What does it mean for a charity, an organisation or a church, to be truly Christian in a time when Christian identity is contested? David Ranson suggests that identity cannot be separated from mission - that it emerges through engagement, dialogue, and service. He explores four dimensions - imagination, commitment, tension, and strategy - of a Christian consciousness capable of responding to a changing, pluralist world while remaining rooted in tradition. David is writing from a Catholic social teaching perspective but these insights are equally relevant for Christians of all traditions, especially leaders and volunteers involved with charities, churches and other public facing organisations.
In his opening address to the colloquium, Bishop Michael Putney, from his wide ecumenical experience, spoke of the need to discover self-identity in a radical openness to alterity: we discover who we are in relationship with those whom we discover different from ourselves.
In so presenting such a paradigm, Bishop Putney was affirming the postmodern turn of personal definition away from the solipsistic tendency of ‘rationality’ to the dialogical impulse of ‘relationality’. Postmodernity has a good deal to teach us about the question of identity. The ‘intertextual’ nature of identity can no longer be avoided; it presents as, perhaps, the one transcendental properly allowed. As Colin Gunton wrote, “What we receive from and give to others is constitutive: not self-fulfillment but relation to the other, as other, is the key to human being, universally.”[i]
This perception that self identity cannot be something achieved as an end in itself, but is something consequential of openness to, and dialogue with, the other sheds light, analogously, on institutional identity. Concern for institutional identity, as an end in itself, can be misplaced. Just as personal identity is consequential of a focus on the other, so, too, institutional identity comes about by the institution’s focus on something other than itself, particularly its mission, and those to whom it missions. The question about Christian identity is, in the end, I believe, inseparable from the question of mission. Concern about identity must give way to a concern about mission. As mission is engaged, identity will manifest itself, naturally – just as the self is known, simply, in its radical orientation and engagement with the other.
The issue about Christian identity, therefore, unfolds into a complex of associated questions, and cannot be considered without such questions:
Can ‘identity’ ever genuinely be asserted independently from ‘mission’?
How does our mission shape our identity?
What are the inter-relationships between ‘identity,’ which by its nature is discriminatory, and ‘mission’ which by nature is inclusive?
What is ‘mission’?
How might both identity and mission be affirmed and promoted in a pluralist, secular and multi-faith context?
These questions render the concern for Christian identity a multifaceted one. Christian identity is not maintained merely through the affirmation of particular social or religious symbols or practices. Though these are not without importance, their affirmation, alone, will not provide an institution with its Christian distinctiveness. In the end, they may simply construct a social ghetto that no longer possesses the transformative agency that renders an institution genuinely Christian, i.e. sacramental of the intent of the Kingdom of God. In other words, we cannot allow the issue of Christian identity to become something that is ‘frozen’ and no longer able to respond to the ever-changing circumstances in which it finds itself, and through which it seeks to be sacramental of the Divine Mission.
Christian identity, therefore, does not come as something ‘packaged’. It is an ‘event’ that discloses itself in and through a commitment to something other than itself; identity is something which is experienced in the midst, even, of a certain ‘self-forgetfulness.’ As such, identity, personal and institutional, is not something ‘possessed,’ but rather a dimension that is both constant and unfolding. Therefore, we need a dynamic trajectory into the issue of Christian identity, rather than an acceptance of any facile resolution that fails to appreciate the complexity of the reflection. Postmodernist thought, again, has something to teach us in this regard. Just as the self, in its dialogical character, finds itself as “a subject-in-process-on-trial”, to use the description of the self, given by the French writer, Julia Kristeva, so, too, does the identity of institutions.
[ii] In other words, the identity of institutions generally, and Christian identity, in particular, must be thought of as something caught in a dialectic of continuity and discontinuity, constantly growing, continually adaptive, being engaged with, and challenged by, variable circumstances, whilst at the same time capable of recognizing itself as an uninterrupted narrative of meaning. The challenge is to find a means by which to affirm Christian identity that, at one and the same time, both affirms that which is continuous in its significance but which also remains responsive to context.
The entire consideration is given yet further edge in the acknowledgement that Catholic or Christian organisations today, not only find themselves in diverse contexts external to themselves, but also, in fact, are comprised of diverse internal contexts. Persons from a wide range of backgrounds staff them. This is especially the case in health and welfare agencies, though less so in educational facilities. How is Catholic or Christian identity maintained within the life of the organisation? Such a questions has come to the fore particularly as many agencies find themselves in a period of transition from not only being staffed and governed predominantly by Religious to being comprised overwhelmingly of professional lay persons, many of whom who are not Christian, and even without specific religious commitment. Further, a number of these agencies are also in the process of transfer of ownership to new public juridic persons in which the trustee membership is entirely lay. The question must be posed as to how legitimate it might be to expect persons who are in positions of leadership to internalize the values of the Religious founders or trustees of the institutions they lead if they do not have a religious background themselves. As I remarked several years ago,
In the desire to preserve a truly evangelical and Catholic identity in our institutes, and therefore a developed, conscious and formative sense of mission, it would be easy to rely on the transmission of an originating memory to do so. It would be easy, but, I propose insufficient, to try to inculcate a sense of prophetic mission in our new leaders in policy and administration simply through this originating memory. As owners and trustees transfer policy and administration into new leadership, and often naturally not without a latent reluctance, an over-riding concern can be that “the story must go on.” But must it? And can it, in fact? Is a hospital’s sense of mission [for example] simply dependent on the transmission and preservation of the originating story from which it was founded and which has hitherto supported it?[iii]
In so commenting, I suggested that the future lay in a dialogue between the ‘memory’ of originating mythologies of Christian institutions, and the ‘imagination’ of those who now join those institutions with their own sense of professional vocation, passion and spirituality. In that conversation, a new story is set to be told.
Nonetheless, as I have sought to express above, the story waiting to unfold must have continuity with the Christian community’s consciousness of itself – over time - if it is to retain the title ‘Christian’. That consciousness continues to present in defining ways, and as an inextinguishable partner in the conversation that now must be engaged, even though, as a “subject-in-process-on-trial” it will be affected in new ways, according to the contexts in which it finds itself.
In summary, how might this consciousness, however, be affirmed in such a way that it can be both transformative of new contexts, freed from the prospect of becoming frozen in time and culture, and, at the same time, be fully invitational to those who now belong to our Christian institutions but who are drawn from such diverse personal backgrounds?
I would like to suggest that Christian consciousness is shaped in four specific ways: by a particular
· imagination
· commitment
· tension
· and strategy
Further, these four dimensions can be further elaborated as a particular
· religious imagination
· social commitment
· ecclesial tension
· and an apostolic strategy.
It is precisely the particularity of our religious imagination, the particularity of social commitment that is a consequence of such an imagination, the specific set of tensions that mark our life as church, and our rich means of engagement with the world, that provide our institutions and agencies with their Christian distinctiveness. These particular dimensions, taken together, determine why we do what we do, what we do, when we do it, and how we do it. They provide a response to the injunction given us in 1 Peter: “ . . . and always have your answer ready for people who ask you the reason for the hope that you all have.” (1 Peter 3:15)
Let me explore each one of these defining characteristics.
1. A particular (religious) imagination shapes why we do what we do.
Behaviors being in the imagination, that faculty or power by which we form internal images and use them to shape our world. The way we act stems from how we imagine something. Within our imagination lay operative images – images that especially determine our actions.[iv] This is true of our ‘self-image’; it is also true of our religious imagination. Our religious imagination creates or forecloses possibility for us. In recent times, sociologists have researched quite closely the nature of the ‘Catholic imagination.’[v] Underscoring the sociological considerations, however, I wish to suggest that Catholic consciousness is shaped by a particular theological imagination which pivots on three main concerns: the way it imagines God, the way it imagines God’s activity in the world (Revelation) and the way in which it imagines the resolution and transformation of evil (Salvation). The imagination we have about these realities shapes the way in which we act in the world: a theological imagination translates into a particular social commitment.
How might this be so?
Firstly, Catholic consciousness imagines God as Triune. The late pope John Paul II was clear that all Christian life takes its identity form the triune mystery, which he defined as “ a community in missionary tension.”[vi] As mirror of this mystery, Catholic identity exists in service of the creation of a community marked by Trinitarian qualities: mutuality, reciprocity, exchange in which the dialectic of communion (‘communio’) and mission (‘missio’) presents with ever-present tension. As minister of the divine ‘communio’, Catholic identity is an agent of participation, collaboration and reconciliation. It is concerned with activity that sustains and heals, and with structures that allow for an ever-deeper possibility of inter-relationship, ready to celebrate the bonds that unite its members. Or so it should, if it is genuinely faithful to the Triune Mystery that it proclaims to be the nature of the one true God. As minister of the divine ‘missio’, Catholic identity is characterized by a fundamental hospitality, the openness to yet further inclusion to its communion, reaching out to others to address the places of isolation, marginalization and exclusion. It is not surprising, therefore, that some writers will argue that “the Trinity is a social program.”[vii] The way we imagine God (distinct from the way in which we might speak of God) makes all the difference to the way in which we are in the world.
Secondly, Catholic consciousness imagines God’s activity to be both sacramental and incarnational. It is characterized in a fundamental analogical manner. It ‘sees in one thing, another.’ It looks ‘in and through’ one thing , to another. It sees in the poor the face of Christ; in social and political currents, the emergence of a new order; in the quality of relationships, the dream God has for the world. Its incarnational sensibility affirms the world as the theatre of divine activity, as a place in need of redemption, but also graced. Johannes Metz expresses the implication of this cogently, when he declares,
In obeying its eschatological vocation Christianity should not establish itself as a ghetto society or become the ideological protective shell for the existing society. Rather it should become the liberating and critical force of this one society. Christianity should not establish itself as a “microsociety” beside the “great secular society.” Any separation of Church and State leading to a ghetto or to a microsociety is fatal. The terminus a quo of the Christian mission should be the secular society. On this society must the “osmotic pressure” of the Christian hope be exerted. The various institutions of Christianity find their legitimation and also their criterion in their eschatological mission. Wherever these institutions serve Christianity’s self-protection more than its venture forward . . . then the bastions of these institutions should be dismantled.[viii]
Thirdly, Catholic identity is shaped by the particular way in which it imagines evil to be transformed. As Christians we recognize that we are not given the answer to evil in rational discourse, in some kind of explanation, but only by an event: the Cross. The answer to the question of suffering is given in only one way. As John Paul II articulated, “Love is also the fullest source of the answer to the question of the meaning of suffering. This answer has been given by God to [us] in the cross of Jesus Christ.”[ix] In other words, only in the experience of a love that suffers with us, joins with us, bears with us our own experience, do we find a way forward in the presence of suffering. This is a way forward that is not an explanation, but that, in its very experience, shows us how the evil we experience can be overcome.
The way in which we imagine God (as Triune), how we imagine God’s activity (as sacramental), and the way in which we imagine evil to be faced and transformed (the meaning of the Cross), together, yield a particular religious imagination in which is sourced an entire constellation of behaviours and reactions. The particular imagination that animates the life of our agencies and institutions shapes their precise identity, and the religious imagination that constitutes their heart, in particular, determines their nature.
Christian institutions therefore need consider the following questions:
· How does a Christian organization foster this kind of religious imagination in its organizational life and how might it be brought to bear on its decision-making?
· How realistic is it to affirm such an imagination, particularly in a pluralist context?
· How does a Christian organization become ‘bi-lingual’: i.e. both theologically linguistic and professionally linguistic such that the same reality can be expressed in two different ways without compromise to either discourse?
· What is the right balance between the two ‘languages’? Which ‘language’ do we use? When? How? With whom, and by whom?
2. A particular (social) commitment shapes what we do.
The theological imagination that provides the basis of the identity of all Christian agencies translates into a particular social commitment. This social commitment is further underscored by the understanding of the Kingdom of God, to which all Christian agencies are accountable.
The ‘Kingdom’ is the term Jesus, himself, uses to designate a new social order, a new way of being in relationship with each other. It is the fundamental recognition that we stand in relationship to each other, bonded by the presence of the One who is as Father of us all.
Such a disclosure in the preaching of Jesus re-orients the way in which we are in the world. Thus, as disciples of the Kingdom, we are committed to a process of transformation in which a culture of exclusion is changed into one of embrace.[x] Hence, it is not surprising to see the centrality of healing and forgiveness in the ministry of Jesus. The Kingdom comes into the world in the shift that takes place from isolation to community, and when and where estrangement is transformed into hospitality. Wherever, then there is a shift from despair to imagination, from shame to dignity, from emptiness to fullness, from fear to love, from paralysis of life to movement of spirit, from deafness of heart to receptivity, and blindness of vision to openness of heart, there the Kingdom inbreaks into the world.
Thus the Kingdom is spoken to those who live in oppression an in a situation which dehumanizes. It is given to those who are marginalized, who are cast out, who live in isolation because of an oppressive ethic of accumulation, of domination, of selfishness or fear or of judgment.[xi] The Kingdom is a paschal reality, i.e. it is characterized by a certain transformation from a deathly situation to one full of vitality. Thus, the disciple of the Kingdom must be attentive to the places of ‘death’ in order to enable fresh possibility of vitality.
However, it is not enough to affirm the presence of the Kingdom. It is also crucial that we understand the method of the Kingdom. This new order of things, the Kingdom, comes about with great subtlety. It comes into the world through the cracks rather than through the front door. It comes in the twilight and in the night rather than in the glare of noonday. It infiltrates rather than overwhelms. Subsequently, Jesus urges his disciples to stay awake, to be constantly alert. It is the challenge to remain alert to the advent of the sacred in the midst of the secular.
Christian institutions exist, therefore, to be harbingers of the Kingdom in those places of its advent which are social in character. In this regard, I am reminded of the remarkable story of Craig Ashby, a young aboriginal school teacher. He relates his own experience of the Kingdom in this way:
Through a cousin I learned about St. Joseph’s College, Hunters Hill. With the help of my parish priest in Walgett I was enrolled there and sponsored. My life at the college was very full and challenging. . . . Even though I could not read or write went I went to Joey’s, not once did any kid ever give me a hard time about it or call me dumb, and I got on pretty well with everyone. . . So my confidence kept growing and growing, and the more it grew the better I started doing. . . My years at St. Joseph’s changed my life. It turned me around as a person, made me proud to be an indigenous boy, and showed me that I can take my place in the world and the possibilities that are out there for me to work for country, nation and people.[xii]
Any Christian institution that cannot boast of such stories, which is not animated by them and which does not seek to facilitate them, and thus which does not identify itself as an agent of transformative action, as realised in the Kingdom, has no right to call itself Christian, no matter the ornamentation on its walls.
3. A particular (ecclesial) tension shapes when we do what we do.
The theological imagination that underpins the identity of Catholic institutions, and the social commitment that emerges from such an imagination, is exercised, however, within a particular ecclesial context.
This ecclesial context is forged in the reality of tension. Catholic identity is a ‘tensive’ experience. One of the primary tensions is that between ‘the local’ and ‘the universal’. The local context does not have an absolute character: it is in tension with a universal context. Local identity exists with a certain autonomy, but it functions also in communion with the wider Catholic community as it is experienced across many contexts and cultures. Catholic institutions will therefore find themselves in the intersection between ‘diversity’ and ‘unity’. This will mean that their initiatives are accountable to something larger than the single agency from which they originate. Their aspirations and projects must be placed in conversation with a wider ‘universal’ framework. From time to time, that universal setting will call local initiative to accountability.
However, it is also possible that the local, from time to time, will be prophetic in its relation to the ‘universal.’ A new tension is engaged: that between the ‘institutional’ and the ‘charismatic,’ ‘memory’ and ‘imagination.’ The’ imagination’ that rises from local institutions may call forth the universal ‘memory’ into fresh expression and direction. The charismatic enterprise of local institutions, or persons, enables the institution with its ongoing capacity for development and growth. “Institution’ without ‘charism’ grows tired and non-reponsive, no longer able to adapt to new circumstances and pastoral situations; ‘charism’ without ‘institution’ runs the risk of diminishing in the ethical responsibility, and intellectual integrity that ‘institution’ provides.
These sets of ecclesial tensions are never resolved. Catholic institutions breathe them. It is not resolution of the tension that is desirable. It is fidelity to the tension that will provide institutions with their genuinely Catholic identity.
It will be important for all Christian institutions to actively consider, in a sustained manner, the following questions:
· How does the institution acknowledge and engage the ecclesial tension of ‘local’ and ‘universal’?
· How is such an ecclesial tensions brought into organizational integrity, into it the organisation’s consciousness of itself, its policy decisions and strategic aspirations?
· How does the presence of the tensions at the heart of Christian identity shape how the institution fulfills its mission?
4. A particular (apostolic) strategy shapes how we do what we do
The very term ‘catholic’ speaks of universality. This ‘catholicity’ is preserved by the engagement of an ever-widening circle of conversation, and a radical dialogical approach to the questions and issues of life. It is precisely the maintenance of this wide conversation that preserves Catholic identity, even though, at times, in particular historical circumstances, the conversation may present with inhibition!
The notion of conversation as the modus operandi of Catholic life was given eloquent expression the first encyclical of Pope Paul VI, Ecclesiam Suam, (1963). In that publication, the pontiff remarked with a clarity that retains validity today:
. . taken as a whole, it is a world which offers the Church, not one, but a hundred forms of possible contacts, of which some are unimpeded and beckoning, some are sensitive and complex, and unfortunately in these days many are hostile and impervious to friendly dialogue. Thus we meet what has been termed the problem of the dialogue between the Church and the modern world. (nn. 15-16)
And further:
The imminent contact of the Church with temporal society continually creates for her a problematic situation, which today has become extremely difficult. On the one hand Christian life, as defended and promoted by the Church, must always take great care lest it should be deceived, profaned or stifled as it must strive to render itself immune from the contagion of error and of evil. On the other hand, Christian life should not only be adapted to the forms of thought and custom which the temporal environment offers and imposes on her . . . but it should also try to draw close to them, to purify them, to ennoble them, to vivify and to sanctify them. (nn. 72-73).
Paul VI wrote of the three attitudes required by the Church as it engages its presence in the world: the spirit of poverty (nn.101-105); the spirit of charity (nn.106-107) and the spirit of dialogue (nn.110-210). While drawing a distinction between the Church and ‘the world’ (cf. Jn.17:15-16), he stressed this distinction is not a separation (n.117), and he introduced the idea of the ‘dialogue of salvation’:
Theoretically speaking, the Church could set its mind on reducing such relationships to a minimum, endeavoring to isolate itself from dealings with secular society; just as it could set itself the task of pointing out the evils that can be found in secular society, condemning them and declaring crusades against them, so also it could approach so close to secular society as to strive to exert a preponderant influence on it or even to exercise a theocratic power over it, and so on. But it seems to us that the relationship of the Church to the world . . . can be represented better in a dialogue, not, of course, a dialogue in a univocal sense, but rather a dialogue adapted to the nature of the interlocutor and to factual circumstances. . . . this type of relationship indicates a proposal of courteous esteem, of understanding and of goodness on the part of the one who inaugurates the dialogue; it excludes the a priori condemnation, the offensive and time-worn polemic and emptiness of useless conversation. (nn. 134-136)
Dialogue, concluded the pope, is “a method of accomplishing the apostolic mission” (n. 138). It requires clarity of presentation, supposing and demanding comprehensibility; a certain humility that not a command, an imposition, but which is peaceful, patient, and generous. It is trustful, evidencing, pedagogical prudence, esteeming highly the psychological and moral circumstance of the listener (nn. 139-143)
Christian organizations should be known for the way their engagement in partnerships, and with the issues with which they must contend in a complex, pluralist environment, accord with such a strategy.
Conclusion
I have outlined here what I consider to be four characteristics essential to Christian identity. Such dimensions underscore the unbroken narrative of Christian life in history through many diverse circumstances. They are features, however, which are open in nature, able to respond to the changing situations in which Church institutions discover themselves. They illustrate the radically adaptive nature of Christian identity.
All four dimensions are vital to the issue of Christian identity. The characteristics need to be taken together for authentic Christian identity to flourish. However, it may be that people enter into the mystery of Christian identity through one of the dimensions rather than through all four together. It is possible that one of them, particularly, perhaps, that of ‘social commitment’ becomes the doorway through which many persons in our Christian institutions, who are not Christian themselves, participate in the Christian identity of our institutions. The question that presents, however, is this: are there a sufficient number of persons in the life of the organization who enjoy identification with all four dimensions? And who, or which levels of both governance and management, need to assume responsibility for the fostering of all four characteristics?
The Australian cartoonist, Michael Leunig, has, in one of his cartoons, a character playing chess. The chessboard rests on the lap of the player and the windowsill which opens out to an evening sky. The partner of the chess player is the sense of infinity. Life, itself, often feels like playing chess with an infinite horizon. We are not sure what move ‘infinity’ will make next, and to which we will be required to respond.
In some ways, the issue of Christian identity is in a similar situation. We have a board that is aligned in a particular manner, and on this board we have a number of familiar pieces, each with their own logic and rules of play. The characteristics I have outlined in this paper work somewhat analogously to these set pieces. With these pieces, these four dimensions of Christian identity, we are seeking to be responsive to an unpredictable future. We move the pieces in different ways, at different times, and often with risk. In assuming the risk we know ourselves to be with continuity with our tradition but also in process. The future of Christian identity is thus not resolved through packaged formulae. It will only be experienced to the extent that we dare to play the game.
The Very Rev Dr David Ranson PP VG is Parish Priest at Our Lady of Dolours, Chatswood and Vicar General and Moderator of the Curia in the Catholic Diocese of Broken Bay, New South Wales, Australia.
This chapter was first published in Identity and Mission in Catholic Agencies (St Pauls, 2008) and is reproduced here with slight amendments with the kind permission of the author and the publisher.
[i] Colin Gunton, The One, The Three and the Many: God, Creation and the Culture of Modernity, The 1992 Brampton Lectures, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993)
[ii] See inter alia, Julia Kristeva, In the Beginning was Love: Psychoanalysis and Faith, translated by Arthur Goldhammer (New York: Columbia University Press, 1980), 9.
[iii] David Ranson, “Memory and Imagination – new sources of Catholic identity,” The Furrow 52 (November 2001), 605.
[iv] For distinct overviews of the significance of imagination see Kathleen R. Fischer, The Inner Rainbow: The Imagination in Christian Life, (New York/Ramsey: Paulist Press, 1983) Garret Green, Imagining God: Theology and the Religious Imagination, (Grand Rapids, Michigan/Cambridge, UK: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1989), and Richard T. Knowles, “Fantasy and Imagination,” Studies in Formative Spirituality, 6 (February 1985), 53-63.
[v] See for example, Andrew Greeley, “Theology and Sociology: On Validating David Tracy,” Journal of the American Academy of Religion 59 (1990), 643-652; and his more developed exploration, The Catholic Imagination, (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000).
[vi] See John Paul II, Pastores dabo vobis, Apostolic Exhortation, 25 March 1992, n.12. See also John Paul II, Christifidelis laici, Apostoloic Exhortation, 30 December 1988, n.32.
[vii] See Miroslav Volf, “’The Trinity Is Our Social Program’: The Doctrine of the Trinity and the Shape of Social Engagement,” Modern Theology 14 (1998), 403. For a superb and most accessible treatment of this approach to trinitarian thought, see Anne Hunt, Trinity, (Maryknoll, New York: Orbis Books, 2005), 39-45.
[viii] Johann Baptist Metz, “The Church in the World” in Love’s Strategy: The Political Theology of Johann Baptist Metz, edited by John K. Downey, (Harrisburg, Pennsylvania: Trinity Press International, 1999), 24.
[ix] John Paul II, Salvifici Doloris, Apostolic Letter (11 February 1984), n.13.
[x] The term ‘from exclusion to embrace’ is taken from the work of Miroslav Volf. See Miroslav Volf, Exclusion and Embrace: A Theological Exploration of Identity, Otherness, and Reconciliation, (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1996).
[xi] See Hugo Echegary, The Practice of Jesus, translated by Matthew J. O’Connell, (Maryknoll, New York: Orbis Books/Melbourne: Dove Communications, 1984).
[xii] Craig Ashby, “A getting of wisdom,” Sydney Morning Herald, Weekend edition, (3-4 March, 2007), 27.