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4. SIMPLICITY AMONG THE SAINTS
I recommend to you holy simplicity.
—Francis de Sales
History has a wonderful way of freeing us from the cult of the contemporary. It opens to us rich new vistas of “the communion of saints.” We realize more pointedly than ever before that God has spoken in the past, and that we are not the only ones who have sought to live in faithful conformity to his word. It is humbling to be writing on Christian simplicity and to discover a fifteenth-century tome by Girolamo Savonarola entitled The Simplicity of the Christian Life. Such experiences have a way of destroying all contemporary arrogance.
One remarkable feature of the devotional masters is the incredible sense of uniform witness in the midst of such diverse personalities. In the words of William James, “There is a certain composite photograph of saintliness.”1 People from different cultures and centuries exhibit a mutual verification that is well nigh amazing. And the necessity of Christian simplicity is one of their most consistent themes. People as divergent as Augustine of Hippo and Francis of Assisi, Blaise Pascal and Madame Guyon, Richard Baxter and Julian of Norwich all called for simplicity of life.
We need to give attention to these voices rising out of the past, hear their witness, and follow their lead. In this chapter we will investigate six different “models” of Christian simplicity. Obviously they are only representative of the rich witness of Christians throughout the centuries.
There is no perfect model of anything. As long as we are finite human beings we are bound to make mistakes and distort the truth. Movements throughout the history of the Church are no exception. Each group we will investigate evidenced deficiencies in one form or another. But this fact of human existence should in no way hinder our appreciation for their bright witness to a way of walking with God that is “free from outward cumbers.”2 In each case, particular attention will be given to the most prominent contribution to simplicity found in each movement. Finally, all of the concerns will be brought together by looking at three classical pieces of literature in the field of Christian simplicity.
Exuberant Caring and Sharing
In the period directly following the Apostolic Age there was an exuberant caring and sharing on the part of Christians that was unique in antiquity. Julian the apostate, an enemy of Christianity, admitted that “the godless Galileans fed not only their [poor] but ours also.”3 Tertullian wrote that the Christians’ deeds of love were so noble that the pagan world confessed in astonishment, “See how they love one another.”4 Exactly what is it that these Christians did which elicited such a response from their enemies?
There was, first of all, an exceptional freedom to care for the needs of one another in the believing community. The Didache admonished Christians: “Thou shalt not turn away from him, that is in want, but thou shalt share all things with thy brother and shalt not say that they are thine own.”5 By A.D. 250 Christians in Rome were caring for some fifteen hundred needy people. In fact, their generosity was so profuse that Ignatius could say that they were “leading in love,” and Bishop Dionysius of Corinth could note that they were sending “supplies to many churches in every city.”6 When Marcion, a well-to-do ship-owner from Asia Minor, joined with the Christians at Rome, he gave them the substantial sum of 200,000 sesterces.
We gain a helpful glimpse into the caring Christian community from Clement I: “Let everyone be subject to his neighbor…. Let the rich man provide for the wants of the poor; and let the poor man bless God, because He hath given him one by whom his needs may be supplied.”7 Tertullian catalogued a long list of groups that were cared for by the Christian believers. They supported and buried the poor, supplied the needs of the boys and girls destitute of means, cared for the elderly that were confined to the house, provided for those who had suffered shipwreck, and gave to those who had been banished to islands or mines for their fidelity to Christ’s cause.
Those who could work were encouraged to do so, in order that they might help those in need. The Pseudo-Clementine literature said that those who could work should do so, those who were unskilled should be helped to learn a skill, and those who could not work should be cared for by the fellowship.8
Christians also provided for those who lost their jobs because of their faith in Christ. It was assumed, for example, that an actor who became a Christian, and had to give up his profession because of its involvement in pagan mythology, would be cared for by the Church.
Christians were eager to help in other emergencies as well. When the Christians of Numidia were left homeless in A.D. 253 by invading nomads, Cyprian collected a spontaneous contribution for them of 100,000 sesterces from a small group in Carthage.
But their joyful sharing was not confined to Christians. These believers lived in such trustful simplicity toward God that they were liberated to share with any and all in need. Bishop John Chrysostom witnessed, “Every day the Church here feeds 3,000 people. Besides this, the church daily helps provide food and clothes for prisoners, the hospitalized, pilgrims, cripples, churchmen, and others.”9 When epidemics broke out in Carthage and Alexandria, Christians rushed to aid all in need. Justin Martyr said that the believing community gathered money in order to care for orphans, widows, the sick, those in prison, strangers, and “in a word takes care of all who are in need.”10
These repeated and sustained sacrificial acts of charity cannot be explained in terms of ecclesiastical or secular politics. They grew out of a deep commitment to Christ and his call to care for the needy. These Christians genuinely believed that God was the owner and giver of all good gifts. Their generosity was an imitation of God’s generosity. They were free from anxiety because they knew that tomorrow was in God’s hands. They lived in simplicity.
Perhaps no one has captured the exuberant spirit of simple caring and sharing better than the Christian philosopher Aristides, whose words (written in A.D. 125) are so moving that they are best quoted in full:
They walk in all humility and kindness, and falsehood is not found among them, and they love one another. They despise not the widow, and grieve not the orphan. He that hath distributeth liberally to him that hath not. If they see a stranger, they bring him under their roof, and rejoice over him, as if he were their own brother: for they call themselves brethren, not after the flesh, but after the Spirit of God; but when one of their poor passes away from the world, and any of them see him, then he provides for his burial according to his ability; and if they hear that any of their number is imprisoned or oppressed for the name of their Messiah, all of them provide for his needs, and if it is possible that he may be delivered, they deliver him. And if there is among them a man that is poor and needy, and they have not an abundance of necessaries, they fast two or three days that they may supply the needy with their necessary food.11
This model of simplicity speaks to our condition. How desperately we need today to discover new creative ways of caring and sharing with any in need.
The Power of Renunciation
The power of renunciation as seen in the Desert Fathers and Mothers is a second model of Christian simplicity.
As the persecution of the early Christians began to die out, it was no longer possible to witness for Christ by martyrdom. But the world had not changed its antipathy to the Gospel message, only its tactics. Persecution was replaced by assimilation.
For the Desert Fathers and Mothers, the flight to the desert was a way of escaping conformity to the world. The world, including the Church, had become so dominated by secular materialism that, for them, the only way to witness against it was to withdraw from it. Thomas Merton writes in the introduction to his Wisdom of the Desert, “Society…was regarded by the Desert Fathers as a shipwreck from which each single individual man had to swim for his life.”12
They were seeking to revive true Christian devotion and simplicity of life by intense renunciation. Their experience has particular relevance, because modern society is uncomfortably like the world that they attacked so vigorously. Their world asked, “How can I get more?” The Desert Fathers and Mothers asked, “What can I do without?” Their world asked, “How can I find myself?” The Desert Fathers and Mothers asked, “How can I lose myself?” Their world asked, “How can I win friends and influence people?” The Desert Fathers and Mothers asked, “How can I love God?”
Anthony, the “father of monks” (A.D. 251–356), was about eighteen years old when he heard the Gospel words, “Go, sell what you possess and give to the poor…and come, follow me” (Matt. 19:21). Going out from the Church, he immediately gave away his inherited land, sold all of his possessions, and distributed the proceeds among the poor, saving only enough to care for his sister. After living at the edge of his village for a time, he retreated into the desert, where for twenty years he lived in complete solitude. In the solitude he was forced to face his false, empty self. He learned to die to the opinions of others. He came out of a bondage to human beings. Violent and many were the temptations he faced.
When he emerged from the solitude of the desert, he was marked with graciousness, love, kindness, endurance, meekness, freedom from anger, and the practice of prayer. People recognized in him a unique compassion and power. Many sought him out for spiritual counsel and healing prayer. Even the Emperor Constantine sought his advice. For many years he had an effective and varied ministry. In the final years of his life he retreated again to the solitude of the desert, where he died in his 105th year.
The Desert Fathers and Mothers renounced things in order to know what it meant to have the single eye of simplicity toward God. They were the Athletae Dei, the athletes of God, who sought to strip away all hindrances. There is no question that there were excesses in the monasticism of the Desert Fathers and Mothers, but no more so than the excesses evidenced in the Church of today in the opposite direction.
The renunciation of the Desert Fathers and Mothers had great transforming power. These men and women renounced possessions in order to learn detachment. They gained a great freedom when they surrendered the need to possess. Among the sayings of the Fathers and Mothers is the story of an important dignitary who gave a basket of gold pieces to a priest in the desert, asking him to disperse it among the brethren. “They have no need of it,” replied the priest. The wealthy benefactor insisted and set the basket of coins at the doorway of the church, asking the priest to tell the brethren, “Whoso hath need, let him take it.” No one touched it, or even cared enough to look at it. Edified, and no doubt astonished, the man left with his basket of gold.13
Detachment frees us from the control of others. No longer can we be manipulated by people who hold our livelihoods in their hands. Things do not entice our imaginations; people do not dominate our destinies.
The Desert Fathers and Mothers renounced speech in order to learn compassion. A charming story is told of Abbot Macarius, who said to the brethren in the church in Scete, “Brethren, flee.” Perplexed, one of the brothers asked, “How can we fly further than this, seeing we are here in the desert?” Macarius placed his finger to his mouth and said, “Flee from this.” When Arsenius, the Roman educator who gave up his status and wealth for the solitude of the desert, prayed, “Lord, lead me into the way of salvation,” he heard a voice saying, “Be silent.”14
Silence frees us from the need to control others. One reason we can hardly bear to remain silent is that it makes us feel so helpless. We are accustomed to relying upon words to manage and control others. A frantic stream of words flows from us in an attempt to straighten others out. We want so desperately for them to agree with us, to see things our way. We evaluate people, judge people, condemn people. We devour people with our words. Silence is one of the deepest Spiritual Disciplines simply because it puts the stopper on that.
When we become quiet enough to let go of people, we learn compassion for them. We can be with people in their hurt and need. We can speak a word out of our inner silence that will set them free. Anthony knew that the true test of spirituality was in the freedom to live among people compassionately: “With our neighbor there is life and death: for if we do good to our brother, we shall do good to God: but if we scandalize our brother, we sin against Christ.”15
The Desert Fathers and Mothers renounced activity in order to learn prayer. Prayer was at the heart of the desert experience. These athletes of God sought to strip away all superfluous things, so they could concentrate on the one thing most needful. Prayer was the great work of their lives. Abbot Agatho declared, “There is no labor so great as praying to God…. With any other labor that a man undertakes in the life of religion, however instant and close he keeps to it, he hath some test: but prayer hath the travail of a mighty conflict to one’s last breath.”16
Prayer frees us to be controlled by God. To pray is to change. There is no greater liberating force in the Christian life than prayer. To enter the gaze of the Holy is never to be the same. To bathe in the Light in quiet wonder and glad surrender is to be slowly, permanently transformed. There is a richer inward orientation, a deeper hunger for communion. We feel as if we are being taken over by a new control Center, and so we are.
Few if any of us will be led to the forms of renunciation that characterize the Desert Fathers and Mothers. But all of us need to seek God for “wineskins” that will build into our lives the simplicity of detachment, compassion, and prayer.
The Joy of Simplicity
The poor little monk of Assisi, St. Francis, and his jubilant band comprise yet another model of Christian simplicity. They tramped the earth inebriated with the love of God, and filled with ecstasy. Buoyant joy was the hallmark of their simplicity.
Francis (A.D. 1182–1226) is one of the most winsome figures in the history of the Christian faith. Born in the ancient Italian town of Assisi of wealthy parents, his adolescent years were spent as a charming and carefree playboy. A leader among the local young aristocracy, he often initiated their fun-loving revelries.
Illness and a military disappointment were among the influences that began to lead the sensitive Francis through a lengthy series of intense struggles of the spirit. The climax came in 1206 when his enraged father brought him before the bishop, to disinherit him. Francis stripped himself naked and walked away determined to follow the Lord’s bidding into apostolic poverty.
Moved by his joyousness under oppression and his espousal of Lady Poverty, many flocked to the young Francis. Three years after the decisive call had come to Francis, a young girl of sixteen, Clara, sought to join the movement. Thus a woman’s branch of the Franciscans, the Poor Ladies or Poor Clares, came into being. In time, this jubilant group of men and women became one of the largest and most influential orders in the Catholic faith.
The early Franciscan movement had an unusual combination of mystical contemplation and evangelistic fervor. Paul Sabatier, perhaps the most authoritative biographer of St. Francis, wrote of Francis’s missionary zeal, “Perfectly happy, he felt himself more and more impelled to bring others to share his happiness and to proclaim in the four corners of the world how he had attained it.”17 Enthusiastically, he traversed much of Italy, preached to the sultan in Egypt, and sought to engage in ministry among the Muslims in Spain. He was a captivating speaker, and his deep conviction and radiant love aroused an almost delirious enthusiasm on the part of the people.18
He sent out his Brothers Minor—Little Brothers—all over Europe and to Morocco. He referred to his humble band as “God’s jugglers,” whose task was to “revive the hearts of men and lead them into spiritual joy.”19
The Friars Minor not only preached, but also sang. Exuberant and joyful, they were often caught up in ecstasy as they worshiped. With the soul of a poet, Francis would improvise their hymns. Best known is his “Canticle of the Sun,” with its celebration of Brother Sun and Sister Moon, Brother Wind and Sister Water. It is a joyous adoration of God as the Creator of all good things.
A love for the creation certainly marked these simple friars. They lived close to the earth and took special joy in it. On one occasion Francis and Brother Masseo went begging bread in a small village. Returning with a few dried crusts, they searched until they found a spring for drinking and a flat rock for a table. As they ate their meager lunch Francis exclaimed several times, “Oh, Brother Masseo, we do not deserve such a great treasure as this!” Finally, Brother Masseo protested that such poverty could hardly be called a treasure. They had no cloth, no knife, no dish, no bowl, no house, no table. Elated, Francis replied, “That is what I consider a great treasure—where nothing has been prepared by human labor. But everything here has been supplied by Divine Providence, as is evidenced in the baked bread, fine stone table, and the clear spring.” Joyfully they finished their meal and then journeyed on toward France, “rejoicing and praising the Lord in song.”20
A joyous trust characterized their simplicity. At one time Francis gathered some five thousand friars in an open plain for something akin to a camp meeting among the Brothers. St. Dominic and several other prominent people had come to watch the event. At one point Francis rose and delivered a moving sermon, concluding with the command that the friars not have “any care or anxiety concerning anything to eat or drink or the other things necessary for the body, but…concentrate only on praying and praising God. And leave all your worries about your body to Christ, because He takes special care of you.”
Hearing this, Dominic was distressed at the seemingly imprudent order. However, within a short period of time people from all the surrounding towns began arriving, bringing with them generous supplies of food. A great celebrative feast followed as the monks rejoiced in this provision of God. Dominic was so moved by the scene that he meekly knelt before Francis and said, “God is truly taking care of these holy little poor men, and I did not realize it. Therefore I promise henceforth to observe the holy poverty of the Gospel.”21
Francis knew joy, but it was a joy rooted in the cross, not in escape from it. The delightful story is told about how Francis taught Brother Leo the meaning of perfect joy. As the two walked together in the rain and bitter cold, Francis reminded Leo of all the things that people believed would bring joy, adding each time, “Perfect joy is not in that.” Finally, in exasperation Brother Leo asked, “I beg you in God’s name to tell me where perfect joy is.” Whereupon, Francis began enumerating the most humiliating, self-abasing things he could imagine, adding each time, “Oh, Brother Leo, write that perfect joy is there.” To explain and conclude the matter he told him, “Above all the graces and gifts of the Holy Spirit which Christ gives to His friends is that of conquering oneself and willingly enduring sufferings, insults, humiliations and hardships for the love of Christ.”22
The life of St. Francis gives us a healthy model of celibacy. (Examples of unhealthy celibacy abound in the history of the Church.) This matter of the single life should not be taken lightly. To be quite blunt about it, celibacy is necessary for some forms of simplicity. Francis could not have done what he did if he had not been single. Nor could Jesus.
Celibacy is not essential to simplicity, but it is essential to some expressions of simplicity. If we want to live like Francis, we had better not be married. If we want to be married, we had better not try to live like Francis. The failure to understand this simple fact has caused a great deal of misery in human society.
Francis and his Friars Minor knew the joy of the Lord. They were stamped by simple love and joyous trust. They led a cheerful, happy revolt against the spirit of materialism and double-mindedness. Nothing is more needed today than a simplicity distinguished by triumphant joy.
Theology in the Cause of Simplicity
The Protestant Reformation provides a crucial insight into the theological foundation for simplicity. Luther saw that the encrusted traditions of the Middle Ages undermined the authority of Scripture and so lifted high the principle of sola scriptura, Scripture alone. He sought to cut down the complex system of merit that had arisen in the Roman Catholic Church with the scriptural principle of sola gratia, grace alone. He endeavored to provide a basis for faithful living that stood over against the works righteousness of his day, by insisting on the biblical principle of sola fide, faith alone. The result was a simplification in both doctrine and life.
Martin Luther dealt with the matter of simplicity in the most profoundly practical way in his book The Freedom of a Christian. What he saw in acutely sharp focus was that the liberty of the Gospel sets us free to serve our neighbor with singleness of purpose. If our salvation is by grace alone, we no longer need to keep juggling a myriad of religious duties to get right with God. We are free from constantly taking our own spiritual temperature.
Our freedom from sin allows us to serve others. Before, all our serving was for our benefit, a means to somehow get right with God. Only because the grace of God has been showered upon us are we enabled to give that same grace to others. Luther expressed this thesis in his famous paradox: “A Christian is a perfectly free lord of all, subject to none. A Christian is a perfectly dutiful servant of all, subject to all.”23 Through the grace of God alone, and not by any work of righteousness on our part, we come into the glorious liberty of the Gospel. We are all lords and kings and priests, as Luther put it. We are set free from the law of sin and death.
But this freedom is not for our sake alone—it is also a freedom to serve others. Until we are righteous we cannot really do righteous deeds, no matter how hard we try. Luther said, “Good works do not make a good man, but a good man does good works; evil works do not make a wicked man, but a wicked man does evil works.”24
Let’s illustrate this matter in a simple way. A poor artist may paint many pictures, but he will not paint any good pictures. An inferior contractor may build many homes, but he will not construct any good homes. The person who is still bound to sin and enslaved to others is not free to truly love his neighbor.
A moment’s reflection on our part confirms the truth of Luther’s insight. If we are still in bondage to sin, our serving will flow out of that center. We will not have the single eye that gives light to all we do. Pride and fear and manipulation will control our actions. We will not be free to serve our neighbor in simplicity. If we are still in bondage to others, our serving will flow out of that center. We will be controlled by a desire to impress them, or receive their help. Without Gospel liberty, we will forever measure who we are by the yardstick of others. We will not be free to serve our neighbor in simplicity.
But once the grace of God has broken into our lives, we are free. When we are free from the control of our neighbor, we are able to obey God. And as we obey God with a single heart, we are given a new power and desire to serve our neighbor, from whom we are now free. We have become “servants of our neighbors, and yet lords of all.”25 We know simplicity of life. Luther concludes, “A Christian lives not in himself, but in Christ and his neighbor. Otherwise he is not a Christian.”26
John Calvin developed a theology of the state that was the source of tremendous social power. While Luther tended to separate the Church from the state, Calvin tried to integrate them, and to produce a just social order by giving the controlling power to the righteous. He viewed Christians as the instruments of God in the transformation of the entire society.
This approach took seriously the role of Christian political activism. Christians must concern themselves with matters of justice and service. A social order that caters to the privileged elite, while masses of its people are deprived of necessities, cannot be tolerated. Christians have a responsibility to bring social justice into realization. These are concerns close to the heart of Christian simplicity. Concerning government authorities Calvin could say, “They are not to rule for their own interest but for the public good; nor are they endued with unbridled power, but what is restricted to the wellbeing of their subjects.”27 In other words, the state has a God-given task to provide justice for all people alike, and Christians have a responsibility to see that it fulfills this function.
Christians are to commend the state when it does justice, and condemn it when it fails to bring justice. More than that, Christians are to actively involve themselves in the state to work for the cause of justice. However much we may debate the specific means Calvin himself used to realize this conviction, we must join him in the conviction.
Luther and Calvin help us to understand the importance of both liberty and justice in our search for Christian simplicity. We need to join with Luther in seeking the freedom of the Gospel, which allows us to serve our neighbor in love. We need to join with Calvin in seeking social justice in all of society, which allows human beings to live in peace.
Hearing and Obeying
Holy obedience to the living voice of Christ brought birth to a vigorous form of simplicity among seventeenth-century Quakers (also known as Friends). Offense at the gluttonous excess of his day led young George Fox (A.D. 1624–1691) to seek after God, a seeking that reached an important turning point when he heard a voice which said, “There is one, even Christ Jesus, that can speak to thy condition.”28 And so from the very outset Quakerism centered in the conviction that the voice of Christ could be heard and his will obeyed. This listening to Jesus Christ is what led the early Quakers to a radical simplicity testimony.
If the early Quaker preaching were to be brought into one sentence, it would be, “Christ has come to teach his people himself.” The Quakers were convinced that Christ was the fulfillment of the “prophet like unto Moses” who had been prophesied (Deut. 18:15–18, KJV). As prophet, Christ is able to teach us the righteousness of God. We can hear his voice if we will listen. His teaching will always be consistent with the Scriptures, since the Scriptures give us a faithful record of Christ’s teaching to the apostles and prophets.
Not only does Christ our Prophet teach us, but he gives us the power to obey. George Fox declares “that God doth draw people from their unrighteousness and unholiness to Christ the righteous and holy one, the great prophet whom Moses said God would raise up whom people should hear in all things,” and he urges all Christians to consider “whether you do believe that God raised up this prophet Christ Jesus? And if so, whether you do hear him?”29
A simplicity that took exception to many of the customs of the day resulted from this hearing and obeying the word of Christ. The early Quakers witnessed to simplicity in their attire: they rejected the gaudy superficial fashions that abounded in that day, and instead adopted the plain clothing of the working class. They refused to remove their hats in deference to the nobility, because they were convinced that all people deserved equal honor.
They witnessed to simplicity in their speech, in which honesty and integrity were the distinguishing characteristics. It was said that a Quaker’s word was as good as his bond. “Thee” and “thou,” which at the time were used for everyone but the elite, they used when speaking to peasant and king alike. They refused to take oaths because it implied a double standard of truth. They needed no oath to guarantee that they spoke the truth—their yes was yes, and their no was no.
They witnessed to simplicity by vigorously opposing injustice and oppression. They condemned the “price fixing” of the day, which discriminated against the poor and needy, and insisted instead on a one-price system for all. Their writings were shot through with outraged cries against the conspicuous consumption of the wealthy because of its connection with the poverty that was rampant in the land. In No Cross, No Crown, William Penn scathingly denounced the practice of 95 percent of agriculture going to feed “the inordinate lusts and delicious appetites” of 5 percent of the population.30 When the wealthy rationalized their extravagance under the excuse that it provided employment for the poor, George Fox rebutted, “If you say how shall the poor live if you do not wear that; give them all that money which you bestow upon all that gorgeous attire, and needless things, to nourish them, that they may live without making vanities.”31
These early “Publishers of Truth,” as they called themselves, took with utter seriousness the task of hearing the voice of Christ and obeying his word. They would ask, “What does it mean to live faithful lives in our day?” and they fully expected to receive an answer. Christ spoke to them through the Scripture, he also moved directly upon the heart of the attentive listener, and he spoke most powerfully when believers were gathered together in worship. The corporate commitment to listen to Christ produced corporate convictions, for their Teacher promised to create unity among them (Matt. 18:18–20).
But to hear Christ’s word was not enough. The early Quakers also waited to receive the power to obey that word. And it was the conviction that they would actually receive the power to obey the instruction given them which gave early Friends such vitality. They walked cheerfully upon the earth in the power of the Lord. They called their struggle “the Lamb’s War” and fully believed that the Lamb of God would give them victory over all “vanity, customs, and fashions of this generation.”32 In every detail they sought to live in holy obedience.
We who live in a world of half-truths and rationalizations and intellectual gymnastics that keep us from hearing and obeying the word of Christ need to hear the witness of the Friends. Because we live in a different culture, we must once again ask what it means to live faithful lives in our day. But we must ask fully expecting to receive an answer and fully expecting to be given the power to obey the call.
Simplicity in Action
Examples abound of Christian simplicity in the task of evangelism, in the service of the poor, and in the cause of social justice. The vigorous evangelistic efforts of John Wesley and the early Methodists are well known. The simplicity of their lifestyle gave integrity to the Gospel they preached. Wesley is reported to have told his sister, “Money never stays with me. It would burn me if it did. I throw it out of my hands as soon as possible, lest it should find its way within my heart.” He told everyone that, if at his death he had more than £10 (about $18) in his possession, people had the privilege of calling him a robber.33 Near the end of his life he wrote in his journal very simply, “I left no money to anyone in my will, because I had none.”34
Francis Asbury, the “Apostle of American Methodism,” remained single all of his life and lived on a very meager income in order to devote all his energies to the advancement of Christ’s cause in America. His single-hearted devotion is evidenced in a notation in his journal as he sailed to the Colonies: “Whither am I going? To the new world. What to do? To gain honor? No, if I know my own heart. To get money? No. I am going to live to God and to bring others so to do.”35 Such simplicity of life in the task of evangelism could be multiplied a thousandfold among the faithful army of itinerant Methodist preachers.
No one can read the journal of David Brainerd without being struck by the utter simplicity of his life, and his single-minded devotion to bring Christ to the American Indian. Obsessive status-seeking and compulsive extravagance were antithetical to his life and message.
From its inception, the modern missionary movement was rooted in sacrifice and simplicity. From William Cary to Amy Carmichael, from Adoniram Judson to Lilias Trotter, from J. Hudson Taylor to Gladys Aylward, from Lottie Moon to C. T. Studd, these men and women have left us a legacy of commitment to simplicity. As J. Hudson Taylor prepared to bring the Gospel to the great throngs of inland China, he taught himself to endure hardness and to economize in order to help people in need. He said, “I soon found that I could live upon very much less than I had previously thought possible. Butter, milk and other luxuries I ceased to use, and found that by living mainly on oatmeal and rice with occasional variations, a very small sum was sufficient for my needs.” In this way he was able to use two-thirds of his income for other purposes. He wrote, “My experience was that the less I spent on myself and the more I gave to others, the fuller of happiness and blessing did my soul become.”36
In our own century, consider the example of Sadhu Sundar Singh, the man who has done more than any other to incarnate the Christian faith into the life and culture of India. Adopting the saffron robe of the Indian sadhus, or holy men, Sundar Singh lived a life of extreme simplicity as he tramped the length and breadth of India. His bearded figure, radiant smile, and compelling preaching became widely known in many countries. He disappeared in 1929 while on an evangelistic mission into Tibet, presumably martyred for his faith in Christ.
Christians have also raised the standard of simplicity in the service of the poor. At the early age of twenty, Antoine Frédéric Ozanam persuaded some of his fellow students to help him in serving the destitute and underprivileged of France. It was the beginning of the St. Vincent de Paul Society. Begun in 1833, it quickly spread to many countries.
In that same century, William Booth established the Salvation Army out of a burning desire to help the dregs of the industrial urban civilization. Ministering in the worst slums of London, Booth first sought to bring broken and dispossessed people into the churches. Unwilling to receive them, the churches rejected Booth and his followers. Booth turned to unconventional open-air meetings on the streets, complete with drums, tambourines, and trumpets. His book, In Darkest England and the Way Out, is a scathing exposé of the economic, social, and moral conditions in the slums, and in it Booth made daring proposals to overcome these conditions. Along with other things he called for a poor man’s bank, rescue homes for prostitutes, and model suburban villages.37
Robert Raikes established the Sunday School movement in an attempt to provide educational opportunities for the extremely poor on the only day they did not have to work—Sunday. George Müller has inspired many to faithful ministry by his homes for the orphans of Bristol, which were begun and maintained entirely through prayer for their material means. George Williams founded the Young Men’s Christian Association (YMCA) to provide evangelistic, social, and athletic opportunities for the lower income levels of the white-collar class.
In the twentieth century, one thinks immediately of Albert Schweitzer. Extremely versatile, Schweitzer was a New Testament scholar, a distinguished organist and authority on Bach, and an accomplished philosopher and theologian. He chose, however, to give the bulk of his adult career to serving the people of French Equatorial Africa as a medical missionary.
Simplicity also has been a vigorous force in the cause of social justice. David Livingstone is well known for missionary exploits and especially for his determined efforts to abolish what he called “the open sore of the world,” the African slave trade. Living in great simplicity, both in inward spirit and in outward lifestyle, he persistently pleaded the cause of the helpless of Africa. The horrors of the slave trade, said Livingstone, were beyond exaggeration. “To overdraw its evils is a simple impossibility.”38 Among the last words which he was to write in his journal were these: “I will forget all my cold, hunger, suffering and trials, if I can be the means of putting a stop to this cursed traffic.”39
Clarence Jordan has made an important imprint upon twentieth-century America by his courageous life of simplicity in the cause of social justice. The founder of Koinonia Farm and author of the Cotton Patch version of the New Testament, he has sometimes been called a theologian in overalls. He withstood harassment, economic boycott, and gunfire from nightriders in order to make a bold social witness for peace, community, and racial equality.
Jordan began his experiment in racial reconciliation in 1942 on a farm near Americus, Georgia, and he remained there until his death in 1969. In everything he was marked by simplicity of spirit and life. His call for justice and peace and simplicity in the context of authentic Christian community is a challenge to our perennial culture-conforming tendencies.40
And today many groups have arisen which have battled for justice out of Christian conviction. Among some of the better known of these groups are the Sojourners Community in Washington, D. C., which publishes Sojourners; the Christian Community Development Association in Chicago, Illinois, which represents a host of neighborhood organizations all over the United States working for grassroots transformation; the Catholic Worker Movement in many American urban centers, which publishes The Catholic Worker; the Mennonite Central Committee through the Ten Thousand Villages project, which provides vital, fair income to Third World people by marketing their handicrafts in North America; and Evangelicals for Social Action in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, which publishes Prism. Whatever may be the shortcomings of these many movements, certainly one of their greatest assets has been their understanding of how intrinsic Christian simplicity is in the cause of justice.
Words to Live By
No investigation into simplicity in the history of the Church is complete without at least a brief perusal of its literature. We possess a rich heritage of writings on this topic, from Clement’s The Rich Man’s Salvation and Cyprian’s On Good Works and Alms Giving, to the Letters of St. Jerome and the works of Eckhart, Tauler, and Suso; from the writings of the Radical Reformation to the Epistles of George Fox and William Penn’s No Cross, No Crown. And, of course, many modern writers have addressed this subject with new vigor, including Francis Florand in Stages of Simplicity, Arthur Gish in Beyond the Rat Race, Arthur Simon in How Much Is Enough? Ronald Sider in Rich Christians in an Age of Hunger, and the many writings of Wendell Berry.
I have chosen to look at three representative writings which, taken together, give us a composite picture of the concern for Christian simplicity in the history of the Church: The Simplicity of the Christian Life, by Girolamo Savonarola, Purity of Heart Is to Will One Thing, by Søren Kierkegaard; and The Journal and A Plea for the Poor by John Woolman.
Girolamo Savonarola’s The Simplicity of the Christian Life is actually a discussion of the nature of the good life. Savonarola is seeking to answer the question, “What makes people happy?” Of all created beings, writes Savonarola, only humans have to struggle to discover their proper role in the whole scheme of things. We are the only ones who seek for meaning, purpose, happiness. The blessed life, says Savonarola, is not found primarily in sensual pursuits nor in intellectual pursuits nor even in spiritual pursuits, as normally understood. No, the happy life is rooted in the grace of God and discovered in imitating the life and teachings of Jesus. The main means through which this simple life of the Imitatio Christi occurs are prayer and love.
Having laid the foundation, Savonarola proceeds with two crucial chapters: “Simplicity of the Heart” and “Exterior Simplicity.” “Each Christian,” declares Savonarola, “ought to try to come to perfect simplicity” of the heart.41 Even the natural order witnesses to the fact that the more inwardly simple or unified something is the more perfect it is. In the spiritual realm, this inner heart simplicity is discovered in having the crucified Christ as the unifying force of all our affections and aspirations.
Exterior simplicity flows from this true interior simplicity. We can see this in the creation, says Savonarola. A tree or flower is pleasing to the eye because it reflects an inner harmony and unity. The same is true of our lives. If we enter into the simplicity of God we will have an exterior quality of life marked by unity and peace. “The true Christian greatly loves and adores exterior simplicity,” comments Savonarola. In even stronger language, he goes on to add, “He who does not love exterior simplicity is not able to live the Christian life.”42
But we must remember, counsels Savonarola, that simplicity in exterior things does not come to all equally. Some occupations demand a greater use of material goods. Also, there needs to be a certain ordinary common sense (he uses the word “prudence”) employed in deciding what we should do without. In fact, Savonarola adds, it is not wrong to seek those things necessary for a “decent state,” and if we have simplicity of heart we can distinguish between those things that are necessary for a decent state and those things that are superfluous. The best guides in these decisions, says Savonarola, are the sacred Scriptures and spiritual discernment. He then concludes with a chapter on the danger of wealth and a chapter on the happiness of the Christian life.
Kierkegaard’s Purity of Heart Is to Will One Thing stands as a vigorous statement of inward simplicity. While Descartes says, “I think, therefore I am,” Kierkegaard says in effect, “I am, therefore I must decide.” Slowly, carefully he strips away all of our rationalizations and barriers to willing one thing until we stand as a single individual at the crossroads. Significantly, the book itself is dedicated to “that solitary individual,” and relentlessly it forces us to come, naked and alone, before God, where we must decide how to live. In reality, the book is an extended commentary on words of the Apostle James: “Draw near to God and he will draw near to you. Cleanse your hands, you sinners, and purify your hearts, you men of double mind” ( James 4:8).
Some have misunderstood the message of Purity of Heart by assuming that it is possible to will one thing, and that unspeakably evil, as in Adolf Hitler. On the contrary, says Kierkegaard, “the person who wills one thing that is not the Good…does not truly will one thing. It is a delusion, an illusion, a deception, a self-deception that he wills only one thing. For in his innermost being he is, he is bound to be, double-minded.”43 His point is a simple one. God is the only whole, satisfying, unifying reality in the universe. Only God is one, and he alone encompasses the good. To desire anything outside of God is to will not one thing but “a multiple of things, a dispersion, the toy of changeableness and the prey of corruption!” No desire can be fully satisfied when it is outside of God, and the individual becomes “not merely double-minded but thousand-minded, and at variance with himself.”44
Purity of heart, then, is found in willing only the good, which is God. To do so unifies and simplifies everything. But Kierkegaard warns that to desire the good for the sake of the reward is not to will one thing; to desire the good out of fear of punishment is not to will one thing; to desire the good out of self-centered willfulness is not to will one thing; to desire the good with a half-hearted commitment is not to will one thing. Utter abandonment, absolute commitment to the good, to God, is the requirement for willing one thing, for purity of heart.
Kierkegaard has pressed home for us how essential inner simplicity is to our task. Even when we are seeking God, but doing so out of a duplicitous motivation, though our words and deeds may seem virtuous we will be double-minded at best. No, Kierkegaard makes it clear: our inward disposition must be centered, focused, synoptic if we want to know that purity of heart that is Christian simplicity.
The Journal of John Woolman has stood the test of time and is now universally recognized as one of our great devotional classics. Often published with The Journal is A Plea for the Poor. Together they stand as a witness to the necessity of both inward and outward simplicity, the one flowing from the other. It would be hard to imagine a more eloquent testimony to the grace of Christian simplicity.
Woolman first dealt with the issue of simplicity on a personal level. A businessman in retail goods, a tailor, and a nurseryman, he soon found that his trade “increased every year, and the way to large business appeared open, but I felt a stop in my mind.” The hesitancy he felt was not due to a fear of entering into too affluent a lifestyle. That matter had been settled long ago, as he witnessed: “I had, in a good degree, learned to be content with a plain way of living.”
The real problem was twofold. First, there was the issue of compromise found in marketing items that catered to people’s vanity more than they served real needs. He wrote, “Things that served chiefly to please the vain mind in people, I was not easy to trade in; seldom did it; and whenever I did I found it weakened me as a Christian.”45 The second and deciding issue was the need to be free from “cumbers” in order to give uninhibited attention to the Lord’s call upon him. Finally, he felt he must cut back his business. This set him free to engage in a remarkable traveling ministry that was to be a major force in causing Quakers to rid themselves of slavery before America had gained independence from the British Empire.
Passage after passage is filled with tender references to the plight of slaves and slave-owners alike. He saw with unusual clarity the connection between covetousness and slavery:
The Lord…is graciously moving in the hearts of people to draw them off from the desire of wealth and to bring them into such a humble, lowly way of living that they may see their way clearly to repair to the standard of true righteousness, and may not only break the yoke of oppression, but may know him to be their strength and support in times of outward affliction.46
His Plea for the Poor is a tract for our times. In it, Woolman addresses affluent America and asks us to tender our hearts to the needs of the poor. It is filled with practical suggestions on how we can identify with the poor and needy of the earth, especially those who “labor for us out of our sight.”47 He even recommends that we take up the work of the poor for a time in order to feel their burdens.
In a small way, we have entered the “communion of saints” in this chapter. We have heard the witness of people throughout the centuries who have sought to walk with God faithfully and simply. Their message is clear, and is perhaps best summed up in the words of Francis de Sales: “In everything, love simplicity.”48