welcoming) and
separation (resistance)
According to Polak (2014:1), homo sapiens is in essence a homo migrans. Throughout
history people were on the move. One can even say that migration is a social phenomenon
and part of human existence (Castels & Miller 2009:299). However, what is currently
happening is that migration has become a feature of our being human in the so-called
global village. Migration is about a new mode of defining identity, diversification within
mass pluralisation.37 It is challenging our understanding of notions like national states,
‘civil society’, ‘democracy’ and ‘human dignity’.
Amann (2015:28) argues that the refugee dilemma is about the welcoming of
the refugees and the setting of limitations (closing of boarders), between tolerance
37. Migration has become a global, in fact, it has become a trans-national concern. Even the notion of
‘home’ is not anymore a national entity: ‘Die “Super-Diversifizierung” globaler Migration führt zu einem
nicht mehr überschaubaren Ausmaß an Pluralisierung und Mobilität. Zeitgenössische Mobilitäts- und
Kommunikationsmöglichkeiten fördern “transnationale Migration” und lassen Mehrfachzugehörigkeiten
entstehen, die nicht mehr in die klassischen Formate von “Heimat” und “Fremde” passen. Rund um
den Globus findet eine “transnationale Revolution” statt, die Gesellschaften und Politiken neu formt’
(Polak 2014:3).
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and resistance.38 Thus the alarming reality: We oscillate between resistance and
accommodation.39
The discovery of a possible attack on vulnerable human beings (tourists) at Checkpoint
Charlie in Berlin (February 2016) brings about a lot of negative reactions. According to
Stephan-Andreas von Casdorff (2016:1), these kinds of events are questioning the current
‘Willkommenskultur’ in Germany and fuel radical reactions and aggressive attitudes
(Sorgen bereiten Aggressivität).40
The refugee crisis has become a crisis of spiritual intoxication, that is, a crisis of
negative perceptions and dehumanising prejudice.41
On a political level the dilemma and burning question is the following: Multiculturality
and multi-nationality (plural interconnectedness) or national self-protection (demarcation
and local boarder setting)? On a spiritual level: welcoming and hospitality or resistance
and suspicion?
It is the conviction of social analyst and philosopher Zygmunt Bauman (2016:125)
that the refugee dilemma boils down to suspicion and distrust. People do not trust one
another. We are becoming enemies for another within a global rat race of competition
and exploitation. We are living in a global world,42 shaped by achievement, enmity and
38. With reference to Austrian politics, Shuster (2016:26–29) asserts that Heinz-Christian Strache in his
campaign to become mayor of Vienna, based his approach on the destructive emotion of fear and hostility.
Instead of the previous focus on anti-Semitism, the focus shifted towards Islamophobia. Strache ‘focused his
party’s hostility on a different minority group: Muslims’ (Shuster 2016:26). Different political slogans were
created. ‘On immigration: Send them back! On Muslims: Keep them out! On the media: full of lies! On the
Establishment: Crooked! On the elections: Rigged! Even their tactics seem to run in parallel, especially when
it comes to the politics of fear’ (Shuster 2016:29).
39. ‘Noch nie so viel Hass, noch nie so viel Hilfsbereitschaft, auf diese Formel lässt sich das neue
Deutschland bringen. Und dazwischen eine schweigende Mehrheit. Es braucht vor allem zweierlei:
Grenzen und Ehrlichkeit’ (Amann 2015:28–29).
40. The whole process of democratisation and the demand to employ a policy of well-coming are becoming
radical with an undertone of aggression: ‘Auf der politisch-gesellschaftlichen Ebene geht es zunehmend
lauter, aggressiver und radikaler zu – in der Tendenz demokratiegefährdend’ (Von Casdorff 2016:1).
41. Owing to stereotyping and radicalisation, the refugee crisis is endangering the notion of human dignity:
‘Gefährlich wird es, wenn, bei einigen radikalen Gruppen, die Stereotypisierung menschliches Verhalten
dominiert; wenn diese Ideen sogar instinktive Empathie und historisch gewachsene Humanität dem
Fremden, dem Flüchtling gegenüber, überlagert. Dann beginnen verrückte Geister, Brandsätze auf
Notunterkünfte zu werfen’ (Kizilhan 2016:15).
42. ‘Global village’ is a phrase coined by Marshall McLuhan. In the early 1960s, McLuhan wrote that the
visual, individualistic print culture would soon be brought to an end by what he called ‘electronic
interdependence’: when electronic media replace visual culture with aural and oral culture. In this new age,
humankind will move from individualism and fragmentation to a collective identity, with a ‘tribal base’.
McLuhan’s coinage for this new social organisation is the global village (Wikipedia 2015).
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brutal violence. People feel threatened in the global village. This phenomenon of threat
has become stereotyped in the presence and person of the illegal migrant – ‘[in] der Gestalt
des illegalen Einwanderers. Er ist der ideale Phantomgegner’ (Bauman 2016:125).
According to Bauman (2016:122), the connection between fear and panic, is the reason
why politicians respond in terms of a subjective paranoia rather than from the standpoint
of an open and objective critical realism. The current paranoia and its connection to
Islamophobia, creates a kind of politically explosive confusion on the emotional level. The
emotional turmoil causes a political helplessness that oscillates between two incompatible
polarities: foreclosure (Abschottung) and integration. The current setting is indeed
ambivalent and has the capacity to end in a moral debacle – a kind of sinful indifferentism
regarding the tragedy and the desperate cry of suffering, vulnerable people.
Eventually the crisis is running the danger of becoming a dehumanised threat to our
being human; it is objectified without any connection to compassion and solidarity.43
How should the Christian community respond to the challenge of solidarity within the
existential reality of xenophobia and the quest for human dignity?
The migrant crisis and the quest for human dignity

Questions about God are becoming intertwined with questions about human identity,
thus the plight for human rights and human dignity. The concept dignity (dignitas) as a
social category related to that of honour (honour) (Huber 1996:115), becomes associated
with the notion of the imago Dei (created in the image of God). Humanitas and dignitas are
dictating the agenda of public theology (Meeks 1984):
Dignitas became closely associated with humanitas as to be construed as a synonym. To be able to say
what dignity is would be to describe the fundamental meaning of being human. (p. ix)
Dignity means to be human. ‘For this reason, dignity has become the key concept in the
worldwide struggle for human rights’ (Meeks 1984:ix). For Rombach (1987:379), dignity
then describes the humane human being (Den menschlichen Mensch); the human being
shaped by the social processes of identity and meaningful space (Identität = a spiritual
networking of meaning as the whole which gives significance to every particular part).
With reference to Kant (in Ackermann 2013:58), one can argue that dignity refers to
autonomy or freedom. Thus, the hypothesis of Ackermann (2013:85) is that dignity connects
with concepts such as equality and non-discrimination. In this regard human worth (dignity)
becomes a kind of criterion in order to detect respect, non-discrimination and equality.
43. This is the reason why Bauman (2016:122) emphatically states that the only option in the crisis is to
focus on ‘solidarity’: ‘Es gibt keinen anderen Ausweg aus der Krise, in der die Menschheit sich befindet, als
Solidarität.’
129
If the church still wants to maintain an approach of public civil engagement,44 what
kind of change is necessary on the paradigmatic level of theologising? The fact is: It seems
to me impossible for the church to hide behind principle matters. Twenty-first century
ecclesiology is about a public and civil ecclesiology, thus the emphasis in practical theology
on the praxis principle of solidarity and compassionate engagement.
Within theology, the refugee crisis puts a question mark behind an exclusive ecclesiology,
denominational demarcations and a selective morality, thus, my focus on an operative
ecclesiology45 (Congar in Bergson 2015). The ecclesial and ministerial challenge is to see the
migrant crisis as a sign of our time and the place and space for contextualising our practical
theological reflection and ministerial engagement with the complexities of life (Kessler
2014), that is, doing theology from and within the vibrant context of burning daily life issues.
How did Calvin respond to the ‘fear for the stranger’ and the displacement dilemma
of refugees in Geneva?
The plea for solidarity: A theological dilemma

and pastoral challenge within the context of
Geneva
According to John De Gruchy, Calvin’s approach was based on a kind of ‘Christian
humanism’. Instead of a rational ideology and system of true, pure, correct principles, Calvin
opted for an ‘ethos of Christian humanism’ (De Gruchy 2009:19). Thus, this is the reason
why De Gruchy wants to introduce Calvin as an important ally in the attempt to link a
humanist face of God to the inhumane practices of social oppression and inhumane
structures of political exploitation. De Gruchy wants to promote John Calvin as both a
‘Christian humanist’ and an ‘evangelical Reformer’, Calvin as the thinker of the compassionate
heart (sapientia) rather than the thinker of a rational system (abstract theoria).46
44. Keane (2003:8) refers to the fact that the construct civil society is not a static fait accompli. It is an
unfinished project that consists of sometimes thick, sometimes thinly stretched networks, pyramids and the
hub-and-spoke clusters of socio-economic institutions and actors who organise themselves across borders,
with the deliberate aim of drawing the world together in new ways.’ Seligman, in his research on The Idea of civil
society (1992:200–204), differentiates between three basic descriptive functions, namely political, socio-
scientific and philosophical-prescriptive functions.
45. By operative ecclesiology is meant performative actions of being the church within concrete contexts. It
reflects on ecclesial matters not merely from the viewpoint of denominational traditions and dogmatic
confessions, but within communal life systems. Ecclesiology may be studied inductively and can thus draw
support from various other disciplines, such as political science, history and sociology (see Bergson 2015).
46. Ludwig Feuerbach in his book on the essence of the Christian faith (1904), did the same as Calvin: He
attacked a Christendom that projected an abstract God ideology; a God without passion and a heart.
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It is the conviction of Alister McGrath (1993:79), that one should understand the
thinking of Calvin within the context of civil society, namely his actions within the
context of the Geneva city and municipality. This Geneva context is often ignored or
marginalised by many of Calvin’s biographers (McGrath 1993):
To understand Calvin as a man of action, rather than a builder of ahistorical cathedrals of the
mind, it is necessary to come to terms with the city which occasioned and modified much of his
thought. (p. 79)
Calvin was minister to French refugees in Strasbourg (1538–1541). During his time in
Strasbourg, Calvin was not attached to one particular church, but held his office
successively in the Saint-Nicolas Church, the Sainte-Madeleine Church and the former
Dominican Church, renamed the Temple Neuf. Back in Geneva (1541–1549), reformed
actions lead to the Ordonnances ecclésiastiques [ecclesiastical ordinances] on 20 November
1541. The ordinances defined four orders of ministerial function: pastors to preach and
to administer the sacraments; doctors to instruct believers in the faith; elders to provide
discipline; and deacons to care for the poor and needy. They also called for the creation of
the Consistoire [consistory], an ecclesiastical court composed of the lay elders and the
ministers.47 One can call this model of an inclusive social-focused and civil directed
ecclesiology: a community based on a diaconic model on grass roots level.
To a certain extent, one can view Calvin’s fourth order of ministry (the diaconate) as
stipulated by the Ordonnances, as corresponding with aspects of the Lutheran
Reformation that created an urban sense of community (McGrath 1993):
By adopting the Lutheran Reformation, Moeller suggested, such cities were able to restore a
sense of community identity, including the notion of a common religious community in a
shared religious life binding inhabitants together. (p. 81)
Calvin’s incentives to restructure social life in Geneva, can be viewed as a kind of very early
mode of public theology within the framework civil societal issues. The way in which he
linked the diaconate with cura pauperum, the apostolic responsibility of caring for the poor
(McGrath 1993:80), lay the foundation for a grass roots and community-based ecclesiology.
One cannot ignore the fact that the number of refugees, flooding into Geneva, created
a huge challenge to the pastoral ministry of the church. Eberhard Busch (2007:74) points
out that one of the big miseries that disturbed living together and put social solidarity to
a severe test, was the relation of residents to foreigners, which became a problem among
the people of Geneva very rapidly (Busch 2007):
Previously it was the rule that each town had to look after its own needy residents. But now
there arrived in Geneva crowds of French refugees who had been expelled from their own
47. John Calvin, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Calvin#Minister_in_Strasbourg_.281538.E2.80.

931541.29
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country. In a few years the number of inhabitants in Geneva nearly doubled, and because the
space in the city narrowed and the question of livelihood became urgent, it became a highly
practical question whether the strangers are our neighbours. (p. 74)
Slowly Geneva opened the door for others from Italy and England. Help was even given
to a Turk and a Jew. In a sermon on Deuteronomy, Calvin addresses the issue of being a
stranger (Busch 2007:74). According to Calvin (in Busch 2007:74), ‘we must live together
in a family of brothers and sisters which Christ has founded in his blood; and with every
hostility he gives the opportunity to resist hostility’.
Fundamentally, in his view on the equal value of human beings, Calvin (1854)
operated from the perspective of ‘neighbourly love’ as the sound principal for an inclusive
approach to social and human issues:
The word neighbour includes all men living; for we are linked together by a common nature
[…] The image of God ought to be particularly regarded as a sacred bond of union, but, for that
very reason, no distinction is here made between friend and foe, nor can the wickedness of men
set aside the right of nature. (p. 116)
In his sermon on Galatians 6:9–11, it is evident that the outsider, stranger and other,
function as a kind of mirror and looking glass for a community-based church (Busch 2007):
We cannot but behold our own face as it were in a glass in the person that is poor and despised
[…] though he were the furthest stranger in the world. Let a Moor or a barbarian come among
us, and yet inasmuch as he is a human, he brings with him a looking glass wherein we may see
that he is our brother and our neighbour. (p. 75)
According to Busch (2007:75), this concrete spiritual insight of Calvin is the source of his
interest in social and economic affairs. The command for neighbourliness is the thrust of
Calvin’s ‘spiritual humanism’ [author’s interpretation].
In his book on John Calvin, De Gruchy (2009:206) refers to Calvin’s ‘social
humanism’. With reference to the research of André Biéler on the social dimension in
Calvin’s thinking, it is argued that Calvin’s theology was all about the restoration of
humanity within the framework of a just society, and that meant a society in which
equity and economic justice were paramount (Biéler in De Gruchy 2009:207). Calvin
was therefore sensitive to the notion of social reform, thus, his institution of the
diaconate as an agent of social service (De Gruchy 2009:207) and critique on
disproportion between the poor and the rich. Calvin understood poverty as an
unbearable scandal (Busch 2007:74), ‘[s]ocial injustice and the tears of the social victims
wound God, too’ (Busch 2007:74–75).
When one probes deeper into the paradigmatic background of Calvin’s thinking, it
becomes evident that his theology was shaped by a deep sense of compassion. Calvin
distanced himself from ‘being a stone’, that is, to respond like the Stoics as if one is not
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affected by anything (Inst. 3.18.21). His thinking was driven by deep empathy and
compassion:
But we have nothing to do with that iron philosophy which our Lord and Master condemned –
not only in word, but also in example. For he both grieved and shed tears for his own and
other’s woes. (Inst. 3.18.21–22)
Even on his reflection on the omnipotence of God, Calvin is very cautious to portray
God’s interventions in a causative manner: a mechanistic cause-and-effect approach.
Omnipotence is not like ‘ordering a stream to keep within the channel once prescribed to
it, but one which is intent on individual and special movements’ (Inst. 1.16.174). God is
not in a philosophic fashion like a primary agent, the cause of all movement (Inst.
1.16.174).
These remarks of Calvin point in the direction of what one can call in theopaschitic
terminology: the passio Dei.
The practical theological challenge: From the

impassibility of ‘iron philosophy’ (Stoic
extirpation of passion: Homo apatheticus) to
the praxis of theopaschitic theology: Homo
sympatheticus
For Calvin the core issue on the level of Christian and theological hermeneutics, was the
fundamental difference between Stoic impassibility (iron philosophy) and Christian
theology: passio Dei.
Early in Greek philosophy, passion, suffering and pain were from a lower order than
reason and eventually wisdom. The nourishing of reason helps the soul to gain control
over the pleasure principle, the appetite and the bodily inflictions. Thus, Plato’s (1946)
conviction:
And so we call an individual brave in virtue of his spirited part of his nature, when, in spite of
pain or pleasure, it holds fast to the injunctions of the reason about what he ought of not to be
afraid of. (p. 137)
The notion that reason should govern the whole of life and should control passion, formed the
basic point of departure of Stoic thinking. The divine in life operates thus as a rational element
so that one should say, ‘God is absolute reason’ (Stace 1960:347). While Aristotle acknowledged
the place of passions and appetite in the human organism, the Stoics looked upon the passions
as essentially irrational, and demanded complete extirpation (Stace 1960:350). As an ethical
133
doctrine, the goal of Stoicism is freedom from passion (in the ancient sense of ‘anguish’ or
‘suffering’) through the pursuit of ‘reason’ and ‘apatheia’. The implication of ‘apatheia’ as ethical
principle implies a rational form of objectivity, to be unemotional and having clear judgment.
It teaches indifference and a ‘passive’ reaction to life’s events as external to the inner realm of
the human soul. The notion of apatheia leads to a view that impassibility can be linked to
rational control and the dominium of power.
Translated into theological language, impassibility (from Latin in ‘not’, passibilis –
‘able to suffer, experience emotion’) describes the doctrinal conviction that God does not
experience pain or pleasure from the actions of another being. And it is against this very
rationalistic and even positivistic explanation of the essence of God’s being that Calvin
(Inst. 3.18.21–22) responded:
But we have nothing to do with that iron philosophy which our Lord and Master condemned –
not only in word, but also in example. For he both grieved and shed tears for his own and other’s
woes.
Although Calvin wanted to maintain the sovereignty of God,48 he argues not in static and
apathetic categories like the Stoics. He does not want to promote the impassibilitas Dei or
an iron immutability, but the image of a compassionate Father:
[B]ut what I wish to impress upon my readers in this way is, that the first step in piety is to
acknowledge that God is a Father, to defend, govern, and cherish his us, until he brings us to
the eternal inheritance of his kingdom. (Inst. 2.7.297)
With reference to Psalm 115:3, for Calvin (Inst. 1.16.174) it is actually:
[I]nsipid to interpret the Psalmist’s words in philosophic fashion,49 to mean that God is
the primary agent. […] This rather is the solace of the faithful, in their adversity, that
everything which they endure is by the ordination and command of God, that they are under
his hand.
The Sizoo translation (Dutch) uses ‘in’ rather than ‘under’: ‘omdat ze in zijn hand zijn’
(Calvijn 1931:192).
One can say that Calvin’s plea for a ‘compassionate Father’ rather than a Stoic reason,
concurs with the basic intention in theopaschitic theology. Moltmann (1972:10)
emphatically stated in his book Der gekreuzigte Gott, without the recognition of the pain
and suffering of the negative, the Christian principle of hope cannot be realistic and help
48. ‘God is deemed omnipotent, not because he can act though he may cease or be idle, or because by a
general instinct, he continues the order of nature previously appointed; but because, governing heaven
and earth by his providence, he so overrules all things that nothing happens without his counsel’
(Inst. 1.16.174).
49. For the impact of philosophy on the thinking of Calvin (see Van der Merwe 1982:69–84).
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believers to live as free human beings. Christian hope is human sensitive and connected
to passion. It is not connected to a stoic apatheia that renders emotions as an obstacle to
true knowledge. ‘So the passions (pathē) must be overcome in order that the ideal of
“dispassionateness” (apatheia) may be attained’ (Gärtner 1978:719).
God is not an apathetic and stoic God. ‘The OT therefore leaves practically no room
for suffering that is fortuitous’ (Gärtner 1978:720). The connection suffering, guilt and
providence have nothing in common with a pessimistic belief as found in Greek tragedy.
A mechanical, deterministic and direct causative explanatory model of theodicy does not
suffice and fit into the schema of a theopaschitic passio Dei.
Moltmann (1972) breaks away from Aristotle’s metaphysical and theistic view of God
as being immovable, apathetic and unchanging. A theology of the Cross means a radical
change in Western Christianity’s concept of God. The God concept inspired by the
Greeks is one of apathy, with immutability as a static-ontic category. In contrast, a
theology of the Cross is a ‘pathetic theology’ in which God’s pathos, not his apatheia,50 is
emphasised. It is in pathos that God reveals himself in such a way that he becomes involved
in loving solidarity with human suffering.
One can conclude and say: An apathetic God moulds a human being into a homo
apatheticus; a pathetic God moulds a human being into a homo sympatheticus.
Considering the two trends in Calvin’s thinking, namely that events are ‘in’ God’s hand,
and God is rendered as a caring and compassionate Father, how should one further reflect on
the concept God from the perspective and context of homeless and displaced human beings?
Towards a practical theology and ecclesiology

of home (xenodochia): From ‘Syria’ back to
‘Geneva’
Xenophobia and the migrant crisis emphasises the importance of the anthropological
factor in the migrant crisis: The how of human responses to paradoxical life events and
crises of human suffering. Therefore, the emphasis in the article on homo sympatheticus; on
the ‘how’ of habitus in civil engagement and societal intervention. This perspective has
been substantiated by a recent publication in Der Spiegel (Brinkbäumer 2015). The front
cover page put it in a nutshell: ‘Es liegt an uns, wie wir leben werden’ [Our attitude determines
the how of our life].
50. Moltmann (1972:256), opts for the notion of ‘pathos’ instead of the Greek connection: perfection - apathy.
‘Seit Plato und Aristoteles wird die metaphysische und ethische Vollkommenheit Gottes mit apatheia
beschrieben.’
135
Instead of xenophobia, the metaphors of host and hospitality in pastoral caregiving,

exchange fear for the stranger into philoxenia: the mutuality of ‘brotherly’ love. The praxis
of hope presupposes the ‘office of deacon’ and the virtue of hospitality in order to establish
caregiving as an exponent, of diakonia. Christian hospitality counteracts the social
stratification of the larger society by providing an alternative based on the principle of
equality; everyone is welcome regardless of background, status, gender or race. Within
the intercultural framework of community care, the challenge to the pastoral ministry is
to provide ‘hospitals’ (xenodochia), safe havens (monasteries of hope, places of refuge)
where threatened people can become whole again. ‘To be moral is to be hospitable to the
stranger’ (Ogletree 1985:1).
The metaphor of the host communicates sharing, welcoming, embracement, inclusive
communality (the church as the hospitium of God).
A compassionate community is about the challenge to provide ‘hospitals’ (xenodochia),
safe havens (monasteries of hope, places of refuge) where threatened people can become
whole again. Hospitality is actually about a public virtue: hospitium publicum and the
integrity of homo sympatheticus.
Integrity in an ecclesiology of home means that even ‘Syrians’ should be welcomed in
the koinonia of ‘Geneva’, ‘we must live together in a family of brothers and sisters which
Christ has founded in his blood; and with very hostility he gives the opportunity to resist
hostility’ (Calvin in Busch 2007:74).
To resist hostility homo sympatheticus should display Christian compassion as founded
and determined by the passio Dei. In a practical theological approach to paranoiac
xenophobia, pastoral caregiving is actually a kind of humane perichoresis – the display of
mercy within the in-between of xenophobia and xenodochia.
The Christian poet Lactantius (in Davies 2001:235), who lived from the 3rd to the
4th century, linked the concept of compassion, misericordia, to the notion of humanitas.
He viewed compassion as a corporate strength granted by God (hunc pietatis adfectum) in
order that humankind can show kindness to others, love them and cherish them,
protecting them from all dangers and coming to their aid (Lactantius in Davies 2001:35).
Compassion thus creates a bond in human society and displays human dignity.
‘Humanitas is to be displayed to those who are “suitable” and “unsuitable” alike, and “this
is done humanely (humane) when it is done without hope on reward”’ (Lactantius in
Davies 2001:35).
The notion of humanitas in the notion of homo sympatheticus is an anthropological
explication of the theological paradigm of oiktirmos.
For the rabbis in the Jewish tradition the compassion and creativity of God were
modalities of the divine presence in the world (Davies 2001:243). Compassion displayed
an active and historical presence with and for Israel, serving in the formation of a holy
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fellowship of people who would be mindful of the covenant and reverently honour his
name and faithful promises (Davies 2001):
As the signifier of a divine quality which can apply also to human relationships, the root rḥm has
much in common with the noun ḥesed, which denotes the fundamental orientation of God
towards his people that grounds his compassion action. As ‘loving-kindness’ which is ‘active,
social and enduring’, ḥesed is Israel’s assurance of God’s unfailing benevolence. (p. 243)
Conclusion
Within the context of the refugee crisis in Geneva, I have referred to Calvin’s remarkable
statement: ‘Let a Moor or a barbarian come among us’ (in Busch 2007:75). This very bold
statement redefined the ecclesial structures of being the church within the civil societal
dynamics of Geneva. Calvin installed the office of diakonia in order to reach out to the
displacement crisis of refugees.
The praxis principle of diakonia should thus penetrate all forms of unjust societal
structures. His thinking was steered by two fundamental and basic pillars for ecclesial
thinking, namely, (1) the spirituality of unconditional neighbourly love and (2) the
theological notion of God as a compassionate father. Instead of ‘iron philosophy’ he
applied a ‘compassionate theology’. The ecclesiology in Geneva was an ecclesiology of
‘welcoming strangers’. Instead of stereotyping the refugee, they should be personified
again. The refugee should be treated as a unique human being and not as representative
of a cultural category, race or religion (Bauman 2016:125). The church should thus, be a
safe haven, a home, for displaced strangers.
An ecclesiology of xenodochia is about the impact of the passio Dei on the structures
of the fellowship of believers (koinonia). The passio Dei, in its connection to the praxis
of God, defines ‘practice’ in pastoral and practical theology as compassionate ‘being
with’. The passio Dei expresses the being quality of God as connected to human
vulnerability and suffering (Esser 1976:598). The verb splanchnizomai is used to make
the unbounded mercy of God visible by means of the unqualified praxis of hospitality
and diakonia.
When interpreting the refugee dilemma through the lens of Calvin, the passion and
mercy of God, overrules all forms of cultural prejudice and paranoiac fear. Deeper than
our fear (xenophobia) are the theological principles which mean to be gracious to all. One
can say that xenophilia overcomes resistance and prejudice. The inclusivity of grace alone
reforms and transforms all forms of exclusive, fearful paranoia: it should serve as the
motivating factor in civil societal engagements. Processes of democratisation should thus
be supplemented by the theological and praxis principle in an ecclesiology of home,
namely perichoresis [to make room] for. An ecclesiology of home is in fact a variant of
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perichoresis, translated as ‘rotation’ or ‘a going around’. An ecclesiology of perichoresis

refers to the omnipresence of God as he ‘intersects’ with all creation and with all human
beings. Perichoresis is to my mind the theological justification for a ‘spiritual humanism’
that embodies the inhabitable presence of the Spirit enfleshed as human dignity by means
of a hospitable habitus of unconditional love.
Summary: Chapter 8
The displacement crisis of refugees and migrants all over the globe brought about a crisis of
home and place, as well as a stigmatising crisis of paranoiac fear: The fear of the other – the
other as threatening intruder and cultural stranger (xenophobia). It opens anew the debate
on the interplay between ideological thinking and praxis engagement. In this regard, the
notion of Calvinism is critically assessed. Xenophobia challenges ideas regarding human
dignity and human rights. It also challenges practical theological thinking to revisit ecclesial
practices. It is argued that Calvin’s emphasis on passion in wisdom thinking and the
Christian virtue of indiscriminating neighbourly love, as well as his emphasis on civil,
diakonic actions for the Geneva refugee dilemma, could help practical theological thinking
to move from impassibility (iron thinking) to passion thinking (compassionate ‘being
with’); thus, the theological focus on a theopaschitic approach. With reference to the
refugee dilemma (hospitable welcoming or isolating resistance) an ecclesial approach of
xenodochia is proposed. In this regard, ‘Christian humanism’ should inform wisdom
thinking in a practical theology of home within the migrant dilemma of displacement.
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Hermeneutics and ethics.

The quest for a ‘biblical
ethic’
J.M. (Koos) Vorster
Faculty of Theology
South Africa
Introduction
The concept ‘biblical ethic’ has become a highly contentious issue in current theological
discourse due to the vast array of new hermeneutical theories that emerged over the past
two centuries and especially over the past five decades. Hermeneutics, in the words of
Thiselton (2009:1), ‘explores how we read, understand, and handle texts, especially those
written in another time or context of life different from our own’. Hermeneutical research
since Schleiermacher and Heidegger, the higher criticism of the various schools of thought
in the 19th century with its rationalist and positivist approach, and Bultmann’s influential
model to ‘demythologize’ Scripture all stimulated new hermeneutical approaches in the
understanding of Scripture (see Bultmann 1967; Dunn 2003:65; Thiselton 2009:124ff; Van
der Walt 1962). These approaches have manifested in the emergence of historical criticism
How to cite: Vorster, J.M., 2017, ‘Hermeneutics and ethics. The quest for a “biblical ethic”’, in S.P. van der Walt & N. Vorster
(eds.), pp. 139–154, Reformed theology today: Practical-theological, missiological and ethical perspectives, AOSIS, Cape Town.
https://doi.org/10.4102/aosis.2017.rtt47.09
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Hermeneutics and ethics
(see Barton 1998:9), literary criticism (see Jasper 1999:21); form criticism (Bultmann 1967),
the radical liberal ‘theology of secularism and the death of God’ (Altizer 1966; Cox 1965;
Hamilton 1966; Vahanian 1961); the contextualism of liberation theologies (Fierro 1977);
and the contemporary postmodernist paradigm (post-structuralism) (see Carrol 1999:50;
Thiselton 2009:185–305). Late 20th century philosophers such as Gadamer (1976) Ricoeur
(1981) and Derrida (1997; 2004) debated, from different angles, communication theory and
the quest for deconstruction of language, the function of context in the interpretation of
texts and the role of subjectivity and prejudgement in understanding. Influential nowadays
is the ‘hermeneutics of suspicion’, a phrase coined by Ricoeur (1981:6–8, 34) in his notorious
discussions of the challenges posed by the science of interpretation and the role of ideology
(see also Herholdt 1998:451; Stewart 1989:296). The various theories of interpretation in
the development of hermeneutics are accepted by many contemporary theologians and can
be seen in their questioning the plausibility of the classic Reformed notion of the divine
authority and inspiration of Scripture, as well as the Barthian idea of a biblical theology
based on the revelation of God in Jesus Christ (Barth 1932:114).51 Owing to their
philosophical understandings of the preconditions for interpretations of Scripture and
their strong emphasis on decontextualising the text, they question the feasibility of a
‘biblical ethic’ for a modern society (see Desilet 2009:152; Knight 2003:311).
This investigation does not enter into an explanation of these theories. However, it is fair
to state that some of the contemporary theories of interpretation that emanated from the
discourses mentioned are exceptionally critical of the notion, as confessed in many Christian
ecclesiastical traditions, that Scripture is a holy divine text inspired by the Holy Spirit. As a
result, these theories also question the relevance of a ‘biblical ethic’ applicable to all times and
societies and the notion that Scripture provides authoritative ethical norms for modern-day
ethical questions. Supporters of these theories regard the notion of an ‘ethic of the Bible’ as
outdated because ‘biblical norms’ are deemed as timebound and embedded in cultural,
religious and philosophical contexts. ‘Biblical ethic’ can only be relevant if it is reduced to
morality of the pre-Easter historical Jesus as he expressed ethical codes in the Sermon on the
Mount and in his own lifestyle of love, humaneness and altruism. The movement that
defined itself as the ‘New Reformation’ in South Africa is a vocal exponent of this idea of
Christian morality (see Muller 2002; Van Wyk 2003). Other scholars regard the idea of
marriage as a biblical tradition from the premise of a ‘hermeneutic of suspicion’. Marriage has
been conventionally seen as an institution of God, but these scholars regard it as invalid
because in their view marriage is merely a social construct, determined by culture and context
(see Dreyer 2008). The view of marriage as a creational institution of God and a monogamous
51. The variety of hermeneutical approaches in doing theology also become clear in the survey by Hays
(1996:207) where he describes and discusses the hermeneutic approaches of Niebuhr, Barth, Yoder,
Hauerwas and Schüssler Fiorenza. Even among these eminent ethicists the theories of biblical
interpretation differ although they are doing theology in well-known theological and ecclesiastical
traditions.
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heterosexual union, was according to this viewpoint, feasible in certain times in history, but
can no longer be considered as a model for marriage today. According to this approach,
alternative forms of a marital relation, such as cohabitation and civil unions between gay
couples, are ethically acceptable as long as they are not destructive or harmful in nature.
The same line of thought can also be observed in the ethical debate approaches pertaining
to pro-choice and the legal termination of pregnancies, the propagation of active euthanasia
on request and the need for moral limitations on stem cell research and genetic manipulation.
Instead of relying on biblical ethical norms, ethical guidelines are drawn from secular
philosophical ethics such as the views expressed by various scholars in the publication by
Gruen, Grabel and Singer (2007), as well as modern-day interpretations of constitutional
bills of human rights. Furthermore, broader theological topics such as the kingship of
Christ, believers’ sanctification by the Holy Spirit, the concept of original sin and the total
depravity of humankind, the judgement of God and his renewal of all things, are under
scrutiny in liberal theology. These criticisms have a direct impact on the biblical ethical
discourse as well. It must be conceded that among the parameters of traditional Christianity
and postmodernism lie a broad range of ideas and not all of them result in the same extreme
criticisms of a ‘biblical ethic’. However, it is clear that the theory of ‘biblical ethic’ is under
immense pressure in theology today due to the emerging hermeneutics of suspicion.
The question in Christian ethics today is therefore in the words of Hays (1996:207):
What interpretive strategies should we adopt to allow these ancient texts to continue
speaking 19 hundred years after their composition? Furthermore, the scholar in ethics
can ask: Can the Christian ethicist still speak of a ‘biblical ethic’ that is relevant for and
applicable to contemporary life with its wide variety of macro-ethical problems? This
chapter attempts to argue the case for a relevant biblical ethic in light of the abovementioned
criticism of the concept due to the hermeneutics of suspicion. The central theoretical
argument is that the idea of a ‘biblical ethic’ is plausible and intelligible and that such an
ethic can provide valuable norms that can be applied effectively to the moral development
of society. The assumption of this study is the confession of the divine authority of
Scripture as expressed in the various creeds formulated in the classic Reformed tradition
and which were advocated by prominent Reformed theologians such as Barth (1932),
Bavinck (1895), Berkhouwer (1967) and Van den Brink and Van der Kooi (2012). This
suggestion does, on the one hand, not resort to a fundamentalist or literalist interpretation
of Scripture, and on the other hand refrains from devaluating Scripture to a mere
historical text without any divine authority. This research aims to defend a hermeneutical
model that holds the idea of ‘biblical ethic’ in high esteem and that can be utilised to
develop a biblical ethic for modern-day society to deal effectively and convincingly with
the challenges of this time and age. This model can be termed ‘hermeneutics of trust’.
Although the approach of this research is from a classic Reformed perspective, various
moral teachings of other Christian traditions are also taken into consideration. The starting
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point is the question of whether and how the human being can know God and the answers
given to this fundamental question by Augustine, Aquinas and Calvin. These exponents
claimed that God revealed himself to human beings and this revelation is discernible in his
works of Creation and in his written Word. For Augustine, it was work and Word, for
Aquinas it was natural law, tradition and Word and for Calvin it was the book of nature and
the written Word. The chapter revisits the distinction made by Calvin with the aim to
reaffirm and apply the classic Reformed confession of the authority of Scripture as the basis
for acceptable and suitable hermeneutics for biblical ethic today.
The ‘book of nature’

The idea of humankind’s ability to know God is distinctly expressed in various Reformed
confessions. One of these expressions can be found in Article 2 of the Belgic Confession,
which reads (Beeke & Ferguson 1999):
We know him by two means: first, by the creation, preservation and government of the
universe; which is before our eyes as a most elegant book, wherein all creatures, great and
small, are as so many characters leading us to contemplate the invisible things of God, namely,
his power and divinity, as the apostle Paul saith, Romans 1:20. All which things are sufficient
to convince men, and leave them without excuse. Secondly, he makes himself more clearly and
fully known to us by his holy and divine Word, that is to say, as far as is necessary for us to
know in this life, to his glory and our salvation. (p. 8)
This formulation is based on Calvin’s view of the general revelation of God. God reveals
himself to humankind in the book of nature (Inst. 3.1.9). According to Calvin, God expressed
this knowledge in his common goodness to all people by giving all people certain creational
gifts, such as a moral sense and a religious inclination (semen religiones). He did not use the
term ‘creational gifts’, but the term is a distinct summary of his position on the knowledge
of God gained from his general revelation. He entertained this idea with many expressions.
According to Witte (2007:59), Calvin used a variety of terms to describe this moral law,
such as ‘the voice of nature’; ‘the engraven law’; ‘the law of nature’; ‘the natural law’; ‘the
inner mind’; ‘the rule of equity’; ‘the natural sense’; ‘the sense of divine judgement’; ‘the
testimony of the heart’; ‘the inner voice’; amongst other terms. To prove his point, Calvin
referred to the profane authors and contends that the manner in which they explored the
truth proves that they too were recipients of the abundant blessings God extended to
depraved humankind (Inst. 2.2.15). All people therefore receive creational gifts as a result of
the common goodness of God (see also Leith 1989:184).
With the term ‘natural law’ Calvin did not refer to a law outside the grace of God that
can bestow on humans the light of reason or a moral law situated in the human mind
independent of God. He simply intended to state that humans can see the works of God
in Creation and that they possess a natural moral sense of right and wrong. Natural law,
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as he entertained the idea, should not be confused with the modern notion of natural
theology, which entails that humans can develop a theology based on the natural order of
things. Barth reminds us that such a conclusion would be an erroneous interpretation of
Calvin’s view (Brunner & Barth 1946). Welker (2014) also contends that morality cannot
flow from a natural law, because all morals come from God and nature in itself is flawed
due to the influence of sin (see also Douma 1973).
In Reformed theology nowadays, the classic Reformed concept of natural law as a
source knowledge of God and of ethical decision-making has been revisited and
commended by many scholars despite Barth’s rejection of the concept in response to the
natural theology of the Reichskirche in Nazi Germany. In this respect, the new
appreciation of the concept in the works of Grabill (2006), VanDrunen (2010, 2014) and
Witte (2007) can be mentioned. Concerning this new interest, Arner (2016) comments:
Paul Ramsey proposes to renew, reshape and redirect the natural law, while Ian Ramsey aspires
to rehabilitate it, Frederick Carney to revive it, John Macquire to rethink it, Arthur Holmes to
reform it, Nigel Biggar to reapproach it; John Bowlin to reinterpret it, Carl Braaten to reclaim it, J.
Daryl Charles and Alister McGrath to retrieve it, various Lutherans to reappraise it; several
evangelicals to reconsider it, and David VanDrunen to recover and to reform it. (p. 2)
This quotation underscores the current popularity of the concept ‘natural theology’ in
Reformed and evangelical theological circles.
Natural law, as the concept is used in current Reformed theological discourse as
described above, is embedded in the concept of general revelation. God’s general
revelation to all people provides a way of acquiring knowledge of God, although this
knowledge is insufficient for redemption in Christ. Various Reformed scholars have
explained the idea of general revelation and its relation with common grace (see Bavinck
1908; Berkhof 1958, 1986; Berkhouwer 1951; Van den Brink & Van der Kooi 2012).
Natural law entails that God revealed himself to all humankind in such a way as to enable
them to have a sense of religion and morality. All people receive creational gifts from God
in order to keep society from falling into total chaos. Non-believers are also talented and
can make good laws and bring forward noble and just principles and beautiful works of
art. However, they cannot use the creational gifts of general revelation, common grace
and natural law to earn or claim the redemptive grace of God. The way to redemption can
only be found in God’s particular revelation in the gospel. Knowledge of redemption can
only be acquired by God’s revelation in his written Word, which is the gospel of Christ.
General revelation makes it possible for natural scientists to study God’s works of
Creation in nature. Astrology, physics, chemistry, archaeology and all other sciences
enable humans to discover the beauty of God’s work in Creation and can empower
scientists to make new discoveries for the benefit of human life and the care for the
environment. In Creation, in the development of culture, in art, in scientific achievements,
in human endeavours to bring forward the noble, the just, the truth and the beauty,
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people can see God and know him as the Almighty, the provider and the keeper of all
Creation. From the moral law, flowing from God’s general revelation, as a set of morals
coming from God, people can define moral norms to live a life of stability and order. In
this respect the light of reason, tradition and experience can be recognised as a source for
ethical decision-making (see Greggs 2013:202; Hays 1996:209). That is the reason why all
people can uphold morality. General revelation as a source of morality is the foundation
for the moral development of humanity.
The ‘book of nature’ has to be re-established as a hermeneutical tool in Reformed
ethics. Hermeneutics that fail to excavate this rich concept will be incapable of learning
from and being enriched by the findings of natural sciences and arts and will deprive
Christian ethics from a rich source of moral directives in the modern world.
The ‘written Word’

The written Word of God is, according to the Belgic Confession, the Scripture that has
been given to people to be their light and power to convince and convert sinners, to
comfort and build up believers unto salvation (Ac 18:28, 20:32; Heb 4:12; Jas 1:18;
Ps 19:7–9; Rm 15:4) (Larger Westminster Catechism in Beeke & Ferguson 1999:11).52
But how should one view Scripture? The answer to this question is important, because
how Scripture is viewed determines the Christian ethical theory, and subsequently also
the norms for moral conduct one can use in the world today. The view of Scripture
determines the theory of interpretation (hermeneutics) and the theory of interpretation
determines the Christian morality. In the classic Reformed tradition, Scripture is seen as
a record and explanation of divine revelation, which is both complete (sufficience) and
comprehensible (perspicuous). In other words, Scripture as a whole contains all one needs
to know in this world to be guided in the way of salvation, service and moral conduct.
Since then certain deviations from this traditional point have occurred as has been
explained earlier in this chapter. On the one hand, higher criticism introduced a dynamic
theory of inspiration, which entails that Scripture can be seen as a masterful historical
document – high on the list of the world’s great sacred literature (see Spykman 1992:122;
Wilkens & Padgett 2000:87). But Scripture is, according to this view, not a document
with divine authority. It remains a human product written by many authors over many
centuries, living in different historical and cultural contexts with different and often
conflicting purposes and elevated to a divine text by the early church. To come to the
52. See also in the same volume the interpretations of this view in the ‘Shorter Westminster Confession’
(1647), Q 2–3; the ‘Westminster Confession of Faith’ (1647), art., 1–10; the ‘Canons of Dordt’ (1619),
head I, art. 3, head II, art. 5, head III and IV, art. 8 17 and head V, art 14; the ‘Second Helvetic Confession’
(1566) art., 1–5; the ‘Heidelberg Cathechism’ (1566), Q 19–22, 98; and the ‘Belgic Confession’ (1561),
art. 3–7.
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deeper meaning of Scripture this school of thought proposes a reduction of the biblical
teachings to a set of core values for Christian life according to the life of the pre-Easter
historical Jesus. These values are seen as the ideals outlined especially in the ‘Sermon on
the Mount’ and other moral teachings of Jesus. This view of Scripture is still very
influential and resulted in various different movements in Christian ethics such as, for
example, solar ethics (Cupitt 1999:225), postmodern ethics and situation ethics (see
Thiselton 2009:124).
The divine authority of Scripture cannot be proven scientifically in the positivistic
sense of the word. The acceptance of the Scripture as the Word of God, is a step in faith
just as many axioms in evolutionary biology and physics, such as the acceptance of the
notion of ‘by chance’ in evolutionary development. The acknowledgement of the divine
authority of Scripture as the foundation of doing theology and ethics cannot be regarded
as invalid, as claimed by the modernist view on science and scientific methodologies. In
his lengthy survey of hermeneutical theories over the centuries Thiselton (2009:350)
concludes that God inspired Scripture in his way through the Holy Spirit. The postmodern
epistemology since Kuhn (1970) and Lyotard (1991; 2004) provides credence for a
position of faith as a paradigm and an angle of approach in doing science. Gill (1997:17)
reminds us that the notion of secular, purely rational progress implicit in much of the
Enlightenment tradition has become increasingly implausible. The self-evidence of
Scripture has subsequently become an important argument in proclaiming its divine
authority. The concept ‘hermeneutics of trust’ has become a valid point of departure as a
result of the post-structuralist view of science.
Scripture itself proclaims to be the written Word of God (1 Tm 3:16). In view of this
biblical passage and others Leith (1993:272) and Stott (1995:88) describe Scripture as
God’s self-disclosure and as a divine autobiography. They explain that in Scripture the
subject and object are identical, for in it God is speaking about God. He made himself
known progressively in the rich variety of his being, such as creator, sustainer, the
Covenant God of Abraham, the gracious God and the righteous God. In the New
Testament, he reveals himself as the Father of Jesus Christ, as the Holy Spirit, as the God
of the new covenant community, namely the church, and as the God of the final victory
of his kingdom. With reference to Calvin, Leith (1993:272) also defends the Reformed
view by claiming that Scripture is self-authenticating. Scripture exhibits fully as clear
evidence of its own truth as white and black things do of their colour, or sweet or bitter
things do of their taste.
The inspiration of Scripture is not a dynamic process as higher criticism proclaims,
but is organic. The idea of the organic inspiration of Scripture was defined by the Dutch
systematic theologian Bavinck (1895) in his criticism against the higher criticism of the
19th century. Since then the concept was further developed by Berkhouwer and his
school of thought (see Berkhouwer 1967; Berkhouwer & Van der Woude 1969; Van den
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Brink & Van der Kooi 2012). The organic inspiration theory entails that God used
humans to write down the words of Scripture. In this process he made use of the
languages of antiquity, various cultural backgrounds and social conditions. Biblical
material must thus be used and applied as it emerges from its specific historical context
(Thiselton 2015:12). The biblical writers wrote in the metaphors of their time and age,
which traverses many centuries, using the literary contributions of their legal, social and
religious structures and customs (see Vanhoozer 2013:30). This reality necessitates that
the modern-day exegete has to understand the cultural, social and linguistic issues of
the scriptural message. This does not mean a complete ‘demytholising’ as Bultmann and
his school proposed, but a thorough grammatical historical reading of the text with a
clear excavation of the literary forms, grammatical structures and meaning from the
social and cultural historic influences. By way of such a grammatical historic process the
ethical norms given by God to humans can be excavated and formulated for the moral
development of humankind. These norms, when thoroughly extracted from Scripture,
are then not time bound, but applicable to all cultural and historical situations.
The belief in the organic inspiration of Scripture must be distinguished from what
can be defined as a mechanical inspiration of Scripture, which is evident in Christian
fundamentalist movements. This distinction between ‘organic’ and ‘mechanic’
inspiration may have certain limitations, but remains useful in the identification of the
view of divine inspiration that is used in the classic Reformed theories of interpretation.
As explained above, the theory of ‘organic inspiration’ acknowledges the role of humans
and their cultural historical context in the evolution of the biblical text. God used humans
with their skills, cultural environment, own personalities, questions and spiritual
inclinations to write down the divine revelation in such a way that the message reveals
the redemptive plan of God. Therefore, in the process of understanding the biblical
text, the modern-day exegete must take note of this human element of the written
Word of God.
The theory of mechanical inspiration, on the contrary, disregards this human element
and proclaims that God used people as instruments without the contribution of their
human circumstances. Therefore, Scripture is verbally inspired, inerrant and in toto the
source of principles and norms applicable to modern-day life. On account of this theory,
conservative fundamentalists, as this movement is defined by Barr (1981, 2001; Marsden
1991), usually limit their hermeneutical principles to the ‘verbal inspiration’ and
‘inerrancy’ of Scripture. Their point of departure is a belief in the inerrancy of Scripture
and they appreciate the divine inspiration as a verbal inspiration that entails the
inspiration of every detail of the original text (Fretheim 2001:715). They utilise this
mechanical inspiration theory that rejects the human element in the recording of the
written text. They disregard the cultural and historical background as well as the
importance of the genre of the text and the relevance of the unfolding revelation history
on the text. They use the biblical text in a ‘prooftext’ manner and believe that every text
has a bearing on modern-day life as a ‘divine command’.
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An expression more often used to describe this mean of biblical interpretation is

‘biblicism’. According to Ritschl (1999:255), this term is commonly used to denote a
particular way of dealing with the Bible, especially the expectation that Scripture can be
transposed directly into modern thought and forms or lifestyles. In his thorough study on
the ethical meaning of the Ten Commandments in modern society, Douma (1996:363)
also warns against the dangers of biblicism for the understanding and application of
Christian ethics. By biblicism he understands that appeal to Scripture which uses the
biblical texts in an atomistic (isolated) way by lifting them out of their immediate contexts
or out of the whole context of Scripture. Biblicism is characterised by its neglect of the
difference in circumstances between then (the time in which the texts being cited were
written) and now. It may be a more suitable term to use in the description of the ‘mechanic
inspiration’ theory than the concept fundamentalism, because fundamentalism is used in
a positive and negative sense in diverse ecclesiastical traditions.
Many examples of biblicist interpretation can be mentioned, such as:
• The belief that the cosmos was created in 6 days of 24 h and that history is calculable
according to the time frames provided in the Old Testament. This view disregards the
results of paleontological and other scientific research completely.
• The belief that any form of international political or economic alliances run against
the kingdom of God. This belief was eminent in the biblicist’s rejection of the League
of Nations, which is seen as a sign of the anti-Christian world empire as described in
the prophesies of the book of Revelation (Ruotsila 2003:594).
• The justification of capital punishment with an appeal to Genesis 9:5–6 (see Vorster
2004:129).
• The belief that women should be submissive in church and society.
• The instruction to women to wear a veil during worship services on account of 1
Corinthians 11:5 and the exclusion of women from the ecclesiastical offices on
account of 1 Corinthians 14:34–35 and 1 Timothy 2:11 and 12 as signs of their
submissiveness to men.
• The rejection of the legality of nationalising land with an appeal to Ahab’s stealing of
Naboth’s vineyard (1 Ki 21).
• The justification of a policy of land restitution according to the Jubilee in the Old
Testament (Vorster 2006:690).
• The justification of the use of violence in political liberation with an appeal to the
exodus in the Old Testament.
• The establishment of an ethic for Sundays on account of the Sabbath in the Old
Testament.
Many more examples of biblicist interpretation that became sacred ethical principles for
many Christians and influenced their lifestyles and conduct deeply can be mentioned.
Biblicist interpretations have also been exploited by politics to ‘sacralise’ a certain political
147
position or policy, such as the approval of slavery in the past and the application of
apartheid in South Africa.
Just as the hermeneutics of suspicion lead to a surge in secularist thought, resurging
religious extremism due to biblicism is also evident in certain movements in Christianity.
This extremism feeds on the theory of mechanical inspiration. The classic Reformed
theory of interpretation should refrain from both the dynamic and the mechanic views of
the inspiration of Scripture. The organic idea of inspiration produces a theory of
interpretation that takes the text of Scripture seriously, but will recognise the importance
of the social, cultural and linguistic context of the biblical revelation and the need to take
them into account in the process of exegesis. The theory of ‘organic inspiration’ is
extremely advantageous in the development of a biblical ethics.
The history of revelation

The classic Reformed view of Scripture does not view Scripture as an inconsistent
compendium of independent narratives that took place in various periods and
situations. Irrespective of chronological and historical differences in the dating of
biblical texts and contrasting historical facts, there is still a ‘consent of the parts’. This
consent lies not in chronology or a logic sequence of explanation and events, but in a
theological unity. Scripture contains the continuing unfolding of the revelation of
God, irrespective of chronology and the dating of the various books in Scripture.
Therefore, the full range of canonical witnesses must be listened to when formulating
biblical moral codes (see Hays 1996:310). The unfolding revelation is enriched by the
different genres of material such as historical material, prophesies, wisdom literature
and the books of the laws. This theological unity has been described by various scholars
with different names such as ‘Heilsgeschichte’ [salvation history], biblical theology and
revelation history (see Barth 1961:136; Ciampa 2007:254; Cullmann 1948:147; Reuman
2005:833). This chapter uses the concept of revelation history because this idea explains
the way in which God educates his people about his reign and the way of the renewal
of his creation in Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit. Biblical revelation in the Old
Testament reiterates by way of the meanings of feasts, sacrifices, holy actions and holy
places, psalms, wisdom literature, ceremonial laws and historical events the promise of
the coming of the Messiah who will establish the renewed relation of God with his
people and his creation (see Vriezen 1966). The point of departure is therefore the
unity of revelation in Scripture irrespective of the diversity in histories and narratives
as these are explained by Goldingay (2006:170). This approach relates to what Van den
Brink and Van der Kooi (2012:501) define as the ‘theological interpretation of
Scripture’ – a theory of interpretation that is, in their view, growing to a productive
movement in contemporary hermeneutics.
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The history of revelation can be both historic and thematic. In the continuous
unfolding of the revelation of God, various topics (themes) are developed. Bright (1980:7)
is of the opinion that the whole revelation flows into the overarching theme of the
kingdom of God. His view is worthwhile to entertain. It is clear that the kingdom was
the essence of the preaching of Christ (Lk 4:43) and he instructed his disciples to preach
the kingdom (Lk 9:6). The phrase ‘kingdom of God’ does not occur in the Old Testament,
but the substance to which it refers is clearly visible. It becomes visible in the continuous
preaching of the reign of God and in his intention to renew creation through redemption
in Christ and regeneration by the Holy Spirit (Vriezen 1966:146; Welker 2013:211). The
idea of the constant reign of God in communion with people constitutes the unity of
the theology of the Old Testament. The idea of the reign of God is also a basic message of
the New Testament (Van der Walt 1962:37). In the New Testament, several different
expressions can be found describing the kingdom of God. These are: Kingdom of Heaven
(Mt 2; 3; 4:17, 5:19, 18:1, 18:4); Kingdom of God (Mt 6:33; Lk 12:31; Mk 1:14); Kingdom
of Christ (Lk 22:30; Col 1:13); Kingdom of God and of Christ (Eph 5:5); Kingdom (1 Cor
15:24; Jes 2:5; Rv 1:9) and Kingdom of the Father (Mt 13:43; 26:29; Lk 12:32).
All of these expressions are attempts to explain the reign of the triune God. Therefore
one can conclude that the concept ‘reign of God’ can be looked upon as the first and
foremost characteristic of the biblical idea of the kingdom of God. This kingdom is
revealed by way of the history of the people of God. As said earlier, the Old Testament
proclaims the reality of the reign of God over the whole of Creation (Vriezen 1966). The
New Testament proclaims the reign of God as it becomes manifest in the coming of
Christ and the formation of the people of God (Beasley-Murray 1987:20; Guthrie
1981:419; Ridderbos 1950:47; Van der Walt 1962:32). The reign of God is both a present
and a future reality. Küng (1992:56) calls this a futurist-presentist eschatology (see also
the discussion of Ladd 1961:25 and Welker 2013:209). This reign has already been
manifested in principle in the coming, life, suffering, death and resurrection of Christ,
but it will only be revealed in its completeness in the new heaven and earth. The whole
biblical history of the covenant is an indication of the historical reality of the kingdom.
Some of the teachings of Jesus point to the kingdom as a present reality, and others to the
kingdom as a future reality. However, these expressions are not contradictory. Conzelman
(1976:114) argues persuasively that the two have the same significance for human
existence.
The term futurist-presentist eschatology was actually used by Küng as a description
of the reign of God, which erupts into the present, takes on power in the present and is
fulfilled and completed in Jesus. Moltmann (1965:22) did not use this terminology, but he
entertained the same idea. He maintains that Christianity stands and falls with the reality
of Jesus’ resurrection from the dead by God and his vindication over the powers of this
earth. With this event the kingdom of God came near as a new reality in world history,
but it will reach its completeness in the future. It is at the same time a reality and a promise.
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It is here (present), but will reach its fulfilment with the end of human history (see also
Ridderbos 1950). Moltmann (2012:37) argues that eschatology should therefore be
defined as a transformative eschatology and that the present reign of God cuts deep into
the ills of society. He contends that salvation of the kingdom, because of the presentist
reign of God, takes effect in the struggle for economic justice, human dignity, solidarity
against the alienation of human beings and the struggle for hope against despair in
individual life.
The reign of God as a present reality finds concrete expression in the coming and
teaching of Christ. Welker (2013:209) deals with this issue in depth in his recent publication.
He indicates that through Jesus Christ and the power of the divine Spirit, God’s reign reveals
the loving, preserving, salvific and uplifting activity of the Creator and the triune God. Over
and against the notion of understanding God’s revelation in Christ in the power of the
Spirit from the perspective of ‘Creation’ and ‘Creator’, he posits that the resurrected and
exalted Christ is not present apart from the Holy Spirit and that it is through the divine
Spirit that he includes his witness in his post-Easter life. The reign of Christ is executed in
his threefold office or the threefold ‘gestalt’ of the reign of Christ.53 This threefold gestalt of
the reign of Christ generates the power of the Spirit, the formation of the church and
Christian action in public life. The threefold office of Christ therefore constitutes the
organic relationship between his reign in concrete realistic terms in the public sphere
(Welker 2013:247).54 Moltmann (2012) and Welker (2013) indicate how the constant
revelation of the reign of God determines modern-day Christian ethical thinking.
But within the overarching character of the kingdom of God and the centrality of the
reign of God in Christ and the Holy Spirit, other topics (themes) are also uncovered in the
continuous revelation history, irrespective of chronological historical inconsistencies and
the different genres of biblical material. The following themes can be mentioned:
Creation, the Fall and redemption; election and the liberation of the people of God;
regeneration; the covenant and its continuous renewal; promise and fulfilment; life out
of death; judgement and forgiveness; destruction and construction; God’s providence and
human responsibility; sin; redemption and gratitude; the calling of the church; human
relations; vulnerability, compassion to the poor and the destitute; the spiritual gifts and
the gifts of the Holy Spirit. All these ideas, and others, are however, embedded in the
reign of God and his dynamic rule over Creation and specifically over his people and the
eventual triumph of Christ in and through the cosmic work of the Holy Spirit.
53. Welker (2013) prefers to speak of the ‘threefold office’ rather than the ‘three offices of Christ’
because the offices interpenetrate each other and are thus perichoretically connected.
54. Welker (2013:247) notes, ‘Christ’s royal office or the royal gestalt of God’s reign both inside and
outside of churches exhibits an unstoppable dynamic; a grand current of what individually are often quite
inconspicuous deeds of free, creative self-withdrawal, love, acceptance, loving concern, and forgiveness
sets into motion enormous emergent processes and developments.’
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The Christian ethical discourse must take account of this continuous and thematic
revelation of God within the framework of his reign as it is manifested in the above-
mentioned themes in order to formulate ethical norms. Scriptural passages must always
be interpreted in the light of the totality of the revelation as Kaiser and Da Silva
(1994:193) contend. Scripture as a whole must speak. In such a way, the critique of
liberal theology on the concept ‘biblical ethic’ and the implausible prooftext methods of
biblicism can be avoided and replaced with a biblical ethic based on a theological
interpretation of Scripture that can stand the test of time and can address the current
challenges of macro-ethical questions.
The hermeneutics of revelation theology open up other possibilities in that the
ethicist should distinguish between higher and lower principles and between the
relevance of descriptive and prescriptive biblical material.
Higher principles
In spite of the consistent biblical revelation of the reign of God as it manifests in all the
other topics that have been mentioned, the biblical ethicist should also distinguish
between essential and non-essential ethical norms, or as Dreyer and Van Aarde
(2007:641) indicate: higher and lower principles. They contend that the love of Christ
should be seen as the highest principle and the canon behind the canon. Jesus himself
summarised the Decalogue in the Great Commandment and this teaching resonates in
the Apostles, especially in the writings of John. The ethic of the kingdom of God is in
essence, an ethic of love. From this point of departure Jesus taught his followers to love
the enemy; to accommodate the outcasts; to take care of the aliens; to forgive the
sinners; to take special care of children; and to promote reconciliation. This principle
overarches other norms regarding labour relations, marriage and divorce and social life.
A norm finds its fulfilment and rich application when it ultimately answers to the
commandment of love.
Other higher principles can also be named. One is the honour of God. Human
action is moral only when it honours God. Justice that is not executed to honour God
is injustice. Therefore, Christian ethics should always take a stand against human
oppression, structures that impoverish people, corruption, unrighteousness, dishonesty,
infidelity and blasphemy. Furthermore, human dignity founded in humankind’s
creation in the image of God can be regarded as a higher principle in the arrangement
of human relations (see Vorster 2007:3). The principle of human dignity abolishes all
forms of patriarchalism and androcracy in marriage, the church and social institutions.
Although Scripture does not explicitly reject slavery, the higher principle of human
dignity clearly implies that slavery cannot be tolerated. The same is true of inequality,
discrimination, child abuse, and all other forms of inhuman conduct and treatment.
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Other higher principles that can be identified are, amongst others, reconciliation,
holiness, sexual morality, forgiveness, humaneness, self-discipline, responsibility and
accountability, sharing, humility, self-restraint, self-denial, altruism and servanthood.
Issues such as capital punishment, corporal punishment, retribution, restoration,
divorce and remarriage, land restitution, racial relations, education of children and
family relations should be evaluated in view of these, and other, higher principles and
not solved on the basis of selected proof texts that may seem to address these issues on
the basis of a mere literal reading of Scripture.
Related to this principle of biblical interpretation in the field of ethics is the distinction
that should be made between descriptive and prescriptive material.
Descriptive and prescriptive material

The reader of Scripture in search of moral norms should clearly distinguish between
descriptive and prescriptive material in the ongoing revelation of God. What is described
in Scripture, such as historical events, social structures (such as slavery and polygamy),
customs and ordinary actions of people, should not be perceived as moral instructions.
The invasion of the Promised Land, although on the instruction of God, is not a
blueprint for colonialism. The portrayal of the widespread practice of slavery cannot be
regarded as a justification of slavery, nor can the action of Phineas as described in
Numbers 25:1–18 be understood as a model of religious terrorism as Cliteur (2010b:107)
invalidly argues in his criticism of biblical morality regarding religious extremism (see
also Cliteur 2010a:235). The same is true of the various descriptions of violent acts by
God’s children in the name of religion or truth. The description of polygamy and the
many descriptions concerning the wives of the husband and his treatment of women
slaves is not a justification of adultery or of polygamy as it still occurs in certain African
cultures. The same is true of the Old Testament instructions dealing with a healthy
lifestyle and practices or worship.
The conduct of the first Christian churches are, in Reformed circles, often hailed as
models for liturgy and church polity. In this respect also, the ethicist should distinguish
between what the narrative in Scripture describes and what is prescribed. What is
prescribed is the matter of worship and evangelism, what is described is how this was
done in a certain situation. The prescription should be embedded in a modern form of
conduct applicable to modern standards. Here again the morals derived from the history
of revelation and the various topics under the overarching message of the reign of God
provide the tools that can be used to design a ‘biblical ethic’ for today. Prescriptions are
found in the synecdoche character of the Decalogue in view of the ethic of love as revealed
by the reign of God. These prescriptions must be validated by the themes in Scripture and
not by narratives and ‘proof texts’ alone.
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Lastly, the focus moves to ethical theory. Deontological ethics and virtue ethics are
considered.
Deontological and virtue ethics

A biblical ethic is deontological in nature because it is derived from a religious text that
can be studied and applied. Christians do not have to adhere to a moral law settled in the
reason of humans. God revealed himself to humans and his will for the people of his
kingdom is discernible in his revelation in the book of nature and his written Word.
Biblical morality flows from the prescriptions of Scripture as these can be excavated by
the hermeneutical tools as described above with the ongoing revelation at the heart of the
process of understanding. The theory of consequentialism is applicable in emergency
situations when the moral agent has to choose between two immoral options. I have dealt
with this issue extensively in another publication (see Vorster 2004:142). But in normal
situations Christians have the responsibility to adhere to the ‘rule of conduct’ entertained
in ‘biblical ethic’. A biblical ethic as an ethic of the kingdom of God is therefore essentially
deontological ethics.
However, at the same time Christians should take note of the recent growing interest
in virtue ethics in contemporary ethics (Statman 1997:2). Secular ethics today are
concerned with the development of character and even with the contribution of
spiritualties in this respect. Swanton (2003:19) is a modern exponent of the current
interest in virtue ethics and she defines a virtue as, ‘a good quality of character, more
specifically a disposition to respond to, or acknowledge, items within its field or fields in
an excellent or good enough way’.
Arguing from a pneumatological perspective, the biblical scholar can support the
emerging interest in the idea of virtue ethics. Hauerwas paves the way for a responsible
Christian virtue ethics with his discussion of ‘ethics of character’. He contends that, ‘[t]o
be a Christian is to have one’s character determined in accordance with God’s action in
Jesus Christ’ (Hauerwas 2009:227). He also defines the church as a ‘community of
character’ (Hauerwas 1981). This point of view entails that justification in Christ is
enriched by the sanctification by the Spirt of God. The people living under the reign of
God are indeed filled with gifts from the Spirit of God (1 Cor 12). Owing to Pentecost,
they also bear the fruits of the Spirit (Gl 5). They are moral agents with a sanctified
character and should live according to what they are. For this purpose, praying for the
continuous fulfilment by the Spirit of God is crucial. The ethic of the kingdom as an ethic
of love can rightly also be seen as an ethic of virtue based on the presence and dynamic
work of the Spirit of God.
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Conclusion
In a growing secular age the concept ‘biblical ethic’ is questioned. Postmodern theology
endeavours to design and define new contemporary ethics which are solely founded in
the presumed innate moral law of the human being and are also permeated with the
vestiges of philosophical ethics over the centuries. The conclusion and new contribution
of this research is that within this new postmodernist paradigm a ‘biblical ethic’ is still
valid. The validity of a ‘biblical ethic’ can be founded in hermeneutics of trust which
entails that Scripture is first of all perceived as the unfolding revelation of God, especially
the revelation of his reign and consequences thereof for people today. The revelation,
historic and thematic, presents higher ethical principles that can be applied in
contemporary cultures. Moreover, Christian moral agents still have clear rules to follow
and live according to their new character as people bestowed with the fruits of the spirit
of God. These essentials which can be described as deontological and virtue ethics are the
main ingredients of such a relevant ‘biblical ethic’ – also in the current postmodernist
paradigm. Such an ethic can address the modern crisis in marital relations by emphasising
the covenantal character of marriage. This ethic can address the ecological crisis by
indicating humankind’s role as servanthood regarding the protection of the integrity of
creation. A biblical ethic has a direct impact on social relations and can deal with the
persistent pockets of racism, xenophobia and sexism in many societies by applying the
comprehensive and all-encompassing effect of the reconciliation in Christ and God’s
calling to respect and nurture the human dignity of all people – especially the deprived
and the oppressed.
Summary: Chapter 9
The concept ‘biblical ethic’ has become a highly contentious issue in current theological
discourse as a result of the vast array of modern theories of interpretation that have
influenced the interpretation of Scripture. This chapter attempts to argue the case for a
relevant biblical ethic against the background of the above-mentioned criticism of the
concept due to the hermeneutics of suspicion. The central-theoretical argument is that
the idea of ‘biblical ethic’ is still valid and this ethic can provide valuable norms that can
be applied effectively in the moral development of modern society. In order to pursue this
argument, the idea of God’s revelation in the ‘book of nature’ and the ‘written Word’ is
revisited. The chapter concludes that the ongoing revelation of the reign of God and the
many issues included in this topic are the foundation of a relevant and applicable ‘biblical
ethic’. This ethic as an ethic of the kingdom of God is deontological in nature, but seen
from a pneumatological perspective, also a virtue ethic. Christian moral agents today
therefore still have biblical moral norms to adhere to and to live according to their new
character as people bestowed with the fruits of the spirit of God.
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From psalter to hymnal.

Recent developments in
the Reformed Churches in
South Africa in the light of
the principles and
practices of the
Reformation
Jacoba H. van Rooy
Faculty of Theology
South Africa
Introduction
In the last two decades, different synods of the Reformed Churches in South Africa
(RCSA) have taken important decisions with regard to singing in the church. Three
decisions are far-reaching in this regard. Until 1997, the psalter of the RCSA consisted of
How to cite: Van Rooy, J.H., 2017, ‘From psalter to hymnal. Recent developments in the Reformed Churches in South Africa in
the light of the principles and practices of the Reformation’, in S.P. van der Walt & N. Vorster (eds.), pp. 155–170, Reformed theology
today: Practical-theological, missiological and ethical perspectives, AOSIS, Cape Town. https://doi.org/10.4102/aosis.2017.rtt47.10
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From psalter to hymnal
versifications of the 150 canonical psalms, 48 Bible songs55 and two hymns for use at
home. In 1985, the Synod decided that new Bible songs might be added to the 48 of Prof.
J.D. du Toit (Gereformeerde Kerke in Suid-Afrika [GKSA] 1985:603–604). Synods since
1997 have accepted a number of new Bible songs. In 2003, the Synod decided to accept a
new versification of the 150 psalms (GKSA 2003:643). In 2012, the Synod decided to
amend Article 69 of the Church Order of the RCSA to allow not only psalms and Bible
songs, but also hymns of which the contents are in agreement with the Bible (GKSA
2012:384). The aim of this contribution is to evaluate the developments in the official
decisions of synods of the RCSA in this regard in the light of the views of the three
Reformers, Zwingli, Luther and Calvin. Attention will not be given to what is sung in the
churches. It is too soon to carry out a survey such as the one conducted after the acceptance
of the 2001 metrical version of the psalms (cf. Van Rooy 2011).
Smelik (1997:187) describes the time of the Reformation as the period when
congregations started singing again. The vernacular was introduced into worship services
throughout Europe (Jasper & Bradshaw 1986:449). Obedience to the Word of God (sola
scriptura) was one of the most important principles of the Reformation; this was especially
important for the development of church music and the hymns used in the church
(Boendermaker, Jansen & Mudde 2001:165). Mehrtens (1982:56) describes Luther in this
regard as the singer, Calvin as the organiser and Zwingli as the instrumentalist. It is
noteworthy that these three Reformers used the same Bible, but developed radically
different views of church music and congregational singing (Mehrtens 1982:68).
This contribution will present a brief description of the views of these three
Reformers,56 followed by a discussion of the developments in the RCSA as approved by
different synods, and an evaluation of these developments in the light of the views of
Zwingli, Luther and Calvin.
Zwingli
Zwingli (1484–1531) was a gifted musician who used music in his own personal life, in
his personal worship of God and in the education of children, but he did not allow it in
public worship. His attitude can probably be related to his disapproval of the liberal use of
polyphonic music in the Roman Catholic Mass (Sanchez 2012:137). Arnold (2011:221)
states that Zwingli was highly regarded as a singer, lutenist, poet and composer (cf. also
Den Besten 1977:75–76). Leaver (1995:155) refers to three hymns written and composed
55. In the Afrikaans psalter used by the RCSA these are known as ‘Skrifberyminge’.
56. It is not necessary for the purposes of this contribution to present biographical information on the
three reformers. Recent brief discussions of their life and work can be found in Spitz 2001:69–111,
140–154 and 193–210 and, more briefly, in Kleyn and Beeke 2009:25–39, 54–59, 118–127.
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by Zwingli, a so-called Plague Song, a metric version of Psalm 69 and a Kappeler Lied. To
Zwingli, music was something to be enjoyed with friends and children, not meant for a
worship service (Kurzschenkel 1971:22).
While he was studying in Vienna, he also studied music. From 1513, he added Greek
to his studies, especially Greek literature and also studied Hebrew (Ulback 1936:457, 462).
According to Hambrick-Stowe (1984:338), Zwingli can be regarded as an example of
Christian political engagement, which in his case eventually led to his death. He did not
hesitate to take up the weapon to defend his home and his freedom (Ulback 1936:457). He
also learnt about the liturgy of Ambrose, and this caused him to begin asking questions
about the practices in the Catholic Church (Ulback 1936:464).
After he had joined the Reformation, Zwingli became opposed to singing in the
church (Den Besten 1977:75–76). Den Besten is of the opinion that Zwingli’s attitude
could be the result of the resistance he experienced from others because of his interest in
music (1977:79). It could also be that he did not really have a high regard for the singing
of the people in the church (Kurzschenkel 1971:196; Mehrtens 1982:65).
According to Potter (1976:105), Zwingli stated that the love of God excluded from
worship services such things as processions, noisy hymns, meaningless repetitions,
paintings on the walls and all kinds of ornamentation in the church. The noisy hymns can
be ascribed to the primitive organs that were used in the 15th and 16th centuries and the
male voices that were not well trained. To Zwingli, this kind of unedifying church music
was disastrous. However, he was in favour of children singing in school (Fourie 2000:172;
Leaver 1995:155). In the music school of Johannes Vogler, children sang while being
instructed in the catechism.
Zwingli’s views of music in the church can be dated especially to 1523, the year of
many struggles in his ministry. He was convinced that even the music of the evangelical
churches and the Lutheran hymns did not fit into the liturgy of services. He was opposed
to the choir music and the songs of the priests in the Catholic Church. He did not express
himself explicitly about the Lutheran church music from 1524 onwards (Kurzschenkel
1971:193). It is probable that his views of music in the church were not final by the time
of his premature death (Kurzschenkel 1971:194). In this regard, Locher (1981:61) refers
to a remark in Zwingli’s lectures on the psalms that if a hymn is clear and easily
understandable, it is indeed good and commendable.
Leaver (1995:155) wants to relate Zwingli’s opposition to singing in the church to his
view on the character of worship. He emphasised the internal character of worship and
was not in favour of any kind of window dressing. Internal worship was to him the essence
of one’s faith; external rites and gesticulations concealed true worship. Kurzschenkel
(1971:196) relates Zwingli’s view to a lack of insight in the importance of symbols in the
cult, probably in agreement with the view of the Reformer’s mentor, Erasmus.
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Zwingli was of the opinion that singing in the church had to take place in the heart.
He based his views on Colossians 3:16. The congregation had to be silent during prayer
and to humiliate themselves in silence during services. Music could cause the attention of
the congregation to deviate from the worship of God during a service (Kurzschenkel
1971:195). Preaching the Word of God was at the heart of worship services (Ulback
1936:471). Because of this point of departure, he was opposed to practices such as fasting,
the celibate, the authority of the Pope, icons and all kinds of rituals. He was also opposed
to the use of prescribed lectionaries (Ulback 1936:472). Nothing was allowed to distract
the congregation from the focus on the Word of God. Some of his followers removed
statues, images, candles and suchlike from the churches (Hambrick-Stowe 1984:337).
Arnold (2011:221) indicates that Zwingli referred to Amos 5:23, Matthew 6:6 and
John 4:24 to support his view that the Word had to be proclaimed in silence. In Amos
5:23, the prophet makes it clear that the Lord does not want to listen to the noise of the
people’s singing and that they must put their harps away. One must remember, however,
that those words were directed against the illegitimate temple services of the Northern
Kingdom. Matthew 6:6 is related to private prayer. John 4:24 refers to worshipping the
Lord in spirit and truth. Zwingli could not find any support in the Bible for church music
and congregational singing. The congregation had to be silent and listen to the Word,
with no external factors to cause their attention to stray (Arnold 2011:221; cf. also Potter
1976:121). However, he did permit antiphonal recitation of liturgical texts during services
(Mehrtens 1982:55; Wit 1977:55). Not long after the time of Zwingli, congregational
singing was introduced into the churches of his area (Fourie 2000:172). By the end of that
century, a new hymnbook was introduced in those churches, with unison music and
without accompaniment (Arnold 2011:222).57
Leaver (1995:155) refers to the Second Helvetic Confession of 1566, which was written
by Bullinger, Zwingli’s successor in Zurich. Article 23 has a section on singing (Bullinger
1566):
SINGING. Likewise moderation is to be exercised where singing is used in a meeting for worship.
That song which they call the Gregorian Chant has many foolish things in it; hence it is rightly
rejected by many of our churches. If there are churches which have a true and proper sermon but
no singing, they ought not to be condemned. For all churches do not have the advantage of
singing. And it is well known from testimonies of antiquity that the custom of singing is very old
in the Eastern Churches whereas it was late when it was at length accepted in the West. (n.p.)
Leaver (1995:155) says that this statement in the Second Helvetic Confession became
necessary because the Genevan Psalter had a growing influence on the churches in Zurich
with singing during services becoming the rule rather than the exception.
57. This was probably the Psalter des Königlichen Propheten David a German translation of the Genevan
Psalter by Ambrosius Lobwasser, published in Leipzig in 1573. (cf. Evangelisches Gesangbuch 1994:957)
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Zwingli was opposed to singing in the church, but this view did not prevail in the
churches of the Reformation on account of the influence of Luther and Calvin.
Luther (1483–1546)
Luther’s view on singing in the church was diametrically opposed to that of Zwingli. In a
letter of 04 October 1430 (Luther 1969:639) he mentions the value of music. Music can
serve as a vehicle to express one’s emotions. He placed music just below theology as a
beautiful gift from God. His own hymns were written in a language that the ordinary
German of his time could understand. The contemporary popular ballads served as a
model for his texts, while the melodies were related to the popular German folk songs of
his time. He was not so much interested in the origin of these melodies, but rather in their
possibility to transmit the truth of the gospel (cf. Miller 1994:84–85). Luther received a
basic training in music at school and had a good knowledge of music theory. He was not
afraid that music would distract the attention from the preaching of the Word during
services (Boendermaker et al. 2001:166–168; cf. also Van Andel 1982:58). Hymns during
services could be used to praise God and to formulate the prayers of a congregation (Van’t
Spijker 1999:19).
Luther was in favour of metrical versions of the psalms, but also in favour of
hymns not based on a specific passage from Scripture (Wit 1977:50). He wrote 37
Bible songs. He tried to remain true to the biblical text, but he also allowed his own
existential questions and answers to influence the versification of the biblical text. His
version of Psalm 130 is a good example of his practice (Van Andel 1982:64). For this
discussion, the version of this Psalm in the Evangelischen Gesangbuch (1994:299) must
suffice. The first strophe of the hymn follows the first three verses of the biblical
Psalm closely:
Aus tiefer Not schrei ich zu dir,
Herr Gott, erhör mein Rufen.
Dein gnädig Ohren kehr zu mir
und meiner Bitt sie öffne;
denn so du willst das sehen an,
was Sünd und Unrecht ist getan,
wer kann, Herr, vor dir bleiben?
However, in the following strophes, some lines cannot be seen as based on the Psalm, but
rather on aspects of Lutheran theology. Examples are the following:
Strophe 2, line 5:
Vor dir niemand sich rühmen kann …
159
Strophe 3 line 1 and 2:

Darum auf Gott will hoffen ich,
auf mein Verdienst nicht bauen …
Strophe 5:
Ob bei uns ist der Sünden viel,
bei Gott ist viel mehr Gnade;
sein Hand zu helfen hat kein Ziel,
wie gross auch sei der Schade.
Er ist allein der Gute Hirt,
der Israel erlösen wird
aus seinen Sünden allen.
In these lines, Luther’s notion of salvation through grace and the demerit of human
works are clearly stated. He applies the Psalm to himself and his contemporaries at the
beginning of the final strophe. One can hear the voice of St. Paul in this version, according
to Van Andel (1982:64). In his hymn, Luther wanted to testify to the great deeds of God
in Christ (Van Andel 1982:71).
Three genres can be distinguished among Luther’s hymns, namely metrical versions
of psalms, the translation of Latin texts known from the Roman Mass and 37 free hymns
(cf. Smelik 1997:187; Van der Leeuw & Bernet Kempers 1939:134; Wit 1977:50). In this
regard, Luther was an example followed by many during his lifetime and afterwards (Van
Andel 1982:64).
He was poet and composer at the same time. The relationship between text
and melody is very good in his hymns. In this regard, he can be regarded as a
trailblazer. His theology and his hymns reflect the tension between God and man, the
temporary and eternal, light and darkness, heaven and earth (Boendermaker et al.
2001:173).
Rupprecht (1983:133–135) refers to the following psalms as good examples of how
Luther went about in his metrical versions of psalms: Psalm 46, 12, 14, 67, 124 and 130.
Luther wanted to produce lyrical hymns that could be sung easily, especially when
combined with a melody that would support the words. He expressed this by saying,
‘Die Noten machen den Text lebendig’ (Luther 1967:2545b).
He regarded music as a gift from God that could benefit the church. Music was an
important instrument to express one’s faith. Preaching was not the only way to proclaim
the gospel in the church; through music, the congregation could also be involved in the
proclamation of the gospel (cf. Kloppers 2003:12). The congregation was not just a
spectator in the service, but also a participant, especially through congregational
singing (Van Andel 1982:61). Carney (1999:16) regards the way in which Luther
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brought popular music to the people as one of his most important contributions to the
Reformation.
His best-known hymn is probably ‘A mighty fortress is our Lord’ (‘Ein feste Burg’).
When this hymn is compared to Psalm 46, there are not many similarities. It is not really
a metrical version of the original Psalm. Luther derived the theme of his hymn from the
final line of the Psalm, and developed his hymn from that starting point. His hymn
testifies to trust in God in a time of danger and controversy. It was published in 1529
(Van Andel 1982:65–66) and remained popular through the ages (cf. Baudler 2003). One
can regard this hymn as almost a sermon on this Psalm. His Christological approach is
clear from his answer to a question in the second strophe. He asks who the man is that can
defeat the enemy, as we cannot do it through our own power: ‘Fragst du, wer der ist? Er
heisst Jesus Christ’ [‘Do you ask who he is? His name is Jesus Christ’] (Kloppenburg
2002:117).
One of his last hymns is ‘Erhalt uns, Herr, bei deinem Wort’ [‘Keep us, Lord, through
your Word’]. According to a note by Luther, the hymn was composed with the two
biggest enemies of the church in mind, the Pope and the Turks. It was published in 1543
for the first time, but was probably composed a number of years earlier. It is a good
example of how Luther expressed his own situation in his hymns. The first strophe is the
following, as quoted by Van Andel (1982):
Erhalt uns, Herr, bei deinem Wort
Und steur’ des Papsts und Türken Mord,
Die Jesum Christum, deinen Sohn,
Wollten stürzen von deinem Thron. (p. 72)58
It is interesting to note that the second line is different in the Evangelischen Gesangbuch
(1994:193), namely: ‘und steure deiner Feinde Mord’. The reference to the Turks and the
Pope is changed to refer in general to enemies.
Luther also used other poets, such as the teacher Nikolas Hermann, especially to reach
the children (Boendermaker et al. 2001:184). In his promotion of hymns in the church,
Luther looked at the education of the youth as well, especially outside the cities. That is
why he wrote the text of the hymns in the vernacular and set it to polyphonic music (that
is, music arranged in parts for several voices; cf. Fourie 2000:161–162; Van’t Spijker
1999:18). Through his hymns, adults could be better acquainted with the message of the
gospel, while the children were exposed to better music than the contemporary street
music (Van Andel 1982:58).
58. [Keep us, o Lord, through your Word and send death to the Pope and the Turks, who want to push
your Son, Jesus Christ, from his throne].
161
As far as Luther’s music is concerned, Van der Leeuw and Bernet Kempers (1939:129)
identified a number of characteristics. They are the following:
1. Gregorian melodies and rhythms for Latin texts derived from the early church
2. polyphonic music, which necessitated a trained choir
3. new choral songs, which were monophonic and frequently didactic in the style of folk
songs, especially with the youth in mind.
Luther played an important role in introducing congregational singing into the
churches of the Reformation. To him it was an indispensable part of the liturgy.
The singing was also in the language of the ordinary people. He linked up with the
tradition in some respects, preserving Latin hymns from the past in translation. He
introduced metrical versions of the psalms as well as other hymns not based on a
specific passage from Scripture. In his version of the psalms, the New Testament as
well as his own experiences influenced his interpretations. In the other hymns, his own
circumstances also played a role, with the negative result that these hymns could easily
become dated.
Calvin
Calvin had a lasting influence on the development of church music and congregational
singing in the Reformed tradition. In the ministry of Calvin, three phases can be
distinguished, namely in Geneva (1536–1538), in Strasbourg (1538–1541) and again in
Geneva (1541–1564; cf. Spitz 2001:196–201). Already during his first stay in Geneva he
was in favour of congregational singing as part of the liturgy (Van der Walt 1962:14). His
stay in Strasbourg was, however of great importance in this regard. He was introduced to
the psalmody of Strasbourg, influenced by Wolfgang Dachstein and especially Matthias
Greiter (Van der Walt 1962:14). The influence of Bucer was also very important (Spitz
2001:199–200). Like Luther, Calvin gave congregational singing a special place in the
liturgy. Moreover, he was instrumental in getting metrical versions of all 150 canonical
psalms to serve as the hymnbook of the church (Mathlener 1979:53). The final edition of
the Genevan Psalter appeared in 1562 (Les Psaumes mis en rime Francoise par Clement
Marot & Theodor de Beze) (for a survey of the development of the Genevan Psalter, cf. Van
der Walt 1962:13–39. His first attempt in this regard was already published in Strasbourg).
One of the consequences of his approach was that the Reformed churches in the
Netherlands used only psalms in the congregational singing for more than two centuries
(Van Andel 1982:82). A psalter looking like Calvin’s in Dutch, but using the Genevan
melodies, was used in Reformed churches in South Africa until 1937. In some churches
in the Reformed tradition, other hymns were added. Because Calvin was not happy with
his own attempts at metrical psalms, he used versions of Marot and Beza (Van Andel
1982:79, 81).
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As Calvin was concerned about the message conveyed by the hymns in the church,
he regarded the psalms as appropriate for use during services. Metrical versions of the
psalms could help to proclaim the message of the Word and prevent human thoughts
creeping into the hymns. In agreement with St. Augustine, he was also careful about
the melodies used, because music had the possibility of stirring emotions and so
distract the attention of the congregation (cf. Inst. 3.20.32; Van Andel 1982:80).
The music had to underscore the message of the Word (Van der Leeuw & Bernet
Kempers 1939:165–166).
However, Calvin was not totally opposed to the use of hymns other than the psalms,
with the proviso, however, that the text of those hymns had to come from the Bible.
Brienen (1987:198–202) makes it clear that Calvin did not oppose Bible songs
(‘Skrifberymings’) as used in the Reformed tradition. The fact that he approved the singing
of the Ten Commandments during services supports the view (Brienen 1987:202–203).
Calvin permitted the use of polyphonic arrangements for use at home (Kloppenburg
1977:45). Hasper (1955:403) states that he actually promoted the use of polyphonic music
outside services. He did not want to restrict the use of the psalms to services. He wanted
the children to practise the singing of psalms, for example in school during the week
(Brienen 1987:210; Van Andel 1982:77–78). In this way, the children would be able to
teach and support the congregation in their singing of the psalms (Brienen 1987:210).
Outside services, other hymns were permitted (Luth & Smelik 2001:219).
In his view of the metrical versions of the psalms, Calvin followed an approach
different from Luther. He wanted to stay as close as possible to the biblical text and steered
clear of exegetical expansion and interpreting the psalms in the light of the New Testament
(Van Andel 1982:79). The mood, character and structure of an individual Psalm played a
role in the choice of rhythm and melody. The idea was to represent the Psalm reliably so
that it could give a voice to the congregation in the liturgy (Brink 2005:17). Expansions
were only allowed for the sake of clarity (Brink 2005:18; cf. also Brienen 1987:65–73).
Calvin was not in favour of the use of musical instruments during services. He
regarded the use of instruments in the Old Testament as a concession to the people of the
Old Testament. It was best to sing uncomplicated hymns from the heart (Box 1996:86–
87). Calvin was, as Luther, in favour of a strophic version of the psalms, so that the
congregation would be able to sing them (Vrijlandt 1987:88). He supported adding a
melody to a text, as it would enhance the efficacy of the text (Luth & Smelik 2001:219).
According to Calvin, worship services had three important elements, namely, the
preaching of the Word, the sacraments and public prayer (Van’t Spijker 1999:32).
Prayers could be spoken or sung, which meant hymns were part of prayer in song. He
regarded prayer as the focus of a Christian life. In his Institutes (Inst. 3.14), he states that
prayer is the most important part of practising one’s faith, as you can participate
163
bountifully in prayer. To him, singing was an important part of worship services, and
not just something additional. He regarded the use of music in services as a directive
from God (Smelik 2005:73–75; cf. also Brienen 1987:194–196; Fourie 2000:191–193).
Thus, the congregation must be able to sing the psalms to ‘singable’ melodies (Vrijlandt
1987:88). To improve congregational singing, the congregation had to practise the
singing of psalms during services on Sundays and Wednesdays (Brink 2005:21–22;
Smelik 2005:97).
Calvin was, like Luther, very much in favour of congregational singing in worship
services. However, he allowed only the 150 psalms and a few other scriptural songs.
No instruments were allowed, therefore, singing took place without accompaniment.
A comparison of the views of Zwingli, Luther

and Calvin
Although Zwingli had an appreciation for music, he did not allow congregational singing
during worship services. In this respect, he differed from Calvin and Luther, who both
assigned an important role to congregational singing. As indicated above, this view of
Zwingli did not endure for long after his lifetime.
Tell and Jahn (1965:39) mention some important points of difference between
Zwingli, Luther and Calvin with regard to their reaction to the Roman Catholic liturgy.
Calvin and Zwingli made a radical break from the Catholic missal liturgy, while Luther
retained many of its elements. Luther wanted to reform the Catholic worship services.
Although he disagreed with Catholic theology, he did not want to make a radical break
with the historical form of the Catholic worship services. Calvin and Zwingli rejected not
only the sacrificial understanding of the Catholic Mass, but also rejected the form of the
Mass. To them, this form was replaced by a liturgy in which the focus was on preaching
and the sacraments. Zwingli also concluded that the Lord’s Supper should only be
celebrated four times a year. Zwingli’s criticism of Luther included that he did not reform
the sacramental theology of the Catholic Church (Hambrick-Stowe 1984:338).
In spite of a number of important differences between the approaches of Luther and
Calvin, such as the way in which they made metrical versions of the psalms and Luther’s
use of hymns not based on a specific biblical text, they shared a number of important
principles regarding singing in general and congregational singing in particular. Both of
them regarded music almost on a par with theology and they accepted that music and
theology were inextricably connected. In worship services, they regarded music as an
indispensable part of the liturgy. Luther regarded the ‘language’ of music to be important
in the church and he wanted all the arts, including music, to be in service of the One who
created and gave it. To Calvin, music was also a gift of God to humanity (Hasper 1955:401).
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However, the melody had to serve as support for the text in congregational singing
(Kloppenburg 2002:115).
Mathlener (1979:54) points to three aspects on which Luther and Calvin agreed in
their approaches:
1. Many of the Genevan melodies and Lutheran chorales were originally folk melodies,
or adapted folk melodies.
2. Both of them wanted to promote active participation of the congregation in worship
services. Congregational singing could contribute to this goal. The Reformers saw in
congregational singing a useful instrument for building up the church.
3. The compilation of hymnbooks was a problem at the beginning, especially with
regard to the melodies. Hymnbooks had to be prepared in a short period of time,
making the use of original composition a problem. It took about 22 years before the
Genevan Psalter could be published with all the psalms.
Luther made an important contribution by introducing congregational singing in the
vernacular. He also emphasised the musical quality of church music. He differed from Calvin
by introducing hymns that were not based on a specific biblical text. In his metrical versions
of the psalms, he frequently reinterpreted the psalms in the light of the New Testament.
Recent developments in the Reformed

Churches in South Africa
In the past 30 years, important developments have taken place in the RCSA with regard
to congregational singing. Up until the Synod of 1985, the churches sang the psalms and
Bible songs that were approved more than 40 years earlier. Up to that time, the hymns
that were allowed to be used in the churches were specified in Article 69 of the Church
Order of the RCSA (n.d.):
In the Churches only the 150 Psalms and the rhymed versions of the Ten Commandments, the
Lord’s Prayer, the Apostolic Confession, and the Hymns of praise of Mary, Zacharias and
Simeon shall be sung. The use of other rhymed versions of Bible verses which have been
approved by the synod is left to the jurisdiction of each church council. (n.p.)
The wording of this article has been changed over time, as will be shown below.
In 1985, the Synod (GKSA 1985:765–766) decided to work together with two other
Afrikaans-speaking churches in creating a new metrical version of the psalms. It is noted
in the acts that the Synod was approached with a request for cooperation in this regard by
the Dutch Reformed Church. The Synod did not make final decisions about the way in
which the version should be made, but mentioned a number of important principles
165
(GKSA 1985:759–761). Important in this regard was that the metrical version had to be
based on the Hebrew text of the Old Testament; that it should try to represent the
contents of the biblical psalm as completely as possible; and that a Psalm had to be
reworked as it appears in the Bible. These principles are in agreement with the tradition
of the versification of the psalms in the Reformed tradition since the time of Calvin.
The Synod of 1985 also made a decision that the number of Bible songs could be
expanded (GKSA 1985:604–605). Part of the motivation was the possibility of the
versification of additional passages from the New Testament.
These two decisions did not change the principles underlying Article 69 of the
Church Order. In the process of evaluating the new versification of the psalms and the
approval of additional Bible songs, the basic principles used for evaluating the version
of the psalms and the Bible songs in the hymnbook used up to that time, were still
applied. The Synod of 1991, however, decided that a study had to be done to make
these principles clear, especially at that stage, for the evaluation of new Bible songs
(GKSA 1991:604). A report in this regard was discussed at the Synod of 1994 (GKSA
1994:527–539). At the end, the report states a number of principles accepted by the
Synod (GKSA 1994:538–539). The first of these principles states the basic point of
departure (GKSA 1994:538), ‘[d]ie beryming moet die sin en inhoud van die Skrifgedeelte
suiwer en korrek in ooreenstemming met die kerklike belydenis weergee’.59
The other principles deal with ecclesiastical approval and liturgical requirements.
The basic principle quoted above makes it clear that the hymns must be based on a
specific passage from Scripture, that the sense and contents of that passage must be
clear in the versification and it must be in agreement with the doctrine of the church.
This is clearly in agreement with the principles going back to Calvin and the Genevan
Psalter. Using these principles to guide decisions, Synods of the RCSA have accepted
a number of Bible songs to be recommended to the churches (cf. GKSA 1997:784,
2003:665–667).
At the Synod of 1997, an overture from a provincial Synod asked for the Synod to
change Article 69 of the Church Order to add hymns not based on a specific scriptural
passage to the Bible songs as hymns that churches could use (GKSA 1997:807–809).60
This was not accepted by the Synod, with as motivation that the hymns given in Scripture
are sufficient and the best way to follow (GKSA 1997:809). An objection against this
decision was upheld at the Synod of 2000 and referred to deputies to report to the next
59. [The versification must represent the sense and contents of the scriptural passage truly and correctly,
in accordance with the ecclesiastical creeds] (GKSA 1994, [author’s own translation]).
60. In Afrikaans they asked for ‘en gekeurde Skrifgetroue liedere’.
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Synod (GKSA 2000:458–462). This matter was not tabled at the Synod of 2003 and
referred for study and report at the next Synod (GKSA 2003:669).
At the 2003 Synod, a decision was made to accept the new version of the metrical
psalms in Afrikaans (GKSA 2003:643). In the process of evaluating this new version, the
deputies for liturgical matters received a number of objections against this new version.
These were evaluated, but not accepted (cf. GKSA 2003:646–659).
The Synod of 2006 received a report on the possibility of expanding Article 69 of
the Church Order (GKSA 2006:614–631). Because of time constraints, the Synod was
unable to make a final decision in this regard, but referred the matter and related
reports to deputies to report to the next Synod (GKSA 2006:626). The report of these
deputies was tabled at the Synod of 2009 (GKSA 2009:724–743). The commission of
the Synod dealing with this report did not recommend the proposed change to Article
69 of the Church Order (GKSA 2009:743). However, the Synod was confronted with a
new situation at this Synod, the first Synod after the restructuring of the assemblies of
the churches, namely, the amalgamation of the previous Synod of the RCSA and Synod
Midlands, the latter comprising churches from the non-Afrikaans speaking churches.
These churches did not have a metrical version or versions (in different languages) of
the biblical psalms, but used hymns dating mostly from the 19th century. These hymns
were not based on specific passages from Scripture. The Synod recognised this new
situation and instructed the deputies for liturgical issues to look into the matter and to
propose a possible new wording for Article 69 (GKSA 2009:743). Three reports related
to this matter were tabled at the Synod of 2012. The first one (GKSA 2012:378–385)
dealt with the possible change of Article 69 of the Church Order. This report describes
the history of this issue, as well as the situation in different churches of the RCSA, with
attention to the hymnbooks available in different languages. It notes that the Venda-
speaking churches of the RCSA use a Lutheran hymnal (GKSA 2012:381).61 In the
historical survey, it is made clear that many churches in the Reformed tradition started
singing hymns that were not based on specific texts from Scripture, that is, hymns
composed in the Lutheran tradition. The report submitted a proposal that the article
had to be changed to reflect the situation in the RCSA, namely that all the churches did
not sing only psalms and Bible songs. The following wording for the article was
proposed (GKSA 2012):
In die kerke moet die 150 Psalms, die Tien Gebooie, die Onse Vader, die Twaalf Artikels van
die Geloof, die Lofsange van Maria, Sagaria en Simeon gesing word. Ander Skrifberyminge
61. The report to the Synod mentions a Lutheran hymnal, but provides no more information about that
hymnal. It could possibly be one of the editions of F.H. Burke’s Phalaphala ya mafhungo-madifha: zwirendo
kha mudzimu. The 19th edition was published in 1993 by the Emmanuel Press, White River.
167
en Skrifgetroue liedere wat die Sinode goedgekeur het, word in die vryheid van die kerke
gelaat. (p. 385)62
It is clear that the addition to the original article allows hymns composed in the Lutheran
tradition.
The second report (GKSA 2012:386–391) dealt with the principles that had to be
applied in evaluating the different kinds of hymns, namely metrical versions of
psalms and other passages from Scripture, confessional hymns (such as the Apostles’
Creed) and other hymns not based on a specific passage from Scripture. The principles
dealt in general with the liturgical use of hymns, their literary and musical quality
and the composition of a hymnbook (GKSA 2012:389–390). For the metrical versions
of scriptural passages, six principles were formulated, with the first one (GKSA
2012:390) the same as the one quoted earlier in this section from the 1994 Synod
(GKSA 1994:538). These principles were in agreement with principles laid down by
previous synods of the RCSA. Two basic principles were formulated for confessional
hymns, stressing the agreement between the hymn and the specific section of the
creed (GKSA 2012:390). For other hymns a set of principles was formulated (GKSA
2012:390–391) dealing with the evaluation of hymns in light of the message of
Scripture.
The third report (GKSA 2012:392–408) contained recommendations with regard to
the acceptance of new hymns that could be recommended for use in the Afrikaans-
speaking churches. Most of these recommendations were accepted, ushering in a new
phase in the congregational singing of the Afrikaans-speaking churches within the RCSA.
This new phase was confirmed by the Synod of 2015. Two petitions of objections were
submitted against the decision of 2012, but both objections were rejected (GKSA
2015:281–287, 288–290). The Synod accepted a number of new hymns that could be sung
in the churches (GKSA 2015:342–396), most of them from the hymn book in use in
Afrikaans-speaking churches (NGK 2001). The hymns were subjected to a stringent
evaluation (cf. NGK 2001:9–11, 19–20). The hymns were then also evaluated by the
deputies for Liturgical Music of the RCSA and approved by Synod (cf. GKSA 2015:342–
387), using the principles referred to above.
62. In agreement with the wording of the article cited above, it could be rendered as follows in English: [In
the churches only the 150 psalms and the rhymed versions of the Ten Commandments, the Lord’s
Prayer, the Apostolic Confession, and the hymns of praise of Mary, Zacharias and Simeon shall be sung.
The use of other rhymed versions of Bible verses and hymns that reflect the message of Scripture and
have been approved by the Synod are left to the jurisdiction of each church].
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Conclusion
When the recent developments in the RCSA are evaluated, the historical perspective
from the time of the Reformation is very important. Historically, the RCSA followed
the line of Calvin, singing only the 150 psalms, with originally only a few other
hymns. The previous wording of Article 69 of the Church Order named the Ten
Commandments, the Lord’s Prayer, the Apostolic Confession, and the hymns of praise
of Mary, Zacharias and Simeon. The principle of additional Bible songs was accepted
in this wording of Article 69. As regards the other Bible songs that became part of the
psalter of the Reformed churches from 1940 onwards, it was left to the churches to
decide whether they wanted to sing them or not. The changed wording of the article
(quoted above and approved by Synod, cf. GKSA 2012:385) makes provision for other
hymns that are not based on specific passages from Scripture. This change in the
wording of the article is in line with the viewpoint of Luther. However, in the
versification of the psalms, the practice of Luther in allowing interpretations from
the New Testament and personal experiences and circumstances to influence the
versification, was not accepted.
What is important, however, is that different synods accepted very specific principles
(as discussed above), not only for the evaluation of versifications of passages from
Scripture, including the psalms, but also for other hymns not based on a specific passage
from Scripture. The application of these principles should prevent hymns that are not
doctrinally sound of being included in the hymnbook of the RCSA.
Summary: Chapter 10
In the last two decades, different synods of the RCSA have made important decisions
with regard to singing in the church. In 2012, the Synod decided to amend Article 69 of
the Church Order of the RCSA, to allow not only psalms and Bible songs, but also hymns
of which the contents are in agreement with the Bible. This contribution aims to evaluate
the developments in the official decisions of synods of the RCSA in the light of the views
of the three Reformers, Zwingli, Luther and Calvin, in this regard. When evaluating the
recent developments in the RCSA, the historical perspective from the time of the
Reformation is very important. Historically, the RCSA followed the norm laid down by
Calvin, singing only the 150 psalms and a few other hymns. The principle of additional
Bible songs was accepted in the wording of Article 69. Recent changes make provision for
other hymns not based on specific passages from Scripture. This is in line with the
viewpoint of Luther. However, in the versification of the psalms, the method of Luther
in which interpretation from the New Testament and personal experiences and
169
circumstances influenced the versification, has not been accepted. Different synods have
accepted very specific principles for the evaluation of versifications of passages from
Scripture, including the Psalms, as well as for other hymns not based on a specific passage
from Scripture. The application of these principles should prevent hymns that are not
doctrinally sound from being included in the hymnbook of the RCSA.
170
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The authors of this volume have taken contextual theologising to a new

“Contextual Theology”, the editors hold, is “that theology which explicitly

Sigurd Bergmann is Emeritus Professor of Religious Studies at the Norwegian

Mika Vähäkangas is Professor of Mission Studies and Ecumenics at Lund

The Routledge New Critical Thinking in Religion, Theology and Biblical

Racism and the Weakness of Christian Identity

Past and Present Political Theology

Schleiermacher’s Theology of Sin and Nature

Investigating the Resurrection of Jesus Christ

Catholic Social Teaching and Theologies of Peace in Northern Ireland

For more information about this series, please visit www.routledge.com/

1 Doing situated theology: introductory remarks about the

2 Can contextual theology bridge the divide? South Africa’s

3 Contextual theology on trial? African neo-Pentecostalism,

4 Gender, ethnicity, and lived religion: challenges to

5 Ecumenical liberation theology: how I experienced its

6 Economy, greed, and liberation theology: a critique from

8 Reclaiming tradition as critique of oppression 126

9 “Speaking from experience”: comparing Mahdawi and

10 Theology in the Anthropocene – and beyond? 160

11 Theology of “eco-anxiety” as liberating contextual theology 181

12 Contextualisation through the arts 205

13 World Christianity as post-colonialising of theology 221

10.1 Key markers of anthropogenic change161

Sigurd Bergmann is Emeritus Professor in Religious Studies at the Nor-

Context has never been a completely absent consideration in the development

The contextual nature of the theological process

Contextual, constructive, or world theology?

Doing theology – “making-oneself-at-home” on earth

There is no such thing as “theology”; there is only contextual theology:

An outline of the argument for a “contextual

A critique of public theologies in South Africa

That South African Christianity, and so South African theologies, are

public theology is trapped in an attempt to universalize concepts, simi-

In particular, Maluleke is concerned that public theologians, and their the-

using [a] postmodern, rather than postcolonial framework, South Afri-

A politics of forgiveness as a bridge to the context

“Politics” is surely the way human beings organize themselves in groups,

In this regard, it would seem that a coupling of politics and forgiveness

A political form of forgiveness may not guarantee that we humans can

A people’s theology: empirical intercultural Bible study

Ammel het hystoe gegan

Everyone went home

Trantraal says this cheap forgiveness made everyone sick. He employs a

• Among the predominantly black and so-called coloured53 participants,

This research project offers an example of a “contextual public theology”

On the sacred: a definition

The world of sacred authority

African Pentecostalism is an important dimension of Africans’ attrac-

He perceives contemporary African Pentecostalism as “another phase of the

On gender and sexual relations: two case studies

The case of Omotoso

the problem is not regulation of churches – the problem is the regulated

teachings which promote abstinence instead of consent, “bodily belong-

The case of Seven Angels

Decolonial kenotic theology of authority

My long-term interest in and interaction with liberation theology and femi-

Lived religion and liberation theologies

Contextual and liberation theologies

8 Reclaiming tradition as critique of oppression 126

10 Theology in the Anthropocene – and beyond? 160

11 Theology of “eco-anxiety” as liberating contextual theology 181

12 Contextualisation through the arts 205

13 World Christianity as post-colonialising of theology 221

10.1 Key markers of anthropogenic change161

Figure 10.9 Giovanni Bellini, Sacred Allegory, circa 1490, oil