Someone, somewhere recommended this book to me.
Whoever you are, wherever you are — thank-you!
1. Patience
One of the first impressions for me in returning to New Zealand periodically, especially early on in my time with Langham, has been the tendency to grow impatient in our churches. Doing the right thing in the right way over the long haul, until God chooses to turn the seasons, is difficult. It was one of the reasons why, when invited to preach, I lived in the Parable of the Soils for a season. The final soil seems to be the one where the most patience is exercised, as well as the one where the most fruit is harvested. God is not in a hurry. His best work, as in the garden, tends to be a slow work. Although I don’t remember the exact discussion, at our first global forum, in 2015 in Istanbul, this word ended up on display. ‘Impatienceness’. I am not even sure it is a word! But it seemed important enough at the time to take its picture. It is important. It remains one of the great dangers for the people of God.
In the early centuries of the church, the first virtue on which they wrote a treatise was patience. In fact, three different people wrote three different books on patience: Tertullian (in 204), Cyprian (in 256) and Augustine (in 417). Not mission, or evangelism. Not preaching. Patience. ‘God is patient and Jesus visibly embodied patience’ (2) and so must his people, by ‘not controlling events, not anxious or in a hurry, and never using force to achieve their ends’ (2). These communities had a theology of patience. Their experience was that patience ‘attracts people’ (16), ‘disarms unbelievers’ (101) and so it is not merely a virtue, but an approach to mission. ‘God’s mission is unhurried and unstoppable’ (18-19) and this frees his people to be patient in a world that hurries.
When Emperor Constantine turned towards Christianity, things shifted…
‘A Transformation of Patience’ (274-279) took place. While ‘scholars rightly caution against overstating the changes that took place under Constantine’ (274), there are still a handful of things to consider: (a) Control: ‘Since the Christians, in patience and hope, saw themselves as collaborators with God, they didn’t need to manipulate things’ (275)—but now this changed; (b) Power of the State: conversion started to be promoted by the state, rather than being the fruit of communities living ‘faithfully and patiently’ (275); (c) Religious Coercion: heretics were no longer loved, they were ‘run out of town’ as imperial power was used to ‘crush religious groups of which he disapproved’ (276); (d) Speed: ‘Constantine was in a hurry’ (277); (e) Conversion: Constantine introduced a ‘two-tier approach’ (278) where the laity and the clerical classes could have different habits, with the latter ‘on a journey toward sartorial splendor that pagans scorned and sensitive Christians bewailed’ (279).
2. Catechesis
From my days in the Mt Albert Baptist youth group in the 1970s right through to my days as principal of Carey Baptist College in the 2000s, this has been such a concern for me, especially in work among young people. Decisions are made for Jesus. Healing is experienced through Jesus. Songs are sung to Jesus … on and on it goes … but where, oh where, is the deep discipleship, the catechesis of ‘careful formation and teaching’ (2) happening, the type that leads to dramatic life-change? From our days in pastoral ministry in the 1980s right through to our days in South India in the 2010s we have believed in a specific discipleship course because we’ve seen it used by God, again and again, to facilitate such change. But there is little appetite for it here. If that is the case, how and where do people become re-formed in the face of the idolatries of the age, beginning with money, sex and power?
How things have changed!
The church in the early centuries was unhurried and rigorous in just the place where we are too often hurried and superifical. Kreider uses the word ‘habitus’ as a way of expressing the life we embody and live—and the life that needs to change. It is changed through slow, secure catechesis. No one is too sure about the full content of this catechesis, except that it focused on the teaching of Jesus. However, Cyprian’s To Quirinus 3 (161-170) is pretty cool. Reflecting his own struggle to become a Christian, Cyprian articulates 120 statements that describe ‘a way of life … that over time, with practice, becomes embodied and habitual’ (165-166). It is not unlike a 12 Step recovery programme, or a boot camp, because discipline is needed to make the necessary change in human reflexes.
Christian worship then sustained this change. It was not public. ‘It was not Christian worship that attracted outsiders; it was Christians who attracted them, and outsiders found the Christians attractive because of their Christian habitus, which catechesis and worship had formed’ (135). It is the opposite of a seeker-service mentality.
Worship and catechesis formed the new Christians so they are kāmil (Arabic)—complete, accomplished and whole. Other people look at these fully developed Christians and can see that they behave uncommonly, attractively. As a result, new people are inquisitive and then come forward to become catechumens, and when they are fully formed they are baptized. They, in turn, as new Christians who are nourished by worship, fascinate others by their distinctive witness. The process repeats itself, and the church grows (221-222).
When Emperor Constantine turned towards Christianity, things shifted…
He was an uncathecized believer in a hurry, ‘a liminal Christian who lived on the threshold of Christianity’ (251) — resisting baptism and catechism (and therefore, the necessary formation) until close to the time of his death. Not only did he himself avoid the process by which ‘his habitus was named, understood, unlearned and transformed’ (256), others followed his example as ‘two kinds of Christian habitus’ (262) emerged, the former one for the clergy … and this newer one allowing the laity to have ‘an unreconstructed habitus’ (264). The rest is history—the nasty, shameful history of the Christian church. ‘After Constantine, catechists largely avoided teaching behaviour; instead they focused on belief, shaping the thinking of believers’ (277).
Justinian I (left, with a model of Hagia Sophia) and Constantine (right, with a model of the city of Constantinople)
presenting gifts to the Virgin Mary and Christ Child (centre) 10th century; in Hagia Sophia, Istanbul (photo mine :))
3. Intrigue
Anyone who reads this blog regularly will know that I consider one of the missteps by the church, especially in the Western world, to be the way we’ve allowed the relevant life to eclipse the intriguing life. They are similar, but different. Being relevant is kinda like an incarnational instinct, while being intriguing adds an attractional element. It is about being distinctive with distinction. If you cannot distinguish clearly the life of a believer from the life of an unbeliever, you are nowhere in mission. And yet studies show that this is what is happening. I watched a special Christmas presentation from a prominent church a few weeks ago. It almost made me weep. It tried to put on a better show than the world could do. It was enslaved to the relevant impulse and had lost sight of what being intriguing might look like. It is so common—and it is so misguided. This book made my heart sing. I started having a bit of fun, underlining every reference to my favourite word—’intriguing’—but I had to give up in the face of the flood…
The final sentence of the book captures the underlying current of the book. It is a sentence from Cyprian. ‘We do not speak great things but we live them’ (296). It is not that words are not important, it is just that lives were more important. It is an intriguing life that will open hearts and minds to the intriguing words of the gospel. ‘Their habitus, their embodied behaviour, was eloquent’ (2). The catechesis, now supplemented by living in worshipping communities, had ‘shaken them, jarred them loose, given them a vision of an alternative way to view God’ (41) … and, as a result, lived these intriguing lives in these little communities that eventually, as a friend expressed to me over the weekend, ‘white-anted’ the Roman Empire.
Another stellar few pages are headed-up by ‘Inculturation—Christians Permeate Culture’ (96-99). Once again, it is this salt and light tension, incarnation and attraction, into which these ancient Christian communities had stepped: ‘they sensed a dynamic interplay between indigenizing and being pilgrim, between affirmation and critique. They lived in existential tension between being at home and being strangers … they lived lives that contained a yes and a no’ (98). ‘Christians were ordinary, but extraordinary (99).
From her reading of the papyri (from Upper Egypt), AnneMarie Luijendijk finds that the Christians melded into society, in large part living ‘in ways often indistinguishable from their neighbours.’ Yet she observes that the Christians were in ‘some ways distinctive’. And of course the church would not have been growing if they had been just like everyone else; if Christians were no different, why would anyone join them? (247, emphasis mine).
When Emperor Constantine turned towards Christianity, things shifted…
Well, here is one of the more provocative paragraphs:
Before Constantine, the church was growing steadily, but its leaders gave little thought to the means of its numerical growth. They worshiped God, God changed the worshipers and their communities, and outsiders were attracted to Christians whose lives and communities reflected God’s character. Growth was a mystery, the product of God’s ‘invisible power’. The Christians approach to growth was to be patient collaborators with God. With Constantine we move from mystery to method. The emperor could influence the growth of the correct religion—Christianity—by using means and methods, including the power and the manipulation of the state … Under (Constantine) the state became an instrument of a missional program with two flanks, one flank that fostered and established the correct religion, and the other flank that punished and outlawed the erroneous groups that competed with the correct religion (267).
Our family celebrated two birthdays this week—my mother’s 90th and my brother-in-law’s 70th. Neither person has been trained theologically (although that has its place). Neither has been trained cross-culturally (although that has its place). Neither considers themselves to have flashy gifts or skills. And, as I reflected on this book, they are both two millenia behind the times. They would step into these communities so easily. They grasp the tension of salt and light so readily. Their lives exhibit ‘a yes and a no’ (see above). They can seem out-of-touch, almost irrelevant … but there is no doubting the attractional, intriguing lives which they live. I really, really want to be like them when I grow up.
My mother came to mind when Kreider tells the story of some widows in a 3rd century Syrian community where, in an ‘uncoordinated, unauthorized and out of control’ (238) manner, they move around and engage in spiritual ministry with people, and have ‘evangelistic conversation’ (238) with inquirers. Amazing! She’d fit in so well.
But it is not just salt and light and the intriguing life. Staying with metaphors from Jesus, it is about yeast as well. The patient ferment. ‘Fermentation is gradual. Except for a stray bubble that emerges now and then, nothing seems to be happening. Until late in its operation, it is unimpressive. And yet it has a cumulative power that creates and transforms’ (75). Or, earlier in the book: ‘In the ferment there was a bubbling energy—a bottom-up inner life—that had immense potential’ (3).
It was brewing, but not under anyone’s control. It was uncoordinated, it was unpredictable, and it seemed unstoppable. The ferment was spontaneous, and it involved ordinary ingredients … The churches grew … proliferated … because the faith embodied was attractive to people who were dissatisfied with their old cultural and religious habits … They believed that when the habitus of the church was healthy, the churches would grow. Their theology was unhurried—a theology of patience. It is characteristic of their approach that the carriers and embodiers of the growth were marginal, humble and often anonymous, women as well as men, individuals as well as communities (12, 74).
When Emperor Constantine turned towards Christianity, things shifted…
‘Constantine secured the church’s position in society and began to transform the way the churches understood and practiced mission’ (245) and, as we’ve seen, things moved away from fermentation. The final chapter—Augustine and the Just Impatience (280-296)—must be a bit controversial to church historians because Krieder gets stuck into Augustine. It is fascinating.
In their patience-shaped perspective, history is safe in God’s generous hands. So people who worship God and follow Jesus do not need to control things; they do not need to rely on the power of the state to vindicate their point of view; they do not fret their brows of hurry; and they never ever impose their views by coercion or force. And somehow, spontaneously, carriers of the gospel show up—slave women, business people, people of no account—and the church grows, spottily, unsystematically, and by ferment (294-295).
Finding himself in Constantinian times, Augustine left this tradition behind. It became something of ‘a lost bequest’ (296). ‘In this book we have travelled from patient ferment to impatient force’ (296).
One more button to polish…
We need to take care reading about the church in the early centuries, or even the church in the Book of Acts. The impulse to re-wind is a bit simplistic. Is it just about doing what they did in the Book of Acts? History and culture doesn’t work like that. It is not possible to cut-and-paste all this into a later point in history. However while we cannot re-wind, we can re-think, re-orient and re-turn to truths that have been lost. Reflecting on the distant past, like reflecting on the distant culture, is the best way to expose blindspots in the way we do church and mission today. It takes the humility that comes with avoiding chronological and cultural snobberies—and, for this reason, I am so grateful for this book. There is insight here that can help us re-imagine church, if we have the courage, grace and wisdom to do so. Sure, the author’s Mennonite assumptions are laid bare, but that is not such a bad thing in today’s world, is it? The Constantinian mindset is so entrenched in the church in so many countries, we can do with all the help we can get.
nice chatting
Paul
PS. My admiration for pastors/elders/leaders who try to be biblically-faithful and contextually-anchored is immense. New Zealand, for example, is such a tough context for the gospel. One of the little dreams I’ve had for awhile is to initiate a community of conversation which explores what being intriguing looks like today. Let me know if you are interested…
Ok I'm interested! Patience was my word for 2019…for all of 2020 and seems to be popping up again in 2021. Clearly God is still trying to hammer a new message home to me, but I am a slow learner. Secondly, working in the missions space has definitely garnered (solidified?) my desire to disciple more young people. The simple lessons we learnt as young people in your home are tools that I use time and time again with any young people I get to spend time with!! It was a priviledge to learn to read the bible and to unpack it and apply it. So I am keen to have this chat about how to be more intriguing. – Sarah
Yep – I'd be keen (and a couple of pastor mates as well, I'm sure) on exploring what intriguing looks like… pls keep me posted…
I'm interested! A resource that I've found helpful with similar ideas to what you've expressed here – though described as 'slowing down to God's speed' – is Godspeed (Matt Canlis with Eugene Peterson & Tom Wright) https://www.livegodspeed.org/home/
Definitely interested too. Very much enjoyed this review, thanks Paul.
Thanks, Sarah. I am glad you found the post helpful, as you did the Young Adults home group from yesteryear. Special times with special people, convincing me, again and again, of the hunger for something deeper that lived in your hearts. Paul
Fred & Ken & Dale, I've seen your hands — or, I've written down your names!
I'll be in touch. THis should be fun.
Paul
Hi Paul, an intriguing life is something I’m always challenged on after reading your blogs. I’d love to be part of exploring this.
Ben T
Hi Paul
Thanks for the post (and previous ones). Good timing as I come to the end of a sabbatical following 6 years of pastoral ministry. Keen to be part of the "intriguing" conversation.
-Andrew Clemow
I frequently find myself returning to this very question and would be most interested to hear the thoughts of those who are keen to grapple with it. (I'm late to the party because I only glance at my blog feed once a week)
Yes, Ben and Andrew and Rachael, I've noted your interest.
Just mulling over different ways to get this conversation started…
Blessings
Paul
Hi Paul,
My hand is up also, though a little late! We live in a small community and are interested in "the mission field between our own two feet" and how to live intriguingly among them.
Love the blog
Caleb H
This comment has been removed by the author.
Love this, and learned so much. One hand up here, too. =)
Thanks, Maryanne … just about to send something out and about!
Paul