The findings of six months and fifty thousand miles of travel.
What does the parachurch renewal movement tell us about potential new life within the institutional church? That is the question my wife, Nancy, and I repeatedly asked ourselves as we spent six months visiting what Donald Bloesch calls “centers of Christian renewal.”
Six months was not long enough and fifty thousand miles crisscrossing the world was not far enough to gain a comprehensive view of what God is doing outside normal church structures. But in that time and space we visited forty-three Christian communities scattered across the United States and the world and spent from one to ten days with each one. Those forty-three communities are only a fraction of the more than fifteen hundred retreat and renewal centers that can be identified. They are hardly a base for dogmatic generalizations, but it was a broad enough sampling to profoundly enrich our lives and to rekindle our expectations of new life in the church. The communities we visited covered a broad spectrum—Catholic and Protestant, evangelical and ecumenical, church-sponsored and independent, charismatic and conventional, permanent and temporary. They included not only formal retreat centers and traditional monasteries but communal groups, new Protestant monastic orders on the continent that have emerged from the youth revolt of the 60’s, the European residential schools of evangelism based upon community life and governed by a common discipline, variations in Christian group living associated with the charismatic and Jesus people movements, and human laboratories applying principles of behavioral science to Christian interpersonal relationships. Each movement wants to share the common life in Christ with searching, often suffering people. In this broad and inclusive sense I use the term “renewal movement” here.
Whether monastic or scholastic, each group I visited wanted to share the common life in Christ with searching, suffering people.
All of these movements believe not only that the Holy Spirit is alive today but that he is a person of incredible variety and flexibility. Both the merry Mary Sisters in Darmstadt, Germany and the intellectually oriented students of Francis Schaeffer at L’Abri in Switzerland reflect this, as do the liturgical worship of the white-clad Protestant monks in Taizé and the spontaneous barefoot congregation of Yahweh in Illinois. Or contrast the weekend of silence in an Ignation-inspired retreat at Kirkridge in the mountains of Pennsylvania and the primal screams induced by the spiritual therapy of Cecil Osborne and his associates in California; the life of meditation and prayer by the young men of Jesus Bruderschaff and the involvement in urban life by the young men of Christusträger (both German groups seek to carry out the monastic vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience): the happy houseparties of Lee Abbey in England and the sober prayer vigils of Grandchamps in Switzerland; the stress upon Christian group dynamics by Faith at Work and the emphasis upon individual solitude by the St. Augustine monks in Michigan; the surrender to the Holy Spirit that deliberately avoids glossolalia at Keswick and the surrender that encourages it at nearby St. Michaels-en-belfry; the reflective journal-keeping taught by Ira Progoff and the spontaneous, prophetic utterances encouraged by Graham Pulkingham; the social concern for industrialized society at Iona and the evangelistic passion for unsaved people at Capernwray. These emphases, of course, are not mutually exclusive. There is a time and place for everything, not only for Kohilath in Ecclesiastes but for modern questers of the Spirit also. Nevertheless, God seems to have committed one major emphasis or another to different leaders who have strong personalities. It is a leader’s almost exclusive concentration upon it that gives depth and vitality to a ministry. Those people who offer small doses of many different experiences because they all have value seem to make little lasting impact. The varieties of religious experience, to use William James’s phrase, are not all found in one person. Each individual reflects a limited view of Christ, and together the varying views reveal the Spirit’s diversity.
In each of the communities I visited certain beliefs recurred. I hope that the local church can capture some of the vitality of these beliefs, six in particular. Not all of the spiritual communities emphasize them to the same degree, and occasionally one is exaggerated out of proportion. But each belief is common to every group I visited.
Jesus Is Lord
That simple, personal confession dominated every group, from the most sophisticated to the very elemental. The Colossians-inspired motto of Keswick, “All One In Christ,” was the basis of genuine fellowship, cutting through all the things that so often separate God’s children. People who apply Christ’s life to our world in radically different ways find unity in a common allegiance to him. Theological variations that have proved to be watershed points in church history lost their divisiveness: for example, the mode of baptism, the nature of Jesus’ presence at his table, the preservation of the saints, the structure of church government, the details of eschatology, and even the delineation of the gifts of the Holy Spirit.
As I traveled I found myself united with persons who interpret the Bible and Christian experience very differently than I do. For example, in Germany I, a Baptist, was invited to serve the Eucharist along with a Dutch-Reformed pastor, a Japanese holiness pastor, and a Norwegian Lutheran pastor. The service was conducted in German for people who in World War II had been enemies of those who now served them. To rephrase Paul: “Here there cannot be German and American, circumcised and uncircumcised, Lutheran and Baptist, black and white, but Christ is all and in all” (Col. 3:11). What the ecumenical movement has been unable to accomplish organizationally in all these years the renewal movement has effected spiritually almost overnight. It has made us one in Christ. This is not to gainsay the importance of institutional collaboration; but it is to say that grass-roots unity at the bottom is more authentic than structural unity at the top. Although church scholars must continue to discuss the doctrines that separate the branches of Christendom, renewed laypeople already have fellowship with people of divergent viewpoints because of this common commitment.
The Importance of Scripture
Although biblical hermeneutics and interpretations varied, I found people genuinely relying on Scripture. Usually the approach was devotional rather than systematic, and at times comprehensive exegesis was lacking. But it was nonetheless valid. Christ in the heart and the Bible in the hand are adequate guides for the ordinary Christian.
I was inspired as I strolled through community after community to find people poring over their Bibles under trees or in gardens or by the water. Even the liturgies chanted at Taizé or intoned at Cerne Abbas consisted largely of the Scriptures, especially of the Psalms. In most of the English-speaking centers the Psalms also were sung, which reflects an enduring Scottish influence. And in the charismatic groups scores of biblical texts had been set to music and were sung spontaneously and beautifully, sometimes without accompaniment, sometimes with a guitar, but only rarely with a piano. New song books for worship in which the Scriptures play a dominant role have come out of this.
In some places Bible exposition occupied a central place, notably at L’Abri and at Keswick. Most of the Sunday morning worship at the Huemoz church associated with L’Abri was given to the reading of the Scriptures (three lengthy passages) and their interpretation in a forty-minute sermon. A hallmark of Keswick is a minimum of music and “preliminaries” and a maximum of preaching. Every Sunday and evening service includes two full-length sermons separated by only a hymn. I found briefer homilies preached and specific sessions set aside for serious Bible study in each community.
Aids to individual Bible study generally were available. Most centers maintained libraries where, to my surprise, the largest section tended not to be on devotional but on exegetical materials. These collections of books vary from 15,000 volumes to only a few shelves. All were open shelves with check-outs on the honor system. I found the largest libraries in the order of size, at Hillfield Friary, St. Augustine House, Schloss Mittersill, Lee Abbey, L’Abri, and Iona. I wish I could have spent more time at each one.
In addition to books, however, a number of these centers have valuable tape libraries. The most extensive is at L’Abri where much of the program is based upon listening to tapes. Francis Schaeffer alone is available on twelve hundred hours of tape. Another major tape collection is at Laity Lodge in Texas. There more than a thousand tapes, consisting mostly of messages brought at various retreat programs at the Lodge since its inception, are indexed.
A Rule to Live By
Nearly all of the spiritual renewal centers I visited had some kind of a rule of life. Usually this was printed and varied from a small book at Taizé to a pocket card at Yokefellows. Only in rare instances did I find an open community in which no formal spiritual discipline was demanded. Usually these were the charismatic extended families in which the personal spiritual development of each member was open to the others.
The least demanding discipline called for simple attendance at the daily Eucharist and weekly community meetings, while the most demanding exacted a lifetime commitment to the traditional vows of poverty, celibacy, and obedience. A whole range of promises fell between those two, all of them including daily, personal prayer. The more historic communities, following the Roman Catholic orders, provided both postulant and novitiate periods before final vows were taken, thus giving the new member up to three years to conclude that God was indeed calling him into this kind of life. In the case of the celibate, final vows are often viewed as a spiritual marriage to Christ. Both men and women wear rings as evidence of their life-long commitment to Christ.
Except for the Catholic and Episcopal traditions, this movement is just beginning in the United States. I spent a few days at St. Augustine House with America’s lone Lutheran monk and his Catholic associate. The Sisters of Mary—also Lutheran-oriented—have established a Canaan outpost in Arizona and other monastic orders are beginning to be represented. I would guess on the basis of my European observations that we will see more American youth taking these life-long vows in their own devotion to Christ.
Typical of the less stringent vows is the Yokefellow pledge. It is similar to the old Kirkridge rule and calls for daily Bible reading and prayer, weekly attendance at a church service, tithing one’s income to the Lord’s work, and consciously seeking to serve Christ. There are many variants of this, and many signers. The Shaker-town pledge adds a stewardship concern for one’s environment. These are groups that prescribe the hours of corporate prayer. While with them I participated in as many as six services a day, though usually the number was three. None of the formulae, however, are as comprehensive or as detailed as the Benedictine Rule out of which all of them arise. Whether in response to the discipleship ideals of our Lord or in reaction to the libertarianism of a secularized culture, the commitment of new generations of young Christians to a life of rigorous self-denial is one of the hopeful signs on the horizon of the church.
A Simple Lifestyle
Although commitment to a simple lifestyle is included in the vow of poverty, it is a way of life at most of the other renewal centers also. It stands in contrast to the over-indulgence of the Western world and aligns itself with the hungry of the developing nations. This emphasis on frugality takes many forms. In the extended families it means community ownership of everything and community decision-making regarding the wisest use of all resources. I visited a family in York that included eight adults and some children. Only three of the adults worked. However, they all lived on the three salaries so that the other five could contribute their work to the Kingdom of God. Their primary point in living together was to be able to release more money and more time to the Lord’s work. As a result each person was provided the basic necessities of food, clothing, and shelter, and each person lived on a persona allowance of about nine dollars a week. This included the Anglican pastor in whose manse the enlarged family lived together.
To the Sisters of Mary in Germany a simple lifestyle meant living more simply than even their retreat guests. Their rooms, the only private place they had, were small—just large enough for a bed, dresser, and chair. The community of 180 ate whatever was produced by their chickens, cows, and vegetable gardens, plus whatever might be given to them by friends in answer to prayer. They did no shopping or weekly menu planning. They lived on what was at hand. Often this was meager. But, like Paul, they have learned in all things to be content. And not only to be content but to be joyful. In spite of their austere life a radiant happiness and spirit of continuous celebration is the prevailing mood.
To the Community of Iona in Scotland frugality meant what one of my fellow retreat guests called “Spartan existence.” There the members want their way of life to reflect their identification with the exploited and poor of industrial Glasgow. To a modest extent their guests share this with them. At Jackgruppen Haus in Germany it meant a strict vegetarian diet so that more grain could be shared with the starving people of the world.
No one complained. They trust in God’s providence, depend on prayer, and are joyful in the Lord’s provision. Practical questions about savings, insurance, and security—all important to me—seemed irrelevant to them in their moment-by-moment reliance upon the Lord. Nor did I find a spirit of criticism about fellow Christians who chose to live differently. One thoughtful leader said that this way of life was not for everyone and that it required a special call from God. There was recognition that God uses both poverty and wealth and that the ultimate issue is the way we use whatever God gives us.
About the Cover: Salem Acres was one of the communities Dr. Lundquist visited during his six-month pilgrimage. Pictured is founder-pastor Lester “Dad” Anderson holding one of his eighty or so parishioners. The “spontaneous barefoot congregations of Yahweh” moved to its present location, an eighty-acre farm in northwestern Illinois, in 1970. Its history as a community goes back another twenty years.
The community provides growing space for many people whose spiritual awakenings began in the Jesus movement of the 60s. They strive to emulate the New Testament models of discipling one another and holding all things common, and they focus on a charismatic, informed expression of a second blessing. They use Old Testament tradition in their observance of the Sabbath.
Involvement With Suffering People
The religious communities of Europe and the Christian human relations laboratories of America share this concern. Non-Christian groups as well have this goal, but I discovered it to be a hallmark of the renewal movement. I did not find a self-centered preoccupation with a person’s interior life that dulled sensitivity to the wounds of others. This contrasted sharply to the stereotype of a monastic life. Everywhere I sensed a dual focus; love for weaker members of the immediate community and compassion for those suffering in the world at large. Social action—tender loving care—became a normal way to express a personal devotion to Christ.
Many members had joined these communities because of their personal needs, physical, emotional, or spiritual. Some of them were just emerging from the drug culture; some were from estranged families; some were emotionally disturbed and possibly demon-possessed; and some were simply bewildered by life and were trying to find their way in it. During my travels I visited with all these types of people. The extended families were special havens for them but so were the more formal religious communities. The monks at Cerne Abbas had room for juvenile offenders and vagrant wanderers; Iona had a distinctive mission to those it termed “single, homeless persons”; Scargill was a refuge for a school teacher seeking God’s will for her life; in the United States, Salem Acres makes itself vulnerable in reaching out to help youth from the counter-culture; and even the temporary communities brought together by Faith at Work or Yokefellows are characterized by a deep emotional investment in one another. This is not the main function of these groups but it is a natural outgrowth.
I often saw the results of this concern. It cost people time, attention, and energy, as well as patience. Many of the groups exercised a spiritual healing ministry. It was not uncommon to find myself at a healing meeting where in the name of Christ members of the community would surround a person, lay their hands upon him, and pray quietly and earnestly for his deliverance. In a Catholic setting I joined some people in laying hands upon a kneeling priest who needed God’s help when he went into another room to pray for a woman dying of cancer. Of course there was a difference in the confident expectation of a charismatic group in America and the submissive commitment of an Anglican group in Britain. But both cared and loved and prayed.
Such tenderness not only nourished the life of the community itself but reached out in love to embrace the world. One group sent reconciliation teams to war-torn Ireland. A German community developed a special mission to Israel as an act of repentance for the wrongs done under Hitler. A monastic community sent both money and members to help people in the starvation areas of Africa. The Iona Community carried on a program of aid for chemical dependents. Taizé leaders were involved in both peace and environmental discussions under the auspices of the United Nations. In many places on both continents people fasted regularly so that money and food could go to feed the hungry. To these people concerned with the cultivation of their own walk with the Saviour there was an eager acceptance of Jesus’ direction: “Inasmuch as you have done it to one of the least of my brethren you have done it unto me.”
Celebration Through the Arts
Graham Pulkingham’s group on the Isle of Cumbrae in Scotland calls itself the Community of Celebration. This reflects a desire to joyfully relate all of life to God. And it appeared to me that this also is one of the universal notes in the renewal movement.
That did not always come through as dynamically as it did with the Sisters of Mary in Darmstadt. There 3,000 songs had been composed covering nearly all of life’s experiences. They were sung spontaneously and expressively. On Sunday afternoons special festivals were observed in the Herald Jesus Chapel. Simple musical plays about Christ’s teaching were written by the sisters. Energetic depictions of biblical events were carved into both interior and exterior plaster walls, using a technique of cutting at various depths through successive layers of colored plaster. Use of art forms was everywhere. Some of the art was better than others, but all of it related man’s creativity to his worship of God. Laity Lodge has experimented with “creative weeks” when people are invited to learn how to express themselves through the arts. These have become some of the most popular retreats at the center.
Biblical symbolism often appeared. The Lord’s Supper was observed universally and frequently. Never in such a brief time have I participated in it so frequently. Some of my happy recollections include the Episcopalian priest in Texas who announced it as a feast and encouraged everyone to eat and drink heartily; largely, I suspected, because he had blessed too much and in his view of the sacraments all of it had to be consumed. Or moving forward in the semi-darkness of the early morning in Taizé chapel to receive communion at the hands of a volunteer youth assisting the monks. Or being surrounded by cows in a pasture in Devonshire, England, as we were led in an outdoor Anglican service. Or serving the elements myself to a waiting line of handicapped people in wheelchairs. Or experiencing the closing Keswick service given over completely to sharing the bread and the chalice with five thousand people.
No one seemed so preoccupied with his interior life that he was unaware of the wounds of others.
Other biblical symbols were also used. Footwashing, for one. A picture of humility and service, it showed up in such diverse places as the charismatically-inclined Congregation of Yahweh and the philosophically-oriented Yokefellows. At Iona a practice had begun of ceremonially washing the feet of vagabonds on the basis that this act was especially appropriate for those who tramped the streets of Glasgow. In each of these contexts the act seemed quite right.
And the biblical dance, too, is reappearing. I saw it in Kentucky, in Illinois, and in Yorkshire, England. Some of it was interpretive dancing to accompany biblical texts. Some of it was congregational dancing to express the sheer joy of the Lord. None of it was social dancing. David Watson, pastor of St. Michaels-en-belfry, has made an exhaustive study of the dance in the Old Testament and hopes that it can be redeemed as an art form and brought back into the Western church to celebrate the glory of the Lord.
The holy kiss and the warm embrace as a Christian greeting is found all over the world. I saw it most strikingly in Russia—men kissing men and women kissing women. Also I saw in a Faith at Work conference in America where men and women warmly embraced each other—and it made me squirm a little. But physical touch, in friendship, in encouragement, and in concern, has become a natural expression of Christian love. There is a lighthearted, carefree spontaneity about all of these expressions. They grow out of a rich, personal experience that says, it’s a joy to be a Christian.
D. Bruce Lockerbie is chairman of the Fine Arts department at The Stony Brook School, Stony Brook, New York. This article is taken from his 1976 lectures on Christian Life and Thought, delivered at Conservative Baptist Theological Seminary in Denver, Colorado.
