“Do Jesus to the people.” My systematics professor Gerhard Forde would often remind us that when we preach, we are not merely to tell people about Jesus but to do Jesus to the people. Our task in proclaiming the life, death, resurrection, and ascension of Jesus is to proclaim words that do what they say: bring forth salvation, forgiveness, and God’s new creation. While we may use teaching, humor, rhetoric, and literary allusion, our ultimate goal must remain clear: to do Jesus to the people.

Preaching is an event within relationship. I remember my mother saying how much better our pastor seemed to preach after he had visited us in our home. Her point was not that our pastor’s message or delivery had changed but that we heard him differently because our relationship with him was growing.

I find the same in my congregation. As my relationship with the people I shepherd grows, I become more responsive to their needs as I prepare to . Even more, the trust between preacher and congregation opens our hearts to the Holy Spirit, who speaks far more eloquently than any earthly preacher.

A sermon is more than a speech — it is a spoken word within the relationship between preacher and hearer, infused by the Holy Spirit. It draws us into God’s Word of scripture and God’s Word incarnate, who is Christ. A sermon may be written into a carefully crafted manuscript, typed into an outline, jotted on a sticky note, or just held in mind. These forms all have their benefits and their drawbacks as they balance formality, precision, and elegance with responsiveness, connectivity, and openness to the present movement of the Holy Spirit. But at its heart, all preaching is a three-way communication between the preacher, the hearer, and God, who is present with us through scripture and the presence of the Holy Spirit.

A sermon creates space for the Holy Spirit to bring faith. I have noticed how eager congregations are to laugh, even at the softest preacher joke. Laughter brings a shared exhale, a release of the drama that builds through the liturgy of the Word. But laughter is not the only way. A story, a fact about the natural world, a glimpse into art or literature or the preacher’s hobby can disarm people, allowing them to breathe.

After this exhalation, a hush sometimes settles over the congregation. This is a holy moment. We dare not interrupt it, but speak lower and slower as the Holy Spirit moves among us, coming uniquely to each . Faith itself is a gift from the Spirit, poured out upon the congregation and the preacher alike, preparing them to receive Christ in the Eucharist.

Sometimes we preach at the very edge of our capacity. St. Paul reminds the Corinthians that he did not come with lofty speech or wisdom. Rather in weakness, fear, and much trembling, he proclaimed Jesus Christ and him crucified. His proclamation relied not on earthly wisdom but on the demonstration of the Holy Spirit and the Spirit’s power (1 Cor. 2:1-4). Paul may protest too much; his letters are highly sophisticated, both theologically and rhetorically. However, his point stands. The Gospel’s power is not in our words but in God’s Logos, which fills our often-inadequate words. Paul reminds us, “The word of the cross is folly to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God” (1 Cor. 1:18).

We are sometimes called to preach at the edge of our capacity. We speak haltingly in the face of the pain and sorrow of our congregation, or our ideas come out more like abstract art than fine exposition as we deal with Scriptures and spiritual truths that are beyond our understanding. I think of Paul’s attempt to describe the transformative reality of new creation breaking into the present through Jesus’ resurrection and the work of the Spirit. He finally stutters to a halt, exclaiming, “New things!” (2 Cor. 5:17).

Preaching is a holy calling that transforms the preacher as much as the congregation. It is a duty and a delight, a rhythm of submitting to God through prayer, study, and care for those we shepherd. It calls forth our passion for God, creativity, intellect, and love for others — while God’s grace adds even more: the power of God poured out through the Holy Spirit.

May we faithfully proclaim Christ crucified and do Jesus to the people, speaking words that do what they say. May we cultivate relationships and seek times of renewal, trusting that God is doing more than we can ask for or imagine. Let us pray for one another and cheer each other on in this wonderful, challenging calling.

Amid the complexities of modern life, many pursue enduring happiness yet overlook the profound and transformative joy offered by the Christian faith. Rooted in rich theological depth and moral teachings, Christian joy transcends fleeting emotions, providing believers with a steadfast and fulfilling way of life. This essay explores the essence of Christian joy through moral theology, revealing how adherence to Christian ethics enriches personal spirituality and fosters communal flourishing.

African theologian John S. Mbiti emphasizes communal joy as intrinsic to African spirituality, particularly in the face of historical struggles such as colonization and poverty (Mbiti, 1990). Mbiti’s work highlights how African communities celebrate life and resilience amid hardship, demonstrating that joy can be found in collective solidarity and spiritual endurance. For instance, the concept of ubuntu, prevalent in Southern African cultures, emphasizes interconnectedness and mutual support, fostering a communal sense of joy even in challenging circumstances.

The Theology of Christian Joy

In Christian theology, joy is considered a fruit of the Holy Spirit (Gal. 5:22-23), distinguished from happiness as an enduring state rooted in relationship with God rather than external circumstances. St. Augustine’s Confessions articulates that true joy lies in aligning one’s will with divine will, highlighting its permanence compared to fleeting happiness.

Biblically, joy encompasses individual and communal aspects, evident in Psalms’ expressions of joy in God’s salvation (Ps. 16:11; 51:12; 126:5) and Paul’s exhortation to “rejoice in the Lord always” (Phil. 4:4). This theological framework positions joy not as mere emotion but as a state arising from a deep relationship with God.

Mbiti, however, emphasizes joy as a communal experience deeply embedded in African spirituality. Mbiti argues that African communities derive joy not only from individual spiritual fulfillment but also from collective rituals and celebrations that reinforce communal bonds.

Desmond Tutu’s theology of hope and reconciliation provides a powerful example of how African perspectives on joy intersect with spiritual resilience. Tutu contends that joy emerges not despite suffering but through the transformative power of forgiveness and love. His theological framework emphasizes the ability of communities to endure and find joy in reconciliation, even in the face of historical injustices such as apartheid.

African theologians also integrate indigenous cultural practices into their theological reflections on joy, enriching the discourse with diverse perspectives. These practices, including traditional ceremonies and communal gatherings, contribute to a holistic understanding of joy that encompasses spiritual, social, and cultural dimensions. By incorporating indigenous beliefs and rituals, African theologians challenge the universalism of Western theological hegemony and highlight the diversity of joyful expressions across different cultural contexts.

Moral Theology and Virtue Ethics

Moral theology explores human behavior in light of divine revelation, framing how living according to Christian ethics fosters joy. Central to moral theology is the pursuit of the good life, characterized by virtue and alignment with God’s will. Aquinas asserts that human life’s ultimate end is beatitudo, or blessedness, synonymous with true joy achieved through virtue and relationship with God.

Mercy Amba Oduyoye emphasizes communal values as foundational to ethical living and the experience of joy within African contexts. Oduyoye’s work highlights how virtues like solidarity, compassion, and communal sharing foster a sense of joy that transcends individual happiness and contributes to the well-being of the community.

African theologians also integrate indigenous wisdom and cultural practices into discussions on virtue ethics, enriching the discourse with diverse perspectives. These include traditional rites of passage, communal rituals, and moral teachings embedded in storytelling and folklore, which emphasize virtues like courage, honesty, and integrity.

Virtue ethics, rooted in Aristotle and expanded by Aquinas, emphasizes cultivating virtues like prudence, justice, fortitude, temperance, and theological virtues of faith, hope, and charity. These virtues guide individuals toward God, fostering harmony and joy in life.

For example, charity, or love for God and neighbor, promotes community and self-giving, reflecting divine love and enhancing communal joy. Prudence facilitates wise choices aligned with ultimate good, fostering fulfillment. Justice creates harmonious relationships and societal justice, sources of communal joy. Fortitude helps a Christian endure trials, transforming them into opportunities for growth and reliance on God. Temperance moderates desires, fostering balanced, fulfilling lives.

Christian Moral Life and Communal Joy

Christian moral life, shaped by forgiveness, justice, and love, embodies joy through obedience to God’s will. Forgiveness liberates from resentment, fosters reconciliation, and promotes inner peace (Matt. 6:12). The parable of the Prodigal Son illustrates transformative power and the joy of forgiveness and reconciliation.

Justice, a cardinal virtue, promotes societal justice and reflects God’s kingdom values. Pope Francis highlights joy in serving and building just societies through the preferential option for the poor. This commitment fosters communal joy, solidarity, and the realization of kingdom values.

African theologians enrich Christian joy discourse, offering insights into joy amid suffering and communal life. African literature challenges Western stereotypes of perpetual African suffering, emphasizing joy amid adversity and community celebrations. Mbiti emphasizes communal worship’s role in joy, reflecting ubuntu’s communal joy (Mbiti, 1990).

Mercy Amba Oduyoye highlights women’s role in fostering joy through service, resilience, and community-building. African theology underscores communal joy, vibrant worship, and solidarity, countering suffering’s prevailing narratives.

Joy in the Context of Suffering

Christian theology posits joy not merely as a transient emotion but as a profound state rooted in spiritual and moral principles. This perspective gains depth when considering joy amid suffering. Desmond Tutu’s theology of hope and reconciliation provides a poignant example from Africa, illustrating how joy can thrive despite adversity. Tutu argues that joy is not extinguished by suffering but emerges as a testament to the transformative power of forgiveness and love. His experiences during apartheid in South Africa exemplify how communal acts of forgiveness and reconciliation can engender profound joy amid deep-seated injustices.

Moreover, in biblical context, Paul’s letter to the Philippians encourages believers to “rejoice in the Lord always” (Phil. 4:4), suggesting that joy transcends temporal hardships and is rooted in a steadfast faith. This biblical injunction resonates with African interpretations that emphasize joy as a spiritual resilience nurtured through shared values and communal rituals.

Furthermore, Pope Francis’ Evangelii Gaudium (The Joy of the Gospel) underscores joy as a core aspect of Christian witness, particularly in serving marginalized communities. His emphasis on the joy found in solidarity with the poor resonates deeply with African contexts, in which joy emerges from acts of compassion and social justice.

Perspectives on Eschatological Joy

The concept of eschatological joy serves as a profound intersection between Christian beliefs and African Christian perspectives, offering insights into the ultimate fulfillment of human existence beyond earthly life. Christian eschatology posits joy as an essential component of the Christian faith, rooted in the promise of eternal life and communion with God. New Testament Scriptures, such as Revelation 21:3-4 and 1 Corinthians 13:12, depict the culmination of human history in the establishment of a new heaven and earth where God dwells among his people, bringing about ultimate joy and fulfillment. The resurrection of Christ and the hope of believers’ resurrection affirm the continuity of life beyond death, anticipating a transformed existence in God’s presence (1 Cor. 15:42-44; Rom. 8:18-21).

Mbiti discusses how African communities conceive of the afterlife as a realm where ancestral spirits maintain a vital connection with the living, fostering a sense of communal joy and spiritual guidance. This perspective underscores the interconnectedness of life beyond earthly boundaries and highlights the importance of relational harmony and communal well-being in eternity.

Similarly, scholars like J.S. Kenyatta and Kwame Bediako explore how African Christian eschatology emphasizes the restoration of justice and harmony within the community and creation. They argue that eschatological joy in African Christian thought extends beyond individual salvation to encompass the collective flourishing of communities and the restoration of societal justice.

Chinua Achebe and Ngugi wa Thiong’o depict African Christian communities celebrating communal rituals and festivities that anticipate eschatological joy through reunion with ancestors and saints in God’s kingdom.

In the end, we find that the concept of eschatological joy in Christian and African Christian perspectives illuminates the universal longing for spiritual fulfillment and communal celebration in the afterlife. By integrating theological insights from Christian Scriptures and cultural wisdom from African scholars, this essay underscores the richness and diversity of perspectives on joy that both traditions offer. This holistic approach not only enhances theological discourse but also fosters a deeper appreciation for the transformative power of eschatological hope and communal joy in global Christianity.

Conclusion

The exploration of Christian joy through the lenses of moral theology, virtue ethics, and eschatology reveals its profound significance and transformative power within the Christian faith. Christian joy, as distinct from fleeting happiness, is rooted in a deep relationship with God and is sustained by adherence to ethical principles and theological reflection.

First, Christian joy, articulated as a fruit of the Holy Spirit (Gal. 5:22-23), transcends temporal circumstances, offering believers a lasting sense of fulfillment grounded in faith. This theological foundation, echoed in the writings of St. Augustine and biblical passages such as Philippians 4:4, underscores joy as a state achievable through alignment with divine will rather than through external conditions.

Second, moral theology and virtue ethics elucidate how virtues such as prudence, justice, fortitude, and temperance foster joy by guiding individuals toward virtuous living. Mbiti and Oduyoye enrich this understanding by emphasizing communal celebrations and resilience amid adversity, emphasizing joy as a communal and ethical endeavor essential for societal flourishing.

Third, eschatological perspectives on joy, as depicted in both traditional Christian teachings and African Christian theology, envision ultimate fulfillment in the afterlife. The promise of eternal life and communion with God, central to Christian eschatology, resonates with African perspectives that emphasize communal celebration and spiritual continuity beyond earthly boundaries.

The integration of these insights from Mbiti and Tutu deepens our understanding of joy as a universal longing and a transformative force in global Christianity. By embracing virtues that lead to ethical living and anticipating a future of ultimate joy in communion with God, believers are invited to cultivate a profound sense of fulfillment that transcends earthly challenges.

Christian joy emerges not only as a personal spiritual experience but also as a communal ethos that fosters solidarity, resilience, and hope. This essay has underscored the importance of ethical living, communal solidarity, and a steadfast hope in God’s promises as foundational to experiencing joy that endures and leads toward eternal blessedness.

Through continued exploration and application of these principles, believers can deepen their appreciation for the transformative power of Christian joy in shaping individual lives and enriching communal existence. Thus, the theology of Christian joy stands as a testament to the enduring hope and profound fulfillment offered by the Christian faith.

While I do not remember when I was first introduced to St. Oscar Romero, I began to be drawn to him during my senior year of college at Manchester University. I had brought several of my classmates with me to Sunday Eucharist at the Episcopal Cathedral in Indianapolis as part of an interfaith trip on what happened to be the same day the Salvadoran Archbishop was finally canonized by the Catholic Church. That Sunday, Christ Church Cathedral used the Episcopalian collect for Oscar Romero alongside the appointed one for that Sunday in the Book of Common Prayer, and the sermon focused on his life and witness. The following spring, I took a Peace Studies class on nonviolent social change where I spent my final project exploring Romero as a representative of liberation theology. As I began to seriously discern a call to the ordained ministry Monsignor Romero became one of my main inspirations for the kind of priest I hope to one day be.

Coming to Anglicanism from an Anabaptist background with a family that particularly valued their denomination’s peace witness, I was drawn to Romero’s commitment to peace. He did not settle for the absence of violence but called for structural change to address the issues facing his nation. Throughout his life, he remained a committed son of the Catholic Church which shaped the bedrock of his theology. At the same time, his theology was deeply shaped by the political situation in El Salvador during his ministry. By examining the role of peace in the theology of St. Oscar Romero one can find a model for committed peacemakers striving to proclaim Christ’s justice in the world.

Methodist theologian Edgardo Colón-Emeric argues for the importance of interpreting Oscar Romero’s theology in light of the centrality of the Feast of the Transfiguration on both the secular and religious Salvadorian calendars.[1] This is relevant to those interested in the role of peacemaking in Romero’s theology given the historic violence connected to both the establishment of this feast and its role as the namesake of El Salvador. While the Eastern Orthodox church already celebrated the Transfiguration on August 6, Pope Callixtus III added this feast to the Western calendar to celebrate news reaching Rome of an earlier Christian victory over the Turks on August 6, 1456.[2] More directly in the Salvadorian context, the county and capital city’s names are derived from the feast. The exact historical details are murky, with one source attributing the naming to Spanish conquer Pedro de Alvarado and another stating it was given in honor of a Spanish victory over the indigenous population on August 6, 1526. Either way, the names and associated religious and later national holiday were quickly linked to the colonial conquest of the region.[3]

According to Colón-Emeric, the main weakness of Archbishop Romero’s interpretation of the Transfiguration is his failure to engage with this history.[4] He follows the precedent of Pope Pius XII, who in his address to the First Eucharistic Congress of El Salvador in 1942 praised the “la acendrada piedad de Pedro Alvarado la que en los albores de la conquista americana tan altamente os bautizó.”[5] In the English translation provided by Colón-Emeric, the quote praises “the burning piety of Pedro Alvarado that in the dawn of the American conquest baptized you so highly; it was nothing less than the very Providence of God.”[6] It is important to recognize and name the context behind El Salvador’s patronal festival when invoking its meaning and legacy. This blind spot does not invalidate Romero’s interpretation of the Transfiguration as a basis for personal and structural change, but it is a significant oversight in his theology of peacemaking.[7] Nevertheless, the Biblical event this important day in the Salvadoran ecclesial and national calendar celebrates provides an important backdrop to Romero’s pastoral letters.

Romero’s third pastoral letter as Archbishop of San Salvador includes an extensive section on the Christian understanding of violence. This letter, which was co-authored by Bishop Arturo Rivera y Damas, was released on the Feast of the Transfiguration 1978.[8] Its third section is titled “The Judgement of the Church on Violence.”[9] In it, Romero identifies five forms of violence: institutionalized violence perpetuated by unjust systems, repressive violence by the state to uphold its power, terrorism that some describe as revolutionary violence, spontaneous violence in reaction to attacks, and legitimate self-defense.[10] After identifying these forms of violence the Archbishop praises the power of nonviolence as a method for social change, arguing that Jesus’s teaching to turn the other cheek “far from being passivity and cowardice, is evidence of great moral strength that can leave an aggressor morally defeated and humiliated.”[11]

Drawing on Catholic tradition and particularly quoting documents from the Medellin Conference and an article published by Osservatore Romano, Romero outlines what he sees as an updated statement of the Church’s teaching on violence. He argues that all violence is the result of human imperfection, and the Church prefers peace. Nevertheless, the Church recognizes the different forms of violence and judges them differently. Institutional, repressive, and terrorist violence are always condemned as is any violence that provokes legitimate self-defense. On the other hand, violence can be used legitimately for self-defense provided one uses the least amount of force necessary, that all peaceful options for resolution have been tried, and that violent resistance does not lead to greater violence or injustice. In all cases, nonviolent methods are to be preferred to violent ones.[12]

Romero applies this understanding of violence to his context in El Salvador by urging his readers to have faith in nonviolent methods of confronting oppression. He states that true peace will not be established without justice and that further repressive violence by the government will only bring the nation closer to a situation that meets the criteria for legitimate self-defense.[13] Romero urges the Salvadoran people to pursue peaceful means before resorting to violence and expresses concern about the “spiral of violence” resulting from the polarization of his society.[14] For the Archbishop, nonviolence represents the first and best tactic of the Christian when faced with violence and injustice.

In his fourth pastoral letter “The Church’s Mission amid the National Crisis,” published on the Feast of the Transfiguration in 1979, Romero largely summarizes and reiterates the points he made the previous year. This time he focuses specifically on how these questions of violence and peace relate to El Salvador’s context. For example, he highlights and critiques violence perpetuated by extreme right-wing groups in the country.[15] After reaffirming the grounds for the legitimate use of violence the archbishop points out how difficult it is to be absolutely sure they are all met before using violence. He also highlights the high costs of war and the difficulty of rebuilding afterward.[16] Earlier in the letter he expresses his concern that the ongoing “cycle of violence” in El Salvador is spiraling towards the point where nonviolent means would no longer be enough to resolve the conflict, a situation that he clearly sought to avoid.[17] Throughout, Romero shows a clear preference for nonviolent forms of social change.

Despite the importance of peace in his theology as demonstrated in his pastoral letters, Romero was not an absolute pacifist. This is explicit in his fourth pastoral letter when he writes, “The church cannot state, in a simplistic fashion, that it condemns every kind of violence.”[18] Though the archbishop does not explicitly use the term Just War Theory in these reflections, the requirements he names for the legitimate use of violence follow Catholicism’s traditional justification for the use of force when necessary. Romero recognizes the legitimacy of using violence to end oppression, but only as a last resort when all available nonviolent methods have been tried and failed. He is keenly aware of the harm even justified violence does to the innocent and seeks to avoid that scenario as far as possible.

This allowance of violence, even if only as a last resort, distinguishes Romero from other Christian peacemakers who interpret their faith as requiring absolute pacifism. These Christians, especially those from the historic peace church traditions, might take issue with Romero’s framing of pacifism as being unwilling or unable to fight.[19] Twice in his third pastoral letter, Romero quotes Medellin’s documents to state that the faithful Christian is “not simply a pacifist, for he can fight, but prefers peace to war.”[20] The latter time he adapts this statement in order to apply it to the other Biblical figures who appear alongside Jesus in the Transfiguration narrative. Romero argues that through the encounter with Jesus, Moses, Elijah, Peter, James, and John’s natural aggression was transformed and directed towards productive purposes.[21] If, as the archbishop seems to be arguing, it is this natural aggression that makes the witnesses to the Transfiguration “not simply pacifists,” what does that mean for Romero’s view of those who are simply pacifists? Does he mean to infer that they are unwilling or unable to contribute to the “rich work of construction, of building up justice and peace in the world?”[22]

Given his repeated insistence that being Christian and committed to peace does not mean being a pacifist, Romero seems to have viewed pacifists as passive in the face of violence and oppression. While individuals’ moral lines on what actions are acceptably nonviolent vary, pacifism does not mean doing nothing. While some Christian pacifists have interpreted their faith as a call to separate themselves from the world and its violence, many others have been motivated by their faith to actively confront injustice through nonviolent means. The question for them is not if they can fight injustice, but what means of fighting it are morally and ethically permissible.

Additionally, Romero’s statements about pacifism in his pastoral letters seem to indicate that he thought of it solely in terms of absolute pacifism which rejects any kind of violence or use of force for any reason; however, sociologist Sharon Erickson Nepstad argues other forms of pacifism exist. One alternative is realistic pacifism, which views nonviolence as ideal but recognizes that using force may be necessary in specific situations for self-defense or to protect the innocent.[23] According to this definition, Romero himself could be classified as a realistic pacifist. At the very least, his arguments in favor of nonviolent action while continuing to recognize legitimate self-defense lean in that direction.

It is unlikely that any nonviolent movement for social change will consist only of absolute pacifists. Pacifism can be a difficult sell, especially in the face of the kind of violent oppression prevalent in El Salvador during Archbishop Romero’s life. If one’s moral and ethical views on pacifism stem from one’s religious convictions it will be difficult if not impossible to convince others who do not share those convictions. And, following Nepstad, not all pacifists reject all use of force. Here Romero’s theology provides a foundation for peacemaking and nonviolent action that can include absolute pacifists, realistic pacifists, and non-pacifists working together towards the larger goal of peace.

The theology of Oscar Romero provides a model for peacemakers seeking a more just world. Both the Biblical story of the Transfiguration and the Christian holiday that celebrates it provide important context for Romero’s theology and the role of peacemaking within it. In his third and fourth pastoral letters, he dealt directly with the question of violence and its justification in light of the teaching of the Catholic Church and developed for El Salvador’s context. While not without room for critique, this theology of peacemaking provides a foundation that diverse perspectives can agree on as a starting point for nonviolent action. St. Oscar Romero’s theology reflects a man who sought to follow Jesus and make present Christ’s peace in the world.

[1] Colón-Emeric, Edgardo. Óscar Romero’s Theological Vision: Liberation and the
Transfiguration of the Poor. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2018,
24.
[2] Ibid., 70.
[3] Ibid., 61-63.
[4] Ibid., 64.
[5] Pope Pius Xii, “Radiomensaje de su santidad Pío XII al I Congreso Eucharístico Nacional de El Salvador,” The Holy See, published November 26, 1942, accessed July 23, 2023, https://www.vatican.va/content/pius-xii/es/speeches/1942/documents/hf_p-xii_spe_19421126_eucaristico-salvador.html#_ednref*.
[6] Ibid., 64.
[7] Colón-Emeric, 64.
[8] Oscar Romero, Voice of the Voiceless: The Four Pastoral Letters and Other Statements, trans. Michael J. Walsh (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1985), 85.
[9] Ibid., 105.
[10] Ibid., 106-107.
[11] Ibid., 107-108.
[12] Ibid., 108-109.
[13] Ibid., 109-110.
[14] Ibid., 110.
[15] Ibid., 114-144.
[16] Ibid., 145.
[17] Ibid., 120.
[18] Ibid., 143.
[19] The historic peace churches include the Church of the Brethren, the Mennonites, and the Religious Society of Friends or the Quakers. These traditions have historically been known for a commitment to pacifism and nonviolence as a requirement of their faith, though not all members today hold to that belief.
[20] Romero, 108-110.
[21] Ibid., 110.
[22] Ibid., 110.
[23] Sharon Erickson Nepstad, Nonviolent Struggle: Theories, Strategies, and Dynamics (New York: Oxford University Press, 2015), chap. 1, Kindle.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s communal and relational Christology are the clear throughline of his theology and ethics. Less developed, but in some ways lurking under the surface of much of his writing, is Bonhoeffer’s understanding of the imago dei. There is no lecture series devoted to it or even too many extended musings of how he understands humans to have been made in God’s image, and yet the pieces of information Bonhoeffer gives us on the imago dei show a powerful, if underexplored, foundation on which he builds his understanding of humanity and its relationship to God. This essay will pull together into one place a coherent reading of Bonhoeffer’s views on the imago dei, which impacted how he sees the human person and humanity corporately. I will also address why Bonhoeffer appeared to spend so little time writing about the imago dei: the obviousness of it in his own thinking.

Access to Bonhoeffer’s writings within this paper are based on those available in Dietrich Bonhoeffer and Clifford J. Green, The Bonhoeffer Reader (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2013). Parenthetical citations will indicate which specific Bonhoeffer text is being used and the page number from The Bonhoeffer Reader.

Like his Christology and ecclesiology, which are intimately related, Bonhoeffer’s understanding of the imago dei is communal and relational in nature. As early as his dissertation, Sanctorum Communio, we can see the hints of his beliefs about how humanity is made in the image of God, most notably in his discourse on You/I and relationality. During that discourse, Bonhoeffer describes that at the center of the human person is I. Because I can only be understood by me, I encounter every other person as You. While technically each person is an I, I am incapable of understanding another’s I as such, because to understand as I is to understand myself and no other. And because we experience God as You and not I, there is nothing of the divine nature that can be learned from within ourselves as individuals. If people are made in the image of God, that image cannot be found by me in my I, because I know God as You. As a result, I can only catch glimpses of the imago dei in others whom I experience as You, because to experience a person as You is to experience them as I experience God. As Bonhoeffer writes,

every human You is an image of the divine You …. since the human You is created and willed by God, it is a real, absolute, and holy You, like the divine You. One might then speak here of the human being as the image of God with respect to the effect one person has on another…. (Sanctorum Communio, 27. Emphasis in original).

Here we see Bonhoeffer’s conviction that, if the imago dei is embedded in humans, it is embedded specifically in other humans. In this is also the seed of Bonhoeffer’s disdain for individualistic understandings of the Christian religion. Without relationship, there is no experience of another person, and therefore no experience of the divine Person. We are incapable of experiencing God as I, and therefore we are incapable of recognizing any hint of the imago dei in ourselves. I look at God and see You, not I. It is in the very experience of others that I experience God, because in others I experience not an individual I, but rather the concrete proof that there is more than I. There is You. And in others, we catch a glimpse of God’s You-ness, and thus are capable of meditating on and contemplating the imago dei before our eyes.

This communal experience of both human and divine goes on to affect other aspects of Bonhoeffer’s thinking. A year after publishing Sanctorum Communio, Bonhoeffer would describe true theology as beginning “with veni creator spiritus. To know is to acknowledge, to think is to reflect” (The History of Twentieth-Century Systematic Theology, 165). The German word used there includes both metaphorical and literal reflection — in order to reflect, a mirror must have someone to be reflected — a definition of image that Bonhoeffer would return to in Creation and Fall. Bonhoeffer would similarly find this relationality to be pivotal to his own understanding of proper ecclesiology, which would follow him throughout the German church crisis as he attempted to thread the needle between the institutional church and the catholic, universal Church: “The correct proclamation of the word requires theology as the first extra-ecclesial function next to the church, the assembly of the church (council), which makes decisions about theology (heresy), and the dogma created by the council. This trinity is intended to serve the first trinity” (The Nature of the Church, 198. Emphasis in original). This communal action of the Church finds its footing in the relationality of the Trinity and in the recognition of the imago dei that can only be found in relationship with others. Without that, there is no Church.

Creation and Fall (1933) represents Bonhoeffer’s extended run on the imago dei as such. He begins by asserting that having been created by God does not by necessity impart the image of God onto that which has been created (Creation and Fall, 221). For a created being to be said to contain the image of God, God must be able to see himself in it, as one might see one’s image in a mirror. With this straightforward definition of image, Bonhoeffer denies that anything made by a person (or Person) is made in her image, no more than a potter could claim to see her in her work more than metaphorically. Contra other possible understandings of the ways in which humans are expressions of the imago dei — like the possession of reason or the ability to create — Bonhoeffer explicitly mentions freedom as the key characteristic of God that must be found in order for something to be said to bear the imago dei (Creation and Fall, 221). And therein lies the initial problem: how can a dependent creature be created free?

Freedom, Bonhoeffer asserts, is not a quality a person or object has. Freedom as such exists only in relation to something else. The common misconception that arises is the idea that freedom is understood as “freedom to” do something, which is an individualistic understanding of what freedom is. A fully individual human in a vacuum is free to do whatever he wants. At the same time, a fully individual human in a vacuum does not exist in our lived reality, nor is such a human’s existence possible, because to believe in such a human existence is to believe in that human’s aseity — an absurdity with respect to both biology and theology. “To be more precise, freedom is a relation between two persons. Being free means ‘being-free-for-the-other,’ because I am bound to the other. Only by being in relation with the other am I free” (Creation and Fall, 222). For Bonhoeffer, it is the experience of the other that makes freedom happen (Creation and Fall, 223). Because God appears to create in such a way as to be in relationship with humanity, this appears to be the kind of freedom God desires: freedom for the joy of being in relationship. Likewise, humanity expresses its own freedom when it lives for the other, both in each other and in the divine. After spending several pages claiming that in freedom we can see the imago dei, Bonhoeffer finally defines freedom in such a way that recalls his relational experience of the imago dei found in Sanctorum Communio.

Where Bonhoeffer makes a new and astounding leap is in his description of who, exactly, contains the image of God. He writes, “Created freedom is freedom in the Holy Spirit, but as created freedom it is humankind’s own freedom” (Creation and Fall, 223). Because the imago dei is expressed in our relationship with each other, it refuses to be categorized as an individualistic characteristic of each person as such. Rather, it is humanity as a whole that exhibits the imago dei. Therefore, it is reasonable to conclude that breaking relationship with others not only harms those who have been cut off, but harms all of humanity, which corporately bears the image of God. In this understanding, it becomes easy to see Bonhoeffer’s foundational need to protect Jewish Christians from the Aryan Articles; to deny any group of Christians is to deny both Christ and the imago dei itself.

If his understanding of the imago dei shared so much with his relational Christology and ecclesiology — few thinkers have taken the idea of the Church as the Body of Christ more seriously — why did he spend so relatively little time developing it? The answer may lie in one of his prison letters. In answer to his rhetorical question “What does it mean to ‘interpret religiously’?” he responds:

It means, in my opinion, to speak metaphysically, on the one hand, and, on the other hand, individualistically. Neither way is appropriate, either for the biblical message or for people today. Hasn’t the individualistic question of saving our personal souls almost faded away for most of us? Isn’t it our impression that there are really more important things than this question (— perhaps not more important than this matter, but certainly more important than the question!?)? I know it sounds outrageous to say that, but after all, isn’t it fundamentally biblical? Does the question of saving one’s soul even come up in the Old Testament? Isn’t God’s righteousness and kingdom on earth the center of everything? And isn’t Rom. 3:24ff. the culmination of the view that God alone is righteous, rather than an individualistic doctrine of salvation? What matters is not the beyond but this world, how it is created and preserved, is given laws, reconciled, and renewed. What is beyond this world is meant, in the gospel, to be there for this world—not in the anthropocentric sense of liberal, mystical, pietistic, ethical theology, but in the biblical sense of the creation and the incarnation, crucifixion, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. (May 5, 1944, 781)

The underlying assumption speaks volumes. Bonhoeffer asks us, Haven’t we moved on from such a narrow perspective by now? The relational nature of humanity, the corporate good of the gospel, the other-centeredness of Jesus Christ, preclude anything but this communal understanding of the imago dei. In a sense, the relational experience of the imago dei is so fundamental and foundational to his cosmology that it need not be defended or defined beyond what already exists over the course of four or five pages of writings and lectures. How could anyone not see it?

While Bonhoeffer spent relatively little time writing about the imago dei itself, it seems clear that his interpretation of it was deeply formative for him. From it stems much of his communalism and relational theology. He believed at his core that the thing about him that reflected the image of the divine could only be found in others; not only others, but all others. It is possible that this understanding of the imago dei also played a part in his early disillusionment with German nationalism and Just War. By looking for the echoes of his theology of the imago dei, we can begin to discern some of the “why” behind his more celebrated and well-known contributions to the field.

The musical collaborators behind Peter Johnston RVA preside over a growing body of work characteristic for its fusion of guitar-driven tunes and earnest Catholic lyricism. Their latest release completes a concept begun on Joyful~Sorrowful (2022), rendering the mysteries of the rosary in joyful rock form. The band’s musical influences are clear on Luminous~Glorious, and fans of the classic indie-rock sound of groups like Spoon and Guided by Voices will find something to love in Peter Johnston’s intelligent guitar-playing. Above all, Luminous~Glorious is a remarkable step for the band — a poised and energetic musical effort that has the potential to capture the interest of a broad audience.

Peter Johnston RVA makes a grand entrance on the opening track, “Baptism,” with rollicking drums setting up a soaring guitar riff and reverb-drenched vocals reminiscent of the band Sunny Day Real Estate’s later work. The literate verses build to a series of catchy choruses that will stay with you long after the song’s last cymbal crash fades. “Baptism” is the ideal first track — a strong attention-getter that has the listener reaching to crank up the volume.

While angular-yet-melodic guitar work remains the driving force behind each song, the band makes effective use of keyboards to diversify the sound of tracks such as “Cana,” “Pentecost,” and “Baptism.” However, the band is at its best on more up-tempo tunes when guitar meets Lance Koehler’s propulsive drumbeats. The barely-two-minute “Proclamation” is a short and sweet gem of a rocker. “Resurrection,” with its buoyant chorus and head-bobbing beat, is another standout, and the Spoon-esque intro of “Assumption” develops into a taut shuffle while the lyrics thoughtfully examine the Virgin Mary’s assumption into heaven.

This is not to say that Luminous~Glorious is an album of inside references directed at some exclusive clique. Certainly veteran indie-rockers and observant Catholics will revel in the sound and fabric of Peter Johnston RVA’s songwriting. But whether the listener brings along any knowledge of the independent music scene or of Catholic philosophy, Luminous~Glorious has the power to draw us all in from its opening beat, inviting us to both rock and reflect.