Emerging Churches, by Eddie Gibbs & Ryan Bolger

Eddie Gibbs and Ryan K. Bolger. Emerging Churches: Creating Christian Community in Postmodern Cultures. Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2005.

Book Review submitted by Xochitl Alvizo, Ph.D. Candidate in Practical Theology, Concentration: Congregation and Community

Eddie Gibbs and Ryan K. Bolger conducted an investigation on “the nature of emerging churches and movements,” churches and movements that they consider to be “vibrant and alive” (329). From their study with such churches, Gibbs and Bolger identified nine practices as common among emerging churches, three of them being the core practices out of which the others flow. Overall I was impressed with how much I agreed with the authors; they offered a most generous read on the theologies and practices they encountered through their research and also framed the intentions of the emerging church ministers/founders' in the best possible light. It is clear that the authors believe that emerging churches are making a valuable and necessary contribution to the church at large, even while pointing out potential weaknesses, or the challenges that will need addressing.

Gibbs and Bolger refer to themselves as interpreters and commentators of the research, and in as much as their book is made up of material from their interviews with emerging church leaders, they state that they are not the authors of much of the material in their book (237). Their objective was to capture a "snapshot of a rapidly changing scenario" and introduce the emerging church movement (and the postmodern culture to which it is trying to minister) to church leaders who "may as yet be unaware of the significant developments taking place" (238). The authors definitely seem to have accomplished their mission, but they do so without offering much of their own theological reflection or critique. They function more like sociologists.

I recall attending a session at the American Academy of Religion Meeting 2008 on "Theology Pub." It was held at a pub and coordinated by a Lutheran minister who has a similar monthly event at her own church in Denver, Colorado; Ryan Bolger was among her featured guests. The session functioned much like a commercial for the different people's "cool" ministries - the tone was "check us out." People were asking questions about how they could do something similar in their own churches - as if emerging church was a product they were considering for themselves. I do not think Gibbs and Bolger have that tone in their book, but I fear that that is the way such a book will be "consumed." Do we put our congregations, our local communal attempts at faithful embodiment of the good news, up for consumption when we write about them in a book? How can we write in a way that does not contribute to the emerging church simply becoming another trend or marketing ploy to be used up and distorted by others – others, no less, who also call themselves Christian?

It is clear from the congregations that Gibbs and Bolger studied that each of these are born out of their particular context, the particular concerns of the people involved, and out of the participants' desire to be a more faithful church (even in the different ways they understand faithfulness). However, I worry that when we study new congregational phenomenon we do so in such a way that strips the congregations of their integrity, that reduces them to a consumable good, and if found worthy, offers them as something to be replicated – or if found unworthy, tears them to theological shreds.

In the acknowledgements and the conclusion, Gibbs and Bolger express their gratitude to the congregations who welcomed them and also recognize that many of these congregations are “new, fragile, vulnerable, and in locations subject to rapid change;” however, I wonder if that is enough. As practical theologians who will engage in our own research with congregations, how do we proceed in a way that encourages and supports congregations in their communal efforts toward faithfulness, does not make them into a consumable products, and honors the particularity and vulnerability of their own journey, even while they contribute to ours?

UnChristian, by David Kinnaman

David Kinnaman. Unchristian: What a New Generation Really Thinks About Christianity…and Why it Matters. Grand Rapids, Michigan: Baker Books, 2007.

Book Review submitted by Xochitl Alvizo, Ph.D. Candidate in Practical Theology, Concentration: Congregation and Community

Unchristian is a book that results from a research project inspired by Gabe Lyons’ interest to “help a new generation of leaders understand the perceptions and images that young people have of Christianity,” perceptions he already suspected to be very negative (13). To this end he partnered with David Kinnaman, the primary author of the book, in launching an extensive three-year research project in which thousands of people between the ages of sixteen to twenty-nine[1] were either surveyed or interviewed about their perceptions of Christianity from an outsider’s point of view. The result of the research shows a predominantly negative view of Christianity by those outside of it – referred to in the book as ‘outsiders’; one that is not based on unfounded perceptions, but grounded in the personal experiences outsiders have had with Christians and with the church (often they are people who are “dechurched” and not simply “unchurched”).

Although the authors consider their research to be “objective” (a word they frequently use both in the book and in interviews posted online), their presentation of the research in this book is shaped by very explicit objectives: “to be strategic agents for the kingdom of God” (8), to “connect more effectively with people outside the faith” (14), “to engage nonChristians and point them to Jesus” (16), and “to be effective agents of spiritual transformation in people’s lives” (19). In an interview posted online Kinnaman states, “The central message of this book is, How do we understand, accept, love and bring the transformational power of Jesus to a generation that is very skeptical, that is very done with Christianity as we’ve expressed it in this culture for the last twenty, thirty years, fifty years.”[2]

Although their study is designed to find out what outsiders think of Christianity, the authors also have very specific ideas about Mosaics and Busters.[3] For example, according to Kinnaman and Lyons, Mosaics and Busters have an “anything goes mindset” (36), an “image-driven, self-oriented mindset” (43), they are irreverent, blunt, skeptical and are “in a nearly constant search for fresh experiences and new sources of motivations” (22-23). What the authors make clear is that even as they set out to discover how Christianity is perceived by outsiders, it is not primarily for the purposes of their own self-reflection and transformation as Christians, but so that Christians can get to know and love Mosaic and Buster outsiders in order to “turn them to Jesus” (96); Jesus being of greatest importance since the authors believe that Jesus is “the starting point” where people’s lives really begin (20, italics mine). It is as if once they know who they are up against, they will be able to adjust their “strategy” in order to “bring people to Christ” – or in other words – once they know their potential customer they can adjust their marketing strategy to more effectively sell Christ to them. This kind of basic marketing approach grounds the book.[4]

The research is very interesting, and to those outside the church (or those within the church who are not insulated by it) the results are of little to no surprise. The research shows that Mosaic and Buster outsiders’ perceptions of Christianity are overwhelmingly negative (9 out of twelve). The three most common perceptions are that Christians are anti-homosexual, judgmental, and hypocritical, in that order. Also, the authors point out that these perceptions are in most cases (50% or more) directly related to outsiders’ negative experiences at church or in relationship with Christians (31). However, despite such interesting and valuable research the authors have seriously missed the mark. Why not simply stop with their research findings alone and reflect on how unchristian “Christians” are? The authors themselves admit to much of the truth that lies behind outsiders’ perceptions of Christians – why not stop there and leave the outsiders out of what is clearly a Christian problem? According to the book Christians have serious problems that go beyond a simple “image” problem among outsiders, so why do the authors not encourage their Christian readers to focus on their own communal relationship with the Divine and their own transformation toward Christ-likeness instead of continuing to get ahead of themselves and strategize to sell a salvation they do not themselves know or have?

Embedded in the book as well is a similar sentiment from the authors themselves. They recognize that Mosaics and Busters “rarely see Christians who embody service, compassion, humility, forgiveness, patience, kindness, peace, joy, goodness, and love” (37) – clearly an internal Christian problem. They admit that as Christians we “need to make continual, honest evaluations of ourselves so that we can uncover the ways in which our lives do not accurately reflect what we profess” (37). Why not then write the book with a focus on those objectives? Instead, underlying the entire book is the very “ulterior motive” outsiders are clearly aware of – Christians “love” you not because that is who they are as Christians, that is people who are called to love, but only because they have an agenda with you (68); the book reflects this very same disgrace.

What is the nature and mission of the church I see underlying this book? The church is a people set apart to live up to God’s higher standards,[5] though unworthy just like everybody else, they are able to do so (though some will admit they fall short) because they have accepted salvation through Jesus’ death sacrifice. As a result, they are now partners with God, commissioned to get everyone else on board to “His” standards and into “His” kingdom. And it is here that I suspect lies a major problem in this project; the authors are functioning out of an understanding of the nature of the church as that of being on the “winning side” of things, the “saved” side of creation. The nature of the church is not truly understood to be about a people who are Christ-like, or about a new divine reality, although this does at times come across in the authors’ content, but is in effect reduced to being ‘winners’ on God’s side. And when one is on the winning “saved” side, one is a little better than everyone else, gives oneself permission to have bragging rights, and feels justified in getting out there and recruiting others to their better, winning team; which is the function of the church most reflected in this book.

I can definitely sense Kinnaman and Lyons navigating the tension of their research findings and their understanding of Christian mission. They grapple with both their desire for Christians to be more Christ-like in their engagement with the other, and their belief that Christianity represents the “winning” team, which in turn motivates their strategizing to get outsiders on their side. Does this, I wonder, render them unchristian according to their own research findings?

Does God Need the Church, by Gerhard Lohfink

Gerhard Lohfink. Does God Need the Church? Toward a Theology of the People of God. Collegeville, Minnesota: The Liturgical Press, 1999.

Book Review submitted by Xochitl Alvizo, Ph.D. Candidate in Practical Theology, Concentration: Congregation and Community

The work of salvation that God has done in Christ is not realized in its full scope if Christ does not take form in the church (footnote, 302). This is a central point for Gerard Lohfink in his book, Does God Need the Church? To help the church understand what this means and help the church grasp the immensity of what it is a part, Lohfink traces God’s actions all through history, beginning with creation, and more specifically, traces God’s actions to one person in one place, Abram in Palestine. The church is a continuation of the work that God began three thousand years ago. The work that God has done for the salvation of the world began with Abraham, culminated with Jesus, but continues in the church. The church (the body of Christ, the people of God, the people gathered, eschatologically renewed Israel) is that through which the whole world is to be saved. The world is supposed to be able to look at the church and see “how God proposes that human society should be” (302). The church is the “realm within which Christ rules” (260), it offers the world an embodied social reality through which it can see and taste, and perhaps freely choose, God’s salvation. 

Lohfink stresses that the church is a continuation of God’s salvation plan for the world, a plan that began in such a small way with one person in one place and time. That God started small for God’s revolutionary plan for the whole world, is no small point. It is important not only because by starting small God is able to preserve human freedom, but it is important because by starting in a small concrete, visible, and tangible place and time, God offers the world an opportunity to “behold and test this new thing” (27). The church is now supposed to be that concrete tangible place, body, where the world can come and see. As Lohfink places the church in the greater context of God’s plan for the world, demonstrating the centrality of its existence for salvation, he then also demonstrates the necessity of the church’s unity, unanimity, if it is to fulfill that identity and purpose in the world. The church is the gathered people of God who have answered God’s call and have surrendered their life to God for the embodiment of God’s new creation. But how can God’s new creation be embodied if God’s people are not of one Spirit, in Christ? Lohfink pinpoints the tragedy of the condition of Christianity, which he likens to a broken mirror that distorts the image of Christ, to the divisions that have plagued the church from its very early history (298). He points out that even Jesus’ farewell prayer highlights the necessity of unity in the church so that the world would also believe. Jesus prayed, “I ask…that they may all be one. As you, Father, are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent me” (298). Lohfink then makes the point that the “divisions in the people of God makes it almost impossible for the world to believe” (299).

What is Lohfink’s solution then? Part of it is what he does with this book. The way that he traces and remembers the church’s history within Israel’s history and the way he digs deep into the scriptures as a whole is what he believes the whole church must also do. The church needs to go back to its beginnings, it needs to trace its roots and identity in Israel and understand that the church belongs to Israel. In this way the church can begin to mend one of its very first divides. And to do this the church needs to first and foremost take the history of God’s work seriously as it has been recorded in scripture; the church needs to take the whole of the Bible seriously, not just parts. And as Peter did, the people of God need to believe with their whole passionate selves, they need to repent and stand undividedly at Jesus’ disposal, devoting their lives for Jesus’ cause (306). This is done in obedience, and can only happen “when those assembled finally cease looking at themselves…the miracle of unanimity is only possible when the assembly turns away from itself and its own interests and asks about God’s interests. What does God will?” (301)

Reading Lohfink, with the depth with which he engages the scriptures and the passion out of which he clearly writes, is inspiring and reminds me what I love about Christianity. The way in which God begins a new creation in one place with one person in a very particular moment in history, of which the church gets to be a part and in which it gets to continue, the enormity of that idea, that theology, is beyond words for me, it is something that either takes hold of you or not. At the same time, there are questions I have that Lohfink does not adequately address. There is a hierarchy of power in the church, and in every assembly of its people, that has claimed to know what God’s interests are and acts against others with this claimed “authority”. I suppose we all do, but obviously some much more than others. How do we overcome the (rightful) distrust we have with one another, and with the “offices” of the church in particular, to the point were we are able to stand “undividedly at Jesus’ disposal”? How do we, as part of the church which has historically failed to live into its identity and purpose at unspeakable cost to millions throughout history, even trust one another enough to surrender our lives in unity knowing full well the reality of the misuse of power among us? And yes, it is in God whom we trust, not ourselves or one another, for we know humans are bound to err. But what does this practically and literally mean? What does it look like to trust God in the reality of this world?

Does surrender to God mean surrender to this world and to all its systems of oppression and death as we finally cease looking at ourselves? Does this mean I no longer look to protect myself and others from these systems? For example, does it mean that I go back to Catholicism, regardless of whether it denies my ability to serve as priest, for the sake of our witness, the church’s unanimity? Since my trust is not in the church but in God, do I submit then in obedience? No longer functioning out of the myth of individualism or that of an autonomous self but as one in communion with God? Is unanimity really possible in this time that Alisdair MacIntyre affirmed as the dark ages?[1] Would Lohfink be satisfied to settle for “new forms of community within which the moral life could be sustained,” which MacIntyre proposes is the way to survive these dark ages? Lohfink understands the church as having a much greater purpose; the church is to have the meaning of creation shine forth from it (120). Is it enough for it to exist as new forms of community without the unanimity for which he passionately advocates? A unanimity that seems greatly unlikely and too often comes at a great cost to some much more than it does to others.

Work in the Spirit, by Miroslav Volf

Title:  Work in the Spirit:  Toward a Theology of Work

Author:  Miroslav Volf

Publisher:  Eugene, OR: Wipf and Stock Publishers, 2001

Reviewer:  Josh Sweeden, Ph.D. Student in Practical Theology

What would it mean if the starting point for a theology of work was the Spirit and charisma instead of creation and vocation? Theologies of work have been dominated by the latter two motifs, neither remains inadequate, but at the same time, Miroslav Volf argues that neither is comprehensive enough. For a Christian theology of work Volf suggests a shift “from the vocational understanding of work developed within the framework of the doctrine of creation to a pneumatological one developed within the framework of the doctrine of the last things” (ix). A pneumatological theology of work is “based on the concept of charisma,” while a doctrine of the last things is found in an “eschatological realism” (ix,x). Developing this shift and showing its importance for a theology of work is the project of this text; Volf steadily and acutely argues for its necessity.

Taking an approach similar to a practical theological method, Volf first describes the problem with work today, citing its tendency to exploit, discriminate, destruct environment, and cause dissatisfaction.   Of great concern is the dehumanization caused by work, and though Volf’s focus is industrial and post-industrial societies, the dehumanizing effects of work are evident throughout the world. Volf also describes the two dominant understandings of work presented by Adam Smith and Karl Marx. While an appropriate theology of work is not to be found in capitalist or socialist constructions, if it “wants to be relevant…there is no getting around the dominant philosophies of work in these [developed and developing] societies” (46). Volf’s analysis of Smith and Marx is specific to the issues of work, notably, the purpose of work, the division of labor, and the alienation of the worker from self, community, and product. Both Smith and Marx prescribe work as a central function in their economic proposals. And though their differences are seemingly evident, Volf shows their commonality as he explains how the function of both capitalism and socialism revolves around particular understandings of work.

In the second part of Work in the Spirit Volf provides a critical theological evaluation of work and its dominant understandings in contemporary society. Working toward a pneumatological theology of work, Volf first suggests that a theology of work should be based on charisms and that “the various activities human beings do in order to satisfy their own needs and the needs of their fellow creatures should be viewed from the perspective of the operation of God’s Spirit” (88). Second, Volf displays the significance of eschatological understandings for a theology of work. Contrasting what he calls the “two basic eschatological models,” annihilatio mundi and transformatio mundi, Volf finds that “radically different theologies of work follow” (89). While there are possibilities for good work in both models, it is the transformatio mundi that best allows for “human work as cooperation with God” (98). According to Volf, “God the Creator chooses to become ‘dependent’ on the human helping hand and makes human work a means of accomplishing his work in the world” (99).

Following the eschatological model of transformatio mundi, Volf continually emphasizes work in the Spirit as work in the new creation. “Without the Spirit there is no experience of the new creation!” The purpose of work, therefore, is “active anticipation of the transformatio mundi;” living into the new creation by practicing the charisms granted by God in the Spirit (102). Volf shows how this understanding of work differs from vocational understandings, of which he provides six strong critiques, and “supplies a stable foundation…both faithful to divine revelation and relevant to the modern world of work” (110). Ultimately, the emphasis on charism affirms two aspects necessary for a contemporary theology of work; it relies on cooperation with both God and community and makes it possible to understand the work of non-Christians pneumatologically (117-119).   These two aspects stretch a pneumatological theology of work beyond a theology of vocation. Volf concludes the second part of his text by addressing the implications of work as cooperation with nature. He provides an excellent analysis of the true meaning of “dominion” over nature while showing the dynamic relationship between humans and creation founded in the activity of the Spirit.

The final part of the text (technically still part two according to the book division) is devoted to the transformation of work from alienation to humanization. By “alienating work” Volf says he is “referring to a significant discrepancy between what work should be as a fundamental dimension of human existence and how it is actually performed and experienced by workers” (157). This alienation, between what work should be and what it is, can only be brought together by the humanization of work—work that “corresponds to God’s intent for human nature” (160, 168). Alienation of work takes many forms. Volf mentions the objectification of the worker, practices of “scientific management” under F.W. Taylor’s formulation, mechanization that stifles creativity and freedom, and the false goal of work to feed self interest. Much of the alienation of work is a result of the inversion of means and ends as “what should be an end in itself is perverted into a mere means for some other, less noble end” (172). Volf argues that “for the majority of people in the modern industrial and information societies, work is no end in itself, but a necessary means” (195). For work to be human, work must be an end in itself. “Because humanity is exclusively a gift from God, a person can be fully human without working, but because God gave him humanity partly in order to work, he cannot live as fully human without working. It is, therefore, contrary to the purpose of human life to reduce work to a mere means of subsistence. One should not turn a fundamental aspect of life into a mere means of life” (197). Volf concludes that the alienation of work will only be overcome through its humanization, and “to have full human dignity, it must be significant for people as work, not merely as a necessary instrument of earning or of socializing; and they must enjoy work” (197). Working in full human dignity is to experience work as cooperation with God in the new creation; a possibility only because of the person of the Spirit.

There are many aspects of this text that make it a necessary read for anyone interested in theology of work. Volf’s development of pneumatology as the foundation of theology of work reshapes the conversation in significant and needed ways as theology interacts and addresses realities of work in the modern—and now postmodern—world. Relating work to eschatology and charisms allowed Volf to contrast alienating work from human work, showing how only the latter is cooperative with God and anticipates the new creation. These elements alone, plus the wonderful insights that help comprise his main theses, make this text a substantial contribution to the theology of work.

Two issues remain unaddressed in the text from which it would benefit greatly. First is Volf’s emphasis on the need for human work to be enjoyable. Certainly this is an ideology of work for which Christians should strive as they anticipate the new creation, and not the reality of work in the world. Nevertheless, as Volf seeks to transform work from its alienation some engagement with the undignified, dissatisfying, non-creative, and un-freeing reality of work today would be helpful. In the midst of this reality—people whose work is such and have no option to choose otherwise—how might work become humane? How does the new creation break in to their reality? Can their work be free from alienation or must they simply hold on to an ideological transformation? A second unaddressed issue, and central to Volf’s argument for a new theology of work, is why a pneumatology of work is the necessary lens. Work in the Spirit is in response to the common placement of theology of work in the doctrine of creation. The necessity of this move makes clear sense; Volf does a superb job of arguing for the needed change. But why the Spirit and not Christ? Or at least, why not both pneumatology and Christology? Charism is equally understood in light of the body of Christ. John Howard Yoder does exactly this in Body Politics on the “Fullness of Christ.” For him, the “the distribution of gifts to all is a part of the victory of Christ” made evident in the life of the early church (Body Politics, 48). Not that Yoder need be a voice in Volf’s theology of work, but certainly, as Yoder shows, charism or gift require more than a pneumatology for a rich Christian theological interpretation. How might a Christological theology of work also overcome some of the misunderstandings of work under the doctrine of creation? How is the person of Christ relevant to work today? The new creation? And the move from alienation to humanization? Even if Volf finds pneumatology to offer more than Christology for a theology of work, the why still needs to be answered. This, I fear, is a major shortcoming of this text.

Wendell Berry and the Cultivation of Life, by J. Matthew Bonzo and Michael R. Stevens

Title:                    Wendell Berry and the Cultivation of Life

Author:                J. Matthew Bonzo and Michael R. Stevens

Publisher:           Grand Rapids, MI: Brazos Press, 2009

Reviewer:  Josh Sweeden, Ph.D. Student in Practical Theology

Matthew Bonzo and Michael Stevens believe Wendell Berry is a crucial voice for the world today, and more particularly, for Christians today. Their project is simple: to analyze and evaluate Wendell Berry’s writings theologically, addressing themes congruent with contemporary theological concerns while acknowledging ways Berry’s vision can be adopted and lived. It’s no secret that Bonzo and Stevens find Berry to be a profound writer who provides the church with a new vision of life. While Berry’s writing is unlike traditional theological writing, Bonzo and Stevens affirm Hauerwas’ statement at the end of the Gifford Lectures in “The Necessity of Witness” when he “offers John Paul II, John Howard Yoder, and Wendell Berry as crucial voices exhorting the church to a properly countercultural vision of life.” Though Berry seems like a “surprising inclusion” in this list, Bonzo and Stevens argue it is because Berry “represents the fullest embodiment of telling ‘the Story’ through stories…Berry’s work is precisely the sort of ‘renarration’ that can bring healing and make visible the call to ‘practice resurrection’” (35).

Three significant themes evident in the writings of Wendell Berry constitute the heart of this text. Bonzo and Stevens first engage Berry’s notion of healing, a constant theme in Berry’s writings referring to individuals, communities, land, home, education, and society as a whole. Berry believes that all of these suffer from disease and are in need healing. Berry maintains a “creation-centric” vision which upholds the good of God’s created order while also maintaining its ‘fallen-ness’ and need for redemption. The disease needing to be addressed is partly due of the reality of a fallen creation. More important for Berry, however, is modernity’s proliferation of disease. Against the specific ills of modernity Berry provides a new vision for life which he finds rooted in the good of creation, community, and cultivation.

A second significant theme Bonzo and Stevens engage is hospitality. Berry’s descriptions of the community and household consistently establish hospitality as its center. Permeability of boundaries is how Bonzo and Stevens describe Berry’s hospitality. While communities and households maintain certain boundaries necessary for life together, the practice of hospitality makes these boundaries fluid and flexible. Hospitality involves “temporary or provisional entry into the membership of place and relationships.” It is a form of risk. Continuing the theme of health, Bonzo and Stevens note that communities “must already have a measure of health…[and] proof of willingness to be vulnerable” (141). Exploring Berry’s various writings, Bonzo and Stevens note six categories of hospitality integrally tied to community life. Ultimately hospitality is the practice of offering healing; it “has room for the wounded (and for being wounded).” In hospitality there must “be room for everyone, with the only caveat being that love must be accepted as given; it must be received as gift” (163). When hospitality becomes understood primarily as a practice of households and communities questions regarding the true inclusivity of women and marginalized peoples must be raised. Bonzo and Stevens address this briefly by stating the importance of such questions, noting that rural communities historically have not offered sufficient “quality of life and status to women.” Furthermore, they wonder how “marginalized groups of all sorts fit Berry’s notion of local, healing community” (116). In the midst of these questions, Bonzo and Stevens are explicit in acknowledging the varied possibilities for community and household. Working a farm in rural Kentucky is not, and should not be, the only option for all, what matters is making community and home in the place where we find ourselves, to “start where we are, and we’re all somewhere” (123). This does not negate some of the unjust and oppressive patterns present in rural communities and households, but it does show that Berry’s vision is not tied to a fixed understanding of rural America, but can (and should) be dynamic and embodied differently in varying contexts.

A final significant theme of Berry’s that Bonzo and Stevens consistently note is household. “Households are not utopias, nor are the communities they ideally help to build” (113). Households carry certain structures of authority, maintain various traditions and norms, and form specific virtues and character traits. It’s not uncommon for these to be problematic; as capable as households are for establishing ‘good,’ they can be equally destructive and ill-ordered. Nevertheless, a revival of household economics is needed according to Berry. One fundamental way this is accomplished is by countering the modern ideal of separation of work and home. Berry argues that “healthy households cannot be fostered when work is utterly external to the home.” Today work is something we “just attempt to escape,” and as a result, “our home becomes merely a place of recreation.” What “Berry calls for is a return of work to the home, because this is the place where character and communal virtues are formed” (112).

In addition to the significant attention given to the three themes discussed above, Bonzo and Stevens engage Berry’s theological contributions on topics of creation, gift, place, education, and redemption. This text is undoubtedly a needed complement to Berry’s prolific writing for all who wish to engage him theologically. The writings of Wendell Berry have, and will continue to have, a widespread influence. Reading Berry with a theological lens greatly assists the church to embody the alternative and redemptive forms of life presented by Berry—arguably forms of life necessary for Christian witness.

Bonzo and Stevens’ exploration of Berry does fall short of providing in-depth critical theological evaluation. Though the text intentionally avoids placing Berry under the microscope of a theological discipline and audience to which his writings were never directly written, critical theological evaluation remains necessary before the church and theology can assert and appropriate Berry’s contributions. Bonzo and Stevens are exceptional at displaying the strengths of Berry and possible ways the church’s life and theology can be enhanced. Some issues, however, require more critical evaluation. Berry’s creation-centrism, as one example, should not be presented without significant theological discussion regarding its interplay and distinction from Christocentrism. How might Berry’s thesis shift in light of the person of Jesus Christ? How might the church adapt Berry’s contributions, but necessarily challenge his theological foundation, to more appropriately reflect the Christian emphasis on Christ as the starting point for theology?

Ultimately, Bonzo and Stevens themselves make a substantial contribution to the church and theology by exploring the implications and possibilities for the church and Christian life evident in the writings of Wendell Berry. As the authors appropriately display, Wendell Berry is “a necessary voice.” Without a text as comprehensive and articulate as this one, Berry’s voice could not be as far-reaching or as sensibly understood.

Theories of Culture: A New Agenda for Theology, by Kathryn Tanner and Paul Lakeland, Eds.

Title:    Theories of Culture: A New Agenda for Theology

Author:      Kathryn Tanner and Paul Lakeland, Eds.

Publisher:   Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1997

Reviewed by:   Nell Becker Sweeden, Ph.D. Student in Practical Theology

In Theories of Culture: A New Agenda for Theology, Kathryn Tanner opens her first chapters with a comprehensive view of the development of cultural theory and brings this into conversation with theological engagement in the second half of her book. The substance of Tanner’s argument lies in the last three chapters, in which she relies on postmodern cultural theory to engage theology toward a hybrid and ad hoc task of deepening Christian discipleship in various contexts. The bulk of her argument challenges the postliberal conception of theology as an alternative social way of life imbedded within Christian social practices. Additionally, she challenges Troeltschian episodic cultural engagement, or situation-appropriate application and interpretation, and Gadamerian correlationist approaches of tradition as transmission to culture.  Tanner’s ultimate concern is to challenge a theology controlled by cultural dominance—such as preassigned cultural continuity or transmission—or theology confined to reductionism and boundaries. In turn, she seeks an openness to theological engagement with culture that allows for the free movement of God’s grace. Her new agenda for theology is to open up Christian communities of healthy argument toward further creativity and diversity in Christian engagement with the world.

Tanner’s challenge to postliberal theology concentrates on George Lindbeck’s and John Milbank’s approaches. With regard to Milbank, Tanner finds that the possibility of maintaining an alternative Christian social world is difficult to sustain empirically (99). Lindbeck’s cultural-linguistic approach also fosters cultural insularity regarding diverse cultural expression within Christianity. Her challenge to both of these approaches is derived from postmodern cultural theory which articulates a more complicated and ad hoc approach to cultural identity. Tanner finds that postliberal theological approaches can be helpful, but also over simplified. She writes: “One can still agree with postliberal theology that the identity of a Christian way of life is formed by a cultural boundary. This is not, however, the sharp boundary of independent cultural contents as postliberalism at its extreme imagines. The boundary is, instead, one of use that allows Christian identity to be essentially impure and mixed, the identity of a hybrid that always shares cultural forms with its wider host culture and other religions…”(114).

More specifically Tanner does not find that Christian practices and virtues to be able to be isolated from the overlapping activities and memberships Christians encounter within the world. Christian social practices are a part of wider society rather than alternative to or separate from them. She sees postliberal approaches reducing Christian diversity into uniformity of cultural expression. In turn, Tanner proposes a more ad-hoc use of various strategies; guided by the case-by-case judgment of particulars. Her ecclesiological direction is toward “a genuine community of argument, one marked by mutual hearing and criticism among those who disagree, by a common commitment to mutual correction and uplift, in keeping with the shared hope of good discipleship, proper faithfulness, and purity of witness” (123-4). While her proposal is not in conflict with postliberal theology, Tanner here seeks to highlight the need to disagree within communities in order to allow for creativity and diversity in both divine and human expression—theology born out of struggle rather than uniformity. She finds that “In their effort to maintain Christian identity, postliberals are in danger of confusing subordination to the Word with subordination to a human word” (149).

Tanner’s concern is to allow the Spirit to blow freely and not be scripted by human demands (120). In this sense, she simplifies Christian identity to “remaining open to direction for the free grace of God in Christ” (149). In order to do this Tanner sets out some specifics with regard to Christian identity from a postmodern cultural perspective—the diversity of Christian practices are united in a task, rather than pre-scripted by rules or method of investigation (153). Similarly, Christian identity can no longer be determined by “group specificity, sharp cultural boundaries, or homogeneity of practices” (151-2). The boundaries between Christian and non-Christian ways of life cannot be easily separated, but are permeable characteristic of hybrid formulations. And, contrary to postliberal perspectives, what unites Christians are not common practices, but concern for true discipleship.

While Tanner seeks to avoid cultural dominance within Christianity and human prescription of God working in the world, her project is not without its own risks and reductions. She wrestles with the tension of remaining open, but also risks a reduction that leaves Christian identity lacking in substance and conviction. It also remains unclear of what true discipleship consists. Her descriptions remain limited to a watered-down, specifically reformed position of justification by faith, without much tribute to the convictions of other theological traditions. Her approach is open, characteristic of stretching and challenging neat conceptual categories and easily discerned boundaries within theology. For this it is to be commended. At the same time, she opens up herself and her new agenda for theology to this same ongoing struggle. In this way, I will give her credit for but also hold her accountable to the same critiques she poses to others. A new agenda for theology is not complete without its own ‘agenda’. Thus, her argument includes an important postmodern task of holding together, tinkering, and creating ‘bricoleur’ out of a potentially messy reality (166). But, at the same time, her argument also circles back upon itself and risks remaining vague and reductionstic. These are the inherent risks of the form of her argument within a work that specifically addresses and challenges academic theologians; what remains to be investigated are the concrete manifestations of communities of argument and struggle seeking deeper discipleship in hybrid formulations.

Theology of Work, by Darrell Cosden

Title:  A Theology of Work: Work in the New Creation

Author:  Darrell Cosden

Publisher: Paternoster theological monographs. Eugene, OR: Wipf and Stock Publishers, 2006

Reviewer:  Josh Sweeden, Ph.D. Student in Practical Theology

Building from various theological articulations of work, and particularly from twentieth century voices, Darrell Cosden explores his hypothesis for a “normative theological understanding of work.” The hypothesis is twofold—or as he calls it, “a double hypothesis”—that intends to develop a new theological definition of work (10). By the end of the text his definition is composed:

Human work is a transformative activity essentially consisting of dynamically interrelated instrumental, relational, and ontological dimensions: whereby, along with work being an end in itself, the worker’s and others’ needs are providentially met; the believer’s sanctification is occasioned; and workers express, explore, and develop their humanness while building up their natural, social, and cultural environments thereby contributing protectively and productively to the order of this world and the one to come (179).

The twofold hypothesis is reflected in this concluding definition. First, Cosden emphasizes the three-fold nature of work as instrumental, relational, and ontological. Part one of his text is devoted to working through previous constructions of work to uncover this three-fold nature. Jurgen Moltmann and his writings on work serve as Cosden’s primary dialogue partner both in the first part and throughout the text. Other significant theological proposals on work are critically engaged as well, most are commended for what they offer but are ultimately considered insufficient for a complete theology of work. These proposals include Miroslav Volf’s Work in the Spirit, Karl Marx’s views on work and ontology, the Papal encyclical “Laborem Exercens” by Pope John Paul II. There are also various small treatments on work by Martin Luther, John Calvin, Karl Barth, and Dietrich Bonhoeffer that Cosden draws from.

Building from this history of theological constructions on work Cosden believes that a three-fold nature of work is not only possible, but appropriate, for a theology of work. The instrumental understanding of work may be the most deeply rooted. It is found particularly in vocational approaches like those of Luther and Calvin, and remains, according to Cosden “influential in Protestant theology” during the twentieth century. While the vocational model emphasizes the importance of work “instrumentality,” it also emphasizes its “relational aspect” (41). This latter emphasis becomes more robust in the twentieth century, and now, like an instrumental understanding, is assumed in most theological articulations of work. What remains to be developed, therefore, is a rich ontological understanding which takes into account a Christian teleology and human anthropology.

This is precisely where Cosden devotes his energy during the second part of the text. His hypothesis, which seeks to interrelate the instrumental, relational, and ontological elements requires this next step because, as Cosden frequently notes, theological constructions of work remain “less than adequate” (including Moltmann’s) in this regard (77). Two more voices receive attention in Cosden’s exploration before he returns to Moltmann. Cosden considers Alasdair MacIntyre’s After Virtue to be a vital philosophical contribution to teleology. His primary engagement with MacIntyre regards the distinction and interrelatedness of the is and the ought. This is a “reviving of the lost concept of a functional (rational) teleology.” What a “thing is implies inherently how it ought to be or behave” (86). But MacIntyre, according to Cosden, isn’t enough; “for a Christian teleology it is necessary to find a way after MacIntyre” (95). This voice is Oliver O’Donovan who asserts that teleology begins with theology. “It is from the starting point of the resurrection that O’Donovan develops the two doctrines essential for his theological teleology: creation and eschatology” (87). Though Cosden finds that O’Donovan “inadvertently undermines his own project” by “his commitment to objectivism (a strong foundationalism),” Cosden remains particularly fond of the way O’Donovan holds creation and eschatology together. For too long theologies of work have been dominated by protology (doctrine of initial creation) without maintaining a proper eschatology. In bringing together creation and eschatology O’Donovan allows for a creation with movement where “resurrection vindicates created order” (90).

Cosden returns to Moltmann after giving attention to a relational anthropology developed by Colin Gunton and a trinitarian analysis by John D. Zizioulas.   Here Cosden’s intentions are more identifiable. He declares, with Moltmann, that the appropriate starting point for a theological anthropology is humanity’s purpose in creation (131). Human purpose coincides with God’s purpose for the whole creation, “to bring God glory” and even “involves humanity’s enjoyment (with the rest of creation)” as seen in Sabbath (133). Furthermore, Cosden builds on relational anthropology by encouraging a “more inter-dependent give-and-take relationship between the worker and his or her material/environment.” This means that humanity has a “relaxed relationship” with nature where the “goal must be the ‘symbiosis’ between human beings and nature” (136).   The second part of Cosden’s theological definition of work is beginning to take shape. At the end of this second part of the text Cosden brings teleology and anthropology together noting how nature and humanity (all creation) awaits completion in the new creation. His suggestion is that the two be seen in partnership. “Theologically nature is a partner. It is productive (Bloch’s term) but is also like us in that it is unfinished. Because it is unfinished, or open, like humanity nature it must be both object as well as subject” (138). Telos, therefore, is not a finished end, “but should be envisioned as a consummation and a new beginning” (144).   Work, following Cosden’s relational anthropological and ontological approach is one of the primary ways humans, who are “open beings,” apply themselves to the task of living life.” Human work, therefore, is “a central contributor to the evolution of the self both individually and socially” (183). Work is more than instrumental in its participation of the new creation. Cosden states that it becomes glorified in the new creation and even “the distinction between ‘work, ‘rest,’ and ‘play will disappear” (170). Since it is relational and ontological, work does not expire in the new creation. It has intrinsic value as part of the initial creation that will come into consummation but not be negated.

Cosden does an exceptional job exploring the various theological articulations of work, especially in light of contemporary developments in theology and concerns for ecological care. His developments of teleology and ontology are needed additions to the subject and he explores them carefully and with appropriate theological rigor. The text can be burdensome to read, not because of its language or depth (both of which are appropriate), but because it is often repetitive and unnecessarily wordy. In this regard, the text reflects its original purpose as a dissertation where proving, qualifying, and overstating is sometimes necessary. Furthermore, it remains unclear why Moltmann receives so much attention in this text. Moltmann even states in the Foreward to this text that “I have never claimed to have written a comprehensive and consistent theology of work, nor have I wanted to.” Some of Cosden’s critiques of Moltmann come from writings that Moltmann states, “are occasional remarks, in other words they are remarks which belong to a particular context.” With this being the case, the question why Moltmann? seems pertinent. It is evident how influential Moltmann’s theology is for Cosden’s theology of work, but given the critical evaluation of Moltmann specifically on the topic of work, a reader is left only to wonder.

Promised Land, A Perilous Journey, by Daniel G. Groody and Gioacchino Campese, Eds.

Title:                    A Promised Land, A Perilous Journey: Theological Perspctives on Migration

Author:               Daniel G. Groody and Gioacchino Campese, Eds.

Publisher:          Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2008

Reviewer:  Nell Becker Sweeden, Ph.D. Student in Practical Theology

A Promised Land: A Perilous Journey: Theological Perspectives on Migration is a compilation of essays that brings together Christian leaders and lay people, cultural anthropologists and sociologists, practioners and professors, Scalabrinian missionaries, and theologians on the theme of the U.S.-Mexico border and migration. These authors explore migration through four lenses: 1) foundations of a theology of migration; 2) mission, ministry, and migration; 3) the politics of sovereign rights, cultural rights, and human rights; and 4) constructive theologies of immigration. Each of the essays offers a rich perspective on the dignity, journey, life, rights, and spirituality of migrants, as well as their contribution to the life of the church. For the purposes of this summary, I wish to highlight some of the rich ecclesiological implications within a theology of migration.

I begin with a statement that frames two ecclesiological foundations for what it means to be a church for migrants: The church needs to be “an inn for weary travelers of the borderlands and frontiers, and an outpost of hope for exiles bound for the city of God” (Mark Griffin and Theron Walker, see p. 91). First, the offering of hospitality and, second, the calling the people of God toward pilgrimage are central to what it means to be church in the context of migration. Both of these aspects of the church’s identity involve movement toward and with migrants and together as the body Christ.

With regard to both hospitality and pilgrimage, Stevan Bevans, in “Mission among Migrants, Mission of Migrants: Mission of the Church,” explores the degree to which the church is transformed by those considered “others” in its midst. Important to this transformation is the church’s ability to welcome migrants as “gifts” rather than as “strangers.” This implies that the migrants are participants in the church, by being welcomed as those who shape and contribute to the identity and life of the church. Bevans offers ecclesiological reflection on how migrants call the church: 1) to its true identity in catholicity and unity in diversity, 2) to its pilgrim nature as the people of God always en route toward God, and 3) to rely on God rather than self-sufficiency, which is revealed in the migrant’s own need and dependence on God during her journey.

In this sense, the reality of migrants journeying toward and criss-crossing over the U.S.-Mexico border directs the church toward more authentic and needed participation in God’s mission. For example, the existence of migrants in the body of Christ makes for the necessary distinction between church as “building” and church as “mission” and directs the church to God—who is found on the road and crossing borders rather than in holy buildings (101). Additionally, in reference to the catholicity of the church, Patrick Murphy notes that the reality of migrants in our faith communities points to the fact that an open church—called to open wide its doors— is a church without borders (148). This, in turn, points the church toward action and movement toward and with the migrant—“from the pews to the shoes” (150). In addition, Jorge E. Castillo Guerra offers an intercultural methodology based on the coming together of many cultures through migration. Ecclesial “practices that are prophetic, communal, hope-filled, and based on convivencia and solidarity” reflect this intercultural methodology for a theology of migration within the church (243).

Daniel Groody and Stephan Bevans particularly set out to explore the possibility of meeting Christ in the migrant. This meeting occurs through a hospitality that not only welcomes the migrant into a new community, but welcomes her as a gift that brings Christ and calls the body of Christ toward further faithfulness and transformation. Bevans offers the reality of the “Border Christ” or “Migrant Christ” and the possibility of seeing the “face of God” in the “faces of migrants” (90, 94). In the book’s closing chapter, Groody offers insight into how the migrant’s journey parallels the structural core of the liturgy of the Eucharist reflected in the four verbs that Jesus uses in Luke’s gospel (304-305). First, the migrant’s difficult decision to migrate often originates in the reality of not enough bread to eat; this, in turn, parallels Jesus’ action in “he took the bread” (305). Again, the migrant’s compelling testimony of faith and thankfulness amidst sadness, suffering, and pain, parallels Jesus’ action in “he said the blessing” (307). The migrant being broken on a daily basis to provide bread for her family reflects Jesus’ action in “he broke the bread” (308). Finally, the migrant pouring out her life for the good of others, parallels Jesus’ final action “and he gave it to his disciples” (310). In this way, Groody presents the eucharistic invitation to “do this in memory of me,” on behalf of Christ and migrants. In this sense, he hopes to offer both the “Eucharistic perspective of migration” and the “migratory perspective of the Eucharist” reframed in terms of human life and dignity (312). The liturgy of the Eucharist calls the community of faith to transcend borders and see the immigrant with the eyes of Christ and, at the same time, to discern Christ in the eyes of the immigrant (313).

Living the Hospitality of God, by Lucien Richard, O.M.I.

Title:              Living the Hospitality of God

Author:         Lucien Richard, O.M.I.

Publisher:    New York, Mahway, N.J.: Paulist Press, 2000

Reviewer:  Nell Becker Sweeden, Ph.D. Student in Practical Theology

Lucien Richard, in Living the Hospitality of God, provides an in-depth analysis of Christian hospitality to the stranger and reaffirms this practice as the necessary action of ushering God’s reign, particularly in light of contemporary situations of rampant individualism in America and the staggering reality of displaced peoples and refugees. Hospitality challenges one to accept the ‘other’ as other and the ‘stranger’ as one bearing strange culture to the observer. This encounter requires attentive listening and willingness to enter into another’s world and be transformed by this world. The welcome of hospitality, he argues, performs the transformation of oneself by the existence of the ‘other’. This transformation profoundly affects the body of the church and points it toward the Kingdom of God. It is this transformation of the body of Christ that I will highlight for the purposes of further ecclesiological investigation in hospitality.

Richard provides a thorough historical and scriptural analysis of the foundations of hospitality to the stranger in order to establish how the Kingdom of God relates to this hospitality. First, Richard highlights Hebrew and Christian scriptures as the foundation of God’s call to hospitality. These various stories become the impetus for the people of God to be attentive to the needs of neighbor, stranger, and enemy. Richard follows Israelite history and a people called to identify with the stranger because of its own strange origins. Beginning with God’s call to leave one’s homeland and enter into a strange land, typified in Abraham, Richard traces Israel through the desert wilderness journeying toward the Promise Land. In this sojourn, wilderness, homeland, and land become powerful symbols and reminders of God’s call to be strangers, as well as God’s accompanying grace, guidance, and provision in this journey. The identity of God’s people as strangers is something they are called never to forget. More still, the encounter with other strangers depicted in the Hebrew scriptures, also becomes an occasion for encounter with God. This identity and history, and the possibilities and responsibilities inherent within them, become central to what it means to be the people of God in present-day. This rich history guides the body of Christ today in continuing, embodying, and living into its identity and heritage. The narrative history and identity formed here become the foundation for the nature and mission of church.

Richard finds the longer tradition of ancient Israel essential to the body of Christ in understanding where the ethical responsibility for Christian hospitality originates. Next, Richard explores hospitality in the narrative of the Christian scriptures embodied in the life of Jesus Christ. Richard specifically highlights the nature of hospitality in: 1) Matthew 25:31-46 to welcome the stranger as Christ himself, for such a welcome bears on eternal destiny; 2) the Road to Emmaus (Luke 24:13-25) as the reversal of the role of stranger and guest in the breaking of the bread; 3) the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:29-37) as the man who was a neighbor to the injured man offering him his own possessions; 4) the writings of Paul in connecting hospitality as the common virtue that unites the church as “family” or “household of God” in its early mission and expansion; and 5) in 1 Peter connecting hospitality with how those formerly outcasted are now welcomed as the elect and privileged people of God. These scriptures and narratives continue to shape the people of God as the body of Christ—a people both characterized and transformed by hospitality to the stranger, the social outcast, the neighbor, and the enemy.

These scriptural narratives call the people of God toward continual responsibility to the stranger—this is an essential component of the church’s identity and witness. It would be interesting to explore how the hospitality inherent within these scriptures is re-narrated and performed within a local congregation. In a particular Christian community, How is this identity and ethical responsibility shaped after the commands of scripture or the narrative embodiment of Jesus Christ?  How is the narrative of the Scriptures embodied and performed in a community of faith? How are these scriptures remembered and employed in action? Do the scriptures form the origin of the calling of the people of God to hospitality and/or the church’s continual motivation and memory? How do these scriptures carry over and continue to shape into the identity, life, and witness of the church?

Finally, Richard presents hospitality to the stranger as the work of the Spirit in unifying the household of God. The new humanity in Jesus Christ is always a “home-in-process,” and the people of God are partners in the building of the Kingdom (42-43). This is a home and place that never arrive. The new humanity is always moving as pilgrims toward the heavenly city. This constant movement of hospitality has important bearings on how the body of Christ understands possession and power within the world. In the hospitality of God in Christ, the Kingdom of God exemplifies the great reversal of power. The power of powerlessness in the life, death, and resurrection of Christ suggests a reversal of power and reorientation of possessions. The crucifixion exemplifies the letting go of everything for the other, while the resurrection offers the gift of life to the powerless (48). This new reality in Christ is embodied in the paschal mystery and celebrated in the Eucharist. These practices orient the people of God toward right attitude toward possessions, toward open welcome of all, and toward a life of interdependence, mutuality, and reciprocity within the household of God. Richard describes the household, kingdom, or reign of God as a verb that signifies God’s activity—God being with us and God in relation (39, 55). The church’s orientation toward this reign leads it to relation and hospitality on the margins of society evident in Jesus’ incarnation as kenosis, a radical impoverishment for the sake of another—that is, for all humanity (56).

This witness, way of life, and these practices are signs of a faith community’s identity in the hospitality narrated by the scriptures. One can begin to look for the signs of the reign of God evident within a faith community by investigating the narratives, images, and motivation that lie behind, before, and within such practices and visible witness. The scriptures call for certain actions toward and interaction with the stranger, which continue to shape the community into the body of Christ. In this sense, it is important to discern what narrative and which vision are shaping the identity and witness of the church, as well as what concrete practices and what visible witness are revealing that vision within the world. Borrowing from Luke Timothy Johnson, Richard finds that the vision of God’s reign “encourages a diaspora ethics of itinerancy, detachment, dispossession, solidarity, and endurance in suffering, rather than a homeland ethics of stability, engagement, acquisition, and human fulfillment in the present life” (79). Thus this question will continue to be explored, How is a faith community as the body of Christ living into the way of life that scripture imagines?

Holy Work, by Dom Rembert Sorg

Title:  Holy Work: Toward a Benedictine Theology of Manual Labor

Author:  Dom Rembert Sorg

Publisher:  Santa Ana, CA: Source Books, 2003

Reviewer:  Josh Sweeden, Ph.D. student in Practical Theology

Originally published in 1951, Dom Rembert Sorg’s theological engagement of the Benedictine understanding of manual labor remains a classic text today. The latest edition, published in 2003, contains a preface written by Brian Terrell, O.S.B., and member of the Strangers and Guests Catholic Worker Farm in Maloy, Iowa. This new edition, with a preface by Terrell, displays the profound influence Sorg’s text has had not only for Benedictine monasteries but also for contemporary movements like the Catholic Worker which draws heavily from the Benedictine tradition. Indeed, after examining the correlations between the Catholic Worker Movement and Sorg’s text, Brian Terrell exclaims, “I am anxious to get it [Sorg’s text] into the hands of Benedictine and Catholic Worker friends and look forward to the discussions it will spark” (xvi). Concurrent with Terrell, it should also be said that many today, particularly various expressions of intentional communities, will greatly benefit from Sorg’s text and discover a new (or possibly renewed) discussion partner in St. Benedict, the Benedictine Rule, and Sorg’s analysis.

According to Sorg, manual labor follows a monk’s “profession to follow the way of perfection in Christian poverty and charity” (4). The terms poverty and charity shape Sorg’s analysis of manual labor and the monastic tradition throughout the text. While Sorg argues for the centrality of manual labor in the contemplative life, which is, “only the life of faith, sincerely and honestly lived,” he also recognizes that manual labor is not embraced within all monastic tradition(s) and not even in the entirety of the Benedictine tradition. Sorg’s task, therefore, is to raise again the centrality of manual labor for the contemplative Christian life. His text addresses more than monastic communities—though he argues neither poverty nor charity are possible without some form of community—but also the “laity,” who Sorg hopes to show the applicability of his theology of manual labor toward the development of an “ideal social order” (75). It is important to note that Sorg’s “ideal social order” is neither an attempt at, nor an assumption of Christendom.   Sorg’s ideal is a form of “Christian Communism” found in “economically independent communities which renounce the system that is run by the spirit of the world” (81). Not suprisingly, Sorg’s two primary elements of “Christian Communism” are poverty and charity.

Other elements do help compose Sorg’s vision of the Christian community, but poverty and charity are distinctive in light of capitalism and modern constructions of work. Sorg states that Liberalism, which readily expresses itself economically in capitalism, “logically and inevitably makes a king of avarice because it excludes God and gives free play to human nature’s inherited concupiscence” (xviii). As follows, “labor, which is supposed to be a glorious expression of God’s own image and likeness and of love, has become a marketable commodity, valued in dollars and cents, and bought and sold like hogs and potatoes” (xix). Monks, writes Sorg, were pledged to a life of poverty and charity, and because of this “character of their profession…monks had to work” (12). So manual Labor is not only connected ontologically with humanity and our image and likeness of God, argues Sorg, but is instrumental for the embodiment of two fundamental characteristics of “Christ’s work”: poverty and charity.

Jesus’ poverty “repudiated any ownership” of things and thus, a pledge to voluntary poverty would mean that “labor is not to be done for money or any private ownership.” Sorg goes on to say that this “ideal can be realized only in the Christian community” (25). Community members must labor together to be self-supported. This was a central theme of the ancient monastic theology of manual labor prescribed by St. Antony based on his understandings of Paul (5).   Because poverty, expressed primarily in non-ownership, is a Benedictine pledge, manual labor is a necessity. In the history of Benedictine practice, manual labor has not always been prescribed as it had by St. Benedict. The “clericalising” of the monks, the overburdening of monasteries with “too much liturgy,” the “secularization” of monasteries, and “the Intellectual movement” all encouraged the detriment of manual labor in Benedictine monasteries. Clericalization and liturgy placed significant time demands on monks, replacing the central role of daily labor, while intellectualism “substituted” manual labor for study and education. But it was under secularization that “wealth abounded so that there was no economic necessity to work for a living” (55). The centrality of manual labor in Benedictine monasticism is directly tied to the voluntary poverty of monks seeking to live into the characteristics of Christ’s work.

Christ’s “whole spirit proclaims charity” (25).   As a central characteristic of the work of Christ it is a pledge of monks to live charitable lives.   Christian manual labor “finds its ideal and perfection when it is wrought entirely for Christ in the person of the hungry and naked, and not at all for self” (24). Like poverty, charity and almsgiving “necessarily requires community; in the individual members it excludes the motive of self-support. Thus, ideally, the community supports itself while the individual member works entirely for others and never for himself” (12). Manual labor allows for charitable living as the entirety of monastic life is lived for the sake of others. Monastic self-supporting communities ensure that through their manual labor their needs are met, freeing the community from dependence on others from and the burden of seeking support. Also, for the monks, all life was a form of almsgiving. Everything done was for the sake of another—never to build private wealth—which meant that hospitality became a natural outflow of the monastery (101).

Despite the instrumental function of manual labor in sustaining poverty and charity within the community, all work “belongs to the pristine condition of human nature and there is an ontological desire in man [sic] to do it” (17). Sorg understands manual labor to be a “fundamental trait of Christ’s revolution” and therefore dignified in the new creation. He states that the “whole dignifying of manual labor is distinctively Christian” by which he means that the humble are exalted, the proud are disposed, and the distinction between slave and free is erased (79). Manual labor is not, at least within the “ideal social order” to be the work of the marginalized and oppressed—there is no degradation in manual labor or stratification of labor at all.