Part 5
Finally, he contrived a scheme. One day he flew over and sat between the tame doves on the ridge of the farmer's roof. He noticed a place where they flew in, so he flew in too, because surely the storeroom had to be there. But when the farmer came home in the evening and shut the dovecote, he discovered the strange dove. He immediately put it into a little box by itself until the next day, when it was killed – and released from its worries about the necessities of life! Alas, the worried wood
dove had not only trapped himself in worry but also in the dovecote – to its death!
The wood dove is like us silly human beings. When a person is content with the dignity of being human, then he under stands that his heavenly Father feeds him. This he learns from the birds of the air. He does not live like the tame birds in the house of the wealthy farmer, but in the house of him who is richer than everyone, for heaven and earth are the house and possession of God, and humankind is his guest.
A person must be content to be as he is; a dependent being, as little capable of sustaining himself as of creating himself. If we choose to forget God and look after our own sustenance, then we are overcome with anxiety. It is certainly praiseworthy and pleasing to God when a person works for his food. But if he forgets God, and thinks that he himself is supporting himself, then he becomes burdened with the necessities of life. Let us not foolishly and small-mindedly say that the wealthy are spared this anxiety, while the poor are not. On the contrary, only he is spared who is content with being human and understands that his heavenly Father feeds him. And this is as possible for the wealthy as is it for the poor.
Worry about making a living, or not making a living, is a snare. In actuality, it is the snare. No external power, no actual circumstance, can trap a person. If a person chooses to be his own providence, then he will go quite ingenuously into his own trap, the wealthy as well as the poor. If he wants to entrench himself in his own plot of ground that is not under God's care, then he is living, though he does not acknowledge it, in a prison. When the farmer shut the door on the wood dove, the wood dove believed himself to be safe, when in fact he was caught. Or to put it another way, he was shut out from the care of Providence and trapped in a life of anxiety. In a spiritual sense he made himself a captive – trapped himself unto death.
40 The Royal Coachman
It is the Spirit who gives life. The life-giving Spirit is not a direct heightening of our natural powers – what blas phemy! How horrible to understand the Spirit in this way! Christ brings new life! A new life, yes, and this is no platitude such as we use every time something new begins to stir in us. No, it is a new life, literally a new life – because, mark this well, death goes in between life and the new life on the other side of death. Yes, that is a new life.
Christianity teaches that you must die. Your power must be dismantled. And the life-giving Spirit is the very one who slays you. The first thing this Spirit says is that you must enter into death, you must die to yourself. The life-giving Spirit – that is the invitation. Who would not willingly take hold of it? But die first – there's the rub!
You must first die to every earthly hope, to every merely hu man confidence. You must die to your selfishness, and to the world, because it is only through your selfishness that the world has power over you. Naturally there is nothing a human being hangs on to so firmly – indeed, with his whole self – as to his selfishness! Ah, the separation of soul and body at the hour of death is not as painful as being forced to be separated from our flesh when we are alive! Yes, we human beings do not hang on to this physical life as firmly as we do to our selfishness!
What, exactly, does it mean to die to yourself? It is more than not seeing your wish fulfilled or to be deprived of the one that is dearest to you. True, this is painful enough, and selfishness is wounded. But it does not follow that you are dying. No, but personally to shatter your own fulfilled desire, personally to de prive yourself of the dearly desired one who is now your own: this is what it means to wound selfishness at the root, as it was with Abraham when God demanded that he sacrifice Isaac. Christianity is not what we are all too eager to make it. It is not a quack doctor who is promptly at your service and immediately applies the remedy but then bungles everything. Christianity waits before it applies its remedy. This is Christianity's severity. It demands a great sacrifice, one which we often despair of making and can only later see why it was necessary to hold out and wait.
Surely you have experienced, as I have, that when you begin to moan, and say, "I can't take any more," that on the next day you discover that you could. Consider a team of horses that groan and pant, feel exhausted, and feel that a handful of oats is just what is needed. However, they also don't realize that with only a momentary halt the heavily loaded wagon will roll back down the hill and plunge them and driver and everything into the abyss. Is it cruel of the driver that the lashes fall more dread fully than ever before, especially on this team of horses who are as dear to him as the apple of his eye – is this cruel or is it kind? Is the driver cruel when the lashing is finally the only thing that can save the horses from ruin and help them pull through?
So it is with dying to yourself and to the world. But then, my listener, remember that then comes the life-giving Spirit. When? When you are dead to everything else. When does the Com forter come? Not until you have died to your selfishness and come to the end of your own strength. Not until you in love to
40 The Royal Coachman
God have learned to hate yourself, even your ability, not until then can there be talk of the Spirit, of life, of new life.
Once upon a time there was a rich man. He purchased a team of entirely splendid horses, which he wanted for his own pleasure and the pleasure of driving them himself. A year or two passed by. If anyone who had known these horses earlier now saw him driving them, he would not be able to recognize them. Their eyes were now dull and drowsy, their gait lacked style and precision, they had no staying power, no endurance. Moreover, they had acquired all sorts of bad habits, and though they had plenty of feed, they grew thinner and thinner as each day passed by.
So he called in the royal coachman. The royal coachman drove them for a month. In the whole countryside there was not a team of horses that carried their heads so proudly, whose eyes were so fiery, whose gait was so beautiful. There wasn't a team that could hold out running as they did, even thirty miles in a stretch without stopping. How did this happen? It is easy to see: the owner, not being a coachman, drove the horses according to the horses' understanding of what it is to drive. The royal coach man, by contrast, drove the horses according to the coachman's understanding of what it is to drive.
So it is with us human beings. When I think of myself and the countless people I have come to know, I must confess that here are capacities and talents and qualifications enough, but the coachman is lacking. We humans have been, if I may put it this way (in order to carry on with the metaphor), driven ac cording to the horses' (i.e., our) understanding of driving. We are governed, educated, and brought up according to the world's conception of what it means to be human. See, because of this we lack vitality and are unable to endure the sacrifice. We are impatient and impulsively use the means of the moment
and, in turn, want instantly to see the reward for our work, which for that very reason is not very good.
Things were different once. There was a time when it pleased the Spirit himself to be the coachman. He drove the horses ac cording to the coachman's understanding of what it is to drive. Oh, what a human being was capable of then! Ponder this! There sat twelve disciples, all of whom were of but a common social class. Their task, however, was to transform the world, and on the most appalling scale. And when the Spirit descended, the transformation indeed was set in motion.
They carried Christianity through. They were men just like us, but they were driven well! Yes, indeed, that they were! They were like that team of horses when the royal coachman drove them. Never has a human being lifted his head as high as did the first Christians in humility before God! And just as that team of horses could run if need be thirty miles without pausing to catch their wind, so also did they run; they ran seventy years at a stretch without getting out of the harness, without stopping anywhere. No, proud as they were in their humility before God, they exclaimed, "It is not for us to hold back and dawdle along the way. We will not stop – until eternity." They were driven well, yes, that they were!
Oh Holy Spirit, you who give new life, we pray for ourselves but also for all people. Here there is no want of capabilities, nor of education, nor of sagacity – indeed, there may rather be too much. But what is lacking is that you take away that which is corrupting us, that you take away our power and grant us new life. Certainly a person experiences a shudder like death's shud der when you, in order to become the power in him, take power away from him. So, help us also to die, to die to ourselves. If even the horses came to realize how good it was for them that the royal coachman took the reins, although it surely made
40 The Royal Coachman
them shudder at first and they at first rebelled, but in vain, should not we who are created in your image quickly come to understand what a blessing it is that you have the power and give life! Oh Holy Spirit, take the reigns of our lives and rule us. May it be you that has the power.
41 The Invitation
Come here to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest. (Mt. 11:28)
Come here! – Amazing! There is nothing especially amazing for a person in danger and in need of help to cry out, "Come here!" And ordinarily the person who can truly be of help must be searched for, and once he is found, it is often hard to gain access to him. But the one who sacrificed himself, he is the one who seeks out those who have need of help, he is him self the one who goes about and, calling, almost pleading, says, "Come here." He does not wait for anyone to come to him. He comes on his own initiative, for he is indeed the one who calls. He offers help – and such help!
"Come here to me." Amazing! Yes, human compassion does indeed do something for those who labor and are burdened. We feed the hungry, clothe the naked, give charity, build charitable organizations, and if the compassion is really heartfelt, we also visit those who are downtrodden. But to invite them to come to one, that is something that is not so easily done. It would mean that your household and way of life would be completely changed. To invite them in this way would mean to live together in entirely the same manner. You would have to become poor, sharing completely the same conditions as those who are dis tressed and burdened.
41 The Invitation
This invitation can only be made by changing your own con ditions, so they are in keeping with theirs, provided that your life is not already like theirs, as was the case with him who says, "Come here to me, all you who labor and are burdened." This he said, and those who lived with him saw that there was not the slightest thing in his way of life that contradicts it. With the si lent and faithful eloquence of action, his life expressed – even if he had never said these very words – his life expressed, "Come here to me, all you who labor and are burdened."
"I will give you rest." – Amazing! The words "Come here to me" should be understood to mean,"Remain with me, I am that rest." It is not as it usually is, when the helper who says "Come here" then says "Now leave" as he explains where the particular help a person might need is to be found, where, for example, the healing herb grows, or where there is a quiet place where he can relax from his labor. No, the helper is the help. Oh, how wonderful!
He who invites all and wants to help all treats the patient just as if he intended it for each one individually, as if each patient he had was his only patient. Ordinarily a physician must divide his help among his many patients. A physician, of course, can not sit all day with one patient, even less have all his patients at home with him. How could he be all day with one patient with out neglecting the others? The patient has the medicine the physician prescribes and uses it whenever he needs to. The phy sician checks on him occasionally, or the patient may visit the physician. But when the helper is the help, he remains with the patient all day long. How amazing, then, that this helper is the very one who invites all to remain with him!
The invitation goes out, along highways and down alleys. Yes, it goes out even to the path that is so lonely that only
one solitary person walks it, so that there is only one track, that of the unhappy one who fled down it with his wretchedness (otherwise no track, and no track to show that anyone can come back along this way); there, too, the invitation finds its way and most easily when it brings back the fugitive to the In viter. Come here, come here all of you – and you and you and you, too, you who are the loneliest.
This invitation stands at the crossroad, where temporal and earthly suffering has planted its cross, and there it beckons, "Come here, all you poor and miserable, you who must slave in poverty to eke out an existence with nothing more than a toil some future. Come here, all you despised and discarded ones, whose existence no one cares about, not even as much as for a domestic animal, that has more value! All you sick, lame, deaf, blind, crippled, insane come here!" The invitation blasts away all distinctions in order to gather everybody together.
You sick at heart; you who through your anguish learn that a person's heart and an animal's heart are not the same; all you who have been treated unfairly, wronged, insulted, and mis treated; all you noble ones, you who were loving and unselfish and faithful, yet who deservedly reaped the reward of ingrati tude – come here! All you victims of cunning and deceit and backbiting and envy, whom evil singled out and cowardice de serted, where no one asks what rights you have, where no one asks what wrong you have suffered, and where no one asks where it pains or how it pains, while the crowd tramples you into the dust – come here!
The invitation stands at the crossroad, where death separates. Come here, all you sorrowing ones, you who burdened labor in vain! Come here also you, you who have been consigned to live among the graves, you who are regarded as dead but are not missed, are not lamented, you to whom human society cruelly
41 The Invitation
locks its doors and for whom no grave has yet mercifully opened; you, too, come here, here is rest and here is life!
The invitation stands at the crossroad, there where the road of sin veers away from the hedgerow of innocence. Come here, you who are so close and yet so far away. Come here, all you who are lost and gone astray, whatever your error and sin, whether hidden or revealed. Even if you have found forgiveness from others but do not have peace within, turn around and come here; here is rest! The invitation stands at the crossroad, there where the way of sin turns off for the last time and disap pears from view in perdition. Oh, turn around, turn around, and come here. Do not shrink back, no matter how hard it is. Do not fear the narrow way of conversion that leads to salva tion. Do not despair over every relapse. God in his mercy has the patience to forgive and a sinner should have the patience to humble himself. Do not despair. He who says, "Come here," is with you each step of the way. But come!
Come here, all of you; with him is rest. He adds no burden, he only opens his arms. He will not first ask you, as do the "righteous people" who try to help, "Are you not perhaps to blame for your misfortune?" It is so easy to judge by externals, to think that if someone does not get on well in the world that he is bad, or that he is an evil person that has done something wrong.
If you feel your need, he will not question you about it. He will not break the bruised reed even more but will lift you up when you accept him. He will not point his finger at you and thereby separate you from himself, so that your sin becomes even more terrible. He will provide you a hiding place with himself, and hidden in him he will hide your sins. For he is the friend of sinners. He does not merely stand still with open arms and say, "Come here." No, like the prodigal son's father he seeks
the sinner, and like the good shepherd he seeks the lost sheep. He walks – no, he runs, but infinitely farther than any shepherd or any father. Indeed, he goes the infinitely long distance from being God to becoming man. And this he did to seek the lost!
The Inviter does not wait for those who labor and are bur dened to come to him. He himself lovingly calls. He himself comes. He follows the urging ache of his heart, and his heart follows his words, "Come here!" If you follow these words, they in turn will follow you back again into his heart. Oh, that you would only accept the invitation, "Come here!"
42 When the Burden Is Light
Christ does not lead people out of the world to paradise where there is no need or wretchedness. He does not, by magic, make this life into worldly delight and joy. No, he teaches what he demonstrates by example: that the burden is light even if the suffering is heavy.
Often, when we speak of carrying burdens, we distinguish between a light burden and a heavy one. We say that it is easy to carry the light burden and hard to carry the heavy one. But what about when a burden is both heavy and light? It is about this marvel I want to address.
When someone is on the verge of collapsing under a heavy burden, but the burden is the most precious thing he owns, he declares that in a certain sense it is light. When in distress at sea the lover is just about to sink under the weight of his beloved, the burden is most certainly heavy, and yet – yes, ask him about it – it is so indescribably light. He wants only to save his beloved's life. Therefore he speaks as if the burden did not exist at all; he calls her his life. How does this change take place? How is the heavy burden made light? Is it not because a great thought in tervenes, a thought that marks his love? Is it not with the aid of the thought of being in love that the change takes place?
Similarly, Christ says, "My yoke is beneficial" (Mt. 11:33). There is only one thought, one single idea that contains faith's transformation of a heavy burden into a light one. This thought
is that the burden is beneficial, that the heavy suffering laid on one can have a purpose.
But we must believe this. Later, perhaps, it can be seen that it has been beneficial, but at the time it cannot be seen, and nei ther can it be heard, even though countless people lovingly keep on repeating it. No, it must be believed. Faith's inward trusting must be there. Only faith's releasing power can loosen the yoke of thralldom so that the believer walks freely under the yoke. Only faith can loosen the tongue so that silence ends and the voice returns with adoration. It must be believed.
It is said of faith that it can move mountains. Even the heavi est suffering cannot be heavier than a mountain. And thus, if the sufferer believes that his suffering is beneficial to him – yes, then he moves mountains. In order to move a mountain you must get under it. Alas, that is the way – the sufferer gets under the heavy burden; this is the heaviness. But faith's perseverance lifts the mountain and moves it, precisely because it gets under it. However, this will happen only if the sufferer believes, only if he believes that it is beneficial, can he move the mountain.
When we, in faith, cling to the promise of moving moun tains, our joy is so great that the yoke actually becomes light. When someone lifts up a feather, he says, "It is light." But when someone despairs of his lack of strength, but nevertheless tests the heavy weight and succeeds in lifting it, he becomes so joyful that he exclaims, "It is light!" Has he become rash; has he for gotten that he despaired; has he taken the divine help in vain? No, indeed, it is precisely in faith's blessed wonder that he speaks this way.
Christ says, "My burden is light." Christ summons his fol lowers: "Learn from me, for I am meek and lowly of heart." Yes, Christ was meek. He did not assert his rights; he did not plead his innocence; he did not talk about how they were sinning
42 When the Burden Is Light
against him. In fact, he did not point out their scandalous guilt with a single word (though surely such guilt was pointed out). Even in his last moment he said, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." Does not his meekness conceal their guilt and make it far less than it is?
It is to this meekness, to this gentle courage that Christ calls us. And what else is meekness except, as it was for Christ on the cross, to carry the heavy burden lightly, just as impatience and sullenness carry the light burden so heavily. To deal harshly with iron strength with what is the hardest of all is not nearly as wonderful as it is to have iron strength and be able to deal gen tly with what is weakest of all, or to deal lightly with what is heaviest of all. Such is the way of Christ.
Meekness is perhaps the Christian's most distinguishing mark. "If anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also" (Mt. 5:39). Not to strike back is not, in itself, meek ness. Nor is it meekness to merely put up with being wronged and accept it for what it is. But it is meekness to turn the left cheek. Pride also bears the wrong, but as it lifts itself above the wrong – usually in self-righteous judgment – it actually makes the wrong seem greater than it is. Patience also bears the wrong, but it does not make the wrong less than it is. Only meekness makes the wrong less, only meekness lightens the load. It takes the wrong into itself, be it injury, insult, or whatever, and in this way lessens it.
Meekness carries the heavy burden so lightly that it is as if the guilty party's fault became less. This meekness has but one glorious quality: it demands no reward on earth, and yet, it also has an even more glorious quality: that its reward is great in heaven. But is this not to make the heavy burden light? If you know of any other way to explain it then please explain it to me. I know of no other way than the simplicity of faith.
43 A Dangerous Schooling
Scripture says that, "Jesus learned obedience from what he suffered" (Heb. 5:8). Now, if obedience directly fol lowed suffering, it would be easy to learn. But learning obedi ence is not that easy. Humanly viewed, suffering is dangerous. But even more terrible is failing to learn obedience! Yes, suffer ing is a dangerous schooling, but only if you do not learn obedi ence – ah, then it is terrible, just as when the most powerful medicine has the wrong reaction. In this danger a person needs God's help; otherwise he does not learn obedience. And if he does not learn this, then he may learn what is most corrupting: to learn craven despondency, learn to quench the spirit, learn to deaden any noble fervor in it, learn defiance and despair.
Because the schooling of suffering is so dangerous, it is right to say that this school educates for eternity. This danger does not exist in any other school, but then there is not the gain ei ther: the eternal. Of course, a person can learn a great deal with out ever coming to know the eternal. He may learn how to cope outwardly, he may achieve amazing things in his suffering, en compass a mass of knowledge, understanding himself or his destiny. If in suffering you do not learn obedience, you will con tinue to be a riddle to yourself.
Suffering seeks to turn a person inward. If this happens, the school of suffering begins. You will not in despair mount a re sistance, or seek to drown yourself and forget the suffering in
43 A Dangerous Schooling
the world's distractions, in amazing enterprises or in indifferent knowledge. Admittedly, suffering often comes from the outside, but it is not until you take the suffering into your inner being that the schooling begins. Many sufferings can assault a person, and worldly sagacity knows many remedies in defense. But all these remedies have the dismal quality that they save the body but kill the soul. They invigorate the body but deaden the spirit. Only inwardness, only in surrender can the eternal be gained.
Only when a person suffers and wills to learn from what he suffers does he come to know something about himself and about his relationship to God. This is the sign that he is being educated for eternity. Through suffering a person can come to know a great deal about the world – how deceitful and treach erous it is – but all this knowledge is not the schooling of suffer ing. No, just as we speak of a child being weaned from his mother's breast, so also, in the most profound sense, a person must be weaned by suffering, weaned from the things of this world, from loving it and from being embittered by it, in order to learn for eternity. For this reason, the school of suffering con sists in a dying to – a dying to the world and to yourself. And in this school the lessons are always quiet. Here the attention is not dispersed by many subjects. No, here only one thing, the essen tial thing, is needful. Only one thing is learned: obedience.
Without suffering you cannot really learn obedience. Suffer ing is the very guarantee that obedience is not self-willfulness. Ordinarily we say that we must learn to obey in order to learn to be master, and this is indeed true. But we learn something even more glorious by learning obedience in the school of suffering. When this happens we learn to let God be master, to let God rule. And where else is this to be learned except in the school of suffering, where the child is weaned and self-willfulness dies and we learn the difficult lesson that it is indeed God who still rules, despite the suffering.
This is the key to finding rest in your suffering. There is only one way in which rest is to be found: to let God rule in every thing. Whatever else you might come to learn only pertains to how God has willed to rule. But as soon as unrest begins, the cause for it is due to your unwillingness to obey, your unwill ingness to surrender yourself to God.
When there is suffering, but also obedience in suffering, then you are being educated for eternity. Then there will be no impa tient hankering in your soul, no restlessness, neither of sin nor of sorrow. If you will but let it, suffering is the guardian angel who keeps you from slipping out into the fragmentariness of the world; the fragmentariness that seeks to rip apart the soul. And for this reason, suffering keeps you in school – this dangerous schooling – so that you may be properly educated for eternity.
44 To Suffer Christianly
What is decisive in Christian suffering? It lies in the fact that it is voluntary – "on account of the Word" and "for righteousness' sake." The disciples left everything to follow Christ. Their sacrifice was voluntary. Someone may be unfortu nate to lose everything he owns and has; but he has not given up the least thing. Not like the Apostles! Herein lies the confusion.
In today's Christianity we take ordinary human suffering and turn it into a Christian example. "Everyone has a cross to bear." We preach unavoidable human trials into being Christian suffering. How this happens is beyond me! To lose everything and give up everything are not synonymous. To the contrary, the difference between them is infinite. If I happen to lose every thing, this is one thing. But if I voluntarily give up everything, choose danger and difficulties, this is something entirely differ ent. When this happens it is impossible to avoid the trial that comes with carrying Jesus' cross. This is what Christian suffer ing means, and it is a whole scale deeper than ordinary human adversity.
In ordinary human suffering there exists, unlike in Christian suffering, no self-contradiction. There is no self-denial in my wife's dying a natural death – after all, she is mortal. There is no self-denial in my losing my possessions – after all, they are per ishable. In Christian suffering, however, self-contradiction is necessary. It is this that constitutes the possibility of offense.
This is why the remedy seems infinitely worse than the sickness. "But if your hand or your foot offends you, cut it off and throw it from you…" (Mt. 18: 8–9). Christ says: If you want to avoid the real offense, cut off your hand, tear out your eye, even let yourself be castrated for the sake of God's kingdom (Mt. 19:12). His word offends our sinful nature. Such a remedy, according to established wisdom, is nothing but madness, much worse than the sickness. Why should I do that? Christ answers: In order to avoid the real offense, that is, in order to become new and enter into life.
Nowadays we can become or live as Christians in the most pleasant way and without ever risking the slightest possibility of offense. All we have to do is start with the status quo and ob serve good virtues (good-better-best). We can continue to make ourselves comfortable by scraping together the world's goods, as long as we stir into the pot what is Christian as a seasoning, an ingredient that almost serves to refine our enjoyment of life. This kind of Christianity is but a religious variation of the world's unbelief, a movement without budging from the spot. That is to say, it is a simulated motion.
Jesus speaks of how tribulation and persecution come on ac count of the Word, and as a result, how one is immediately of fended. The emphasis lies upon "on account of the Word." Let me clarify this. When in sickness I go to a physician, he may find it necessary to prescribe a very painful treatment. Here there is no self-contradiction in my submitting to his remedy, for it is only a matter of time before I am healed. On the other hand, if I suddenly find myself in trouble, an object of persecution, be cause I have gone to that physician, well, then there is a true selfcontradiction. The fact that I get involved with this physician, the Great Physician, and attach myself to him, that is what makes me an object of persecution. Herein lies the possibility of offense; herein lies the terror.
44 To Suffer Christianly
Christ unabashedly speaks of what would await his disciples when they witnessed to him in the world. "This I have told you so that you will not be offended. They will exclude you from the synagogues; yes, the time will come when whoever kills you will think he is offering God a service" (Jn. 16:1; Mt. 16:23). The pos sibility of offense consists in being persecuted, ridiculed, cast out from society, misunderstood, and finally put to death – and in such a way that those who do it think they are doing God, or the cause of righteousness, a service. It is to this suffering Christ speaks and promises heaven's reward.
Whether you experience adversities in life, whether things perhaps go downhill for you, though you as a Christian will most assuredly bear these sufferings patiently, unlike many oth ers in the world, however patiently you bear them, this suffering is not yet akin to Christ's suffering. To suffer Christianly is not to endure the inescapable but to suffer evil at the hands of people because you voluntarily will and endeavor to do only the good: to willingly suffer on account of the Word and for the sake of righteousness. This is how Christ suffered. This alone is Christian suffering.
v c h r i s t i a n
c o l l i s i o n s
45 The Offense
When Christianity came into the world, it did not need to call attention (even though it did so) to the fact that it was contrary to human nature and human understanding, for the world discovered that easily enough. But now that we are on intimate terms with Christianity, we must awaken the collision. The possibility of offense must again be preached to life. Only the possibility of offense (the antidote to the apologists' sleep ing potion) is able to waken those who have fallen asleep, is able to break the spell so that Christianity is itself again.
Woe to him, therefore, who preaches Christianity without the possibility of offense. Woe to the person who smoothly, flirta tiously, commendingly, convincingly preaches some soft, sweet something which is supposed to be Christianity! Woe to the person who makes miracles reasonable. Woe to the person who betrays and breaks the mystery of faith, distorts it into public wisdom, because he takes away the possibility of offense! Woe to the person who speaks of the mystery of the Atonement without detecting in it anything of the possibility of offense. Woe again to him who thinks God and Christianity are some thing for study and discussion. Woe to every unfaithful steward who sits down and writes false proofs, winning friends for themselves and for Christianity by writing off the possibility of offense. Oh, the learning and acumen tragically wasted. Oh, the
time wasted in this enormous work of making Christianity so reasonable, and in trying to make it so relevant!
Only when Christianity rises up again, powerful in the possi bility of offense, only then will it need no artful defenders. The more skillful, the more articulate, the more excellent the de fense, however, the more Christianity is disfigured, abolished, exhausted like an emasculated man. Christianity ought not to be defended, at least not on the world's terms. It is we who should see whether we can justify ourselves. It is we who must choose: either to be offended or to accept Christianity.
Therefore, take away from Christianity the possibility of of fense or take away from the forgiveness of sin the battle of an anguished conscience. Then lock the churches, the sooner the better, or turn them into places of amusement which stand open all day long!
46 What Says the Fire Chief?
When a person suddenly falls ill, well-meaning people are quick to lend aid. The first proposes one thing, the next another. If all of them, however, had opportunity to advise all at once, the patient's death would be certain. Such wellmeant advice may in itself be dangerous, for such bustling, flur ried presence impedes the physician.
So also in the case of a fire. Hardly is the cry of "Fire!" heard before a crowd of people rush to the spot. One has a pitcher, another a basin, the third a squirter. All of them are nice, cor dial, sympathetic, helpful people, so eager to help put out the fire.
But what says the Fire Chief? The Fire Chief, although nor mally a very pleasant and polite person, says, or rather he shouts, "Oh, to hell with all your pitchers and squirters!" Yes, the Fire Chief is generally a very pleasant and polite person who knows how to show everyone the respect due him, but at a fire he is rather different. He says, "Where the hell is the police force?" And when some policemen arrive he says to them, "Get rid of these damn people with their pitchers and squirters. And if they won't yield to words, then give them a whack or two, so that we may be free of them and get down to work."
At a fire the whole way of looking at things is not the same as in everyday life. This is quite natural, for a fire is a serious thing, and whenever things are really serious, honest good intentions
never suffice. No, seriousness applies an entirely different law: either/or. Either you are the one who in this instance can actu ally do something, or if such be not your case, then the impor tant thing for you to do is to get out. As it is in the case of a fire, so also in matters of the mind. Wherever there is a cause to be promoted, an undertaking to be carried out, an idea to be intro duced, we can always be sure that when someone comes to the spot, he will find there before him a genial company of twad dlers who in the name of seriousness stand around and bungle things by wanting to serve the cause, promote the undertaking, introduce their own ideas. I say, when the right person comes along he will find things thus. And the fact that he is the right person can be determined precisely by how he understands his relationship to this company of twaddlers. If he has a notion that it is they who are to help, and that he must strengthen him self by union with them, he is not the right person. The right person sees at once, like the Fire Chief, that this company of twaddlers must get out, that their presence is the most danger ous assistance the fire could have.
As with matters of the mind, so also in the religious sphere. History is often compared with what the chemists call a process. The metaphor may be quite suggestive, if only it is understood correctly. Scientists speak of a filtering process: water is filtered, and in the process it deposits impure ingredients. It is precisely in an opposite sense that history is a process. The truth is intro duced – and with that it enters into the process of history. But unfortunately this does not (as so many ludicrously assume) re sult in the purification of the idea, which never is purer than in its primitive form. No, it results, with steadily increasing momen tum, in garbling the truth, in making it dull, trite, in wearing it out, in introducing impure ingredients that originally were not present. What happens is the very opposite of filtering, until at
46 What Says the Fire Chief?
last, by the enthusiastic cooperation and mutual consent of a number of successive generations, the point is reached where the truth is entirely extinguished and its opposite embraced.
When at last the right one comes along, to set fire to this wil derness that is the asylum of all twaddle, all illusions, all clever tricks, he will, no doubt, already find there before him a com pany of twaddlers – a crowd. Such a mass have a notion that things are wrong, and often chatter about how dreadfully wrong everything is. But if we think, even for a single moment that this company will be a help, we are not the right man; di vine governance will instantly let go of us as unfit. The right one always sees with half an eye, as does the Fire Chief. He under stands that this company which well-meaningly offers help to put out a fire with pitchers and squirters, would lend help with a sulfur match. He knows full well that he must not have the least thing to do with this company, that he must be as harsh with them as possible. Everything depends upon getting rid of the crowd, for all the crowd does with its hearty sympathy is to eradicate the real seriousness from the cause.
Wherever true seriousness is called for, the law is this: either/ or. Nothing is more detestable and disgusting, both betraying and bringing about a deeper demoralization than this: to some how want a little part in that which must be either/or, all or nothing, and then with good-hearted moderation together rush about it, and by this prattle to pretend mendaciously that one is better than those who have nothing to do with the whole concern – pretend to be better, and thereby make the thing more difficult for those who properly have the task to do.
47 Christianity Does Not Exist
Imagine someone who aspired to be a millionaire but as yet had managed to earn only three dollars. Were he to call himself a millionaire because he was trying, would we be foolish enough to go along with his use of language? Would it not be better for him – simply to keep him awake and alert for the exertion – to say to himself, "I am not a millionaire." By say ing it to himself in this way, would he not guard against becom ing a fool?
The point is this: if there is to be any meaning to it, if it is at all permissible to take the name of something simply because you are striving toward it, then you must at least resemble what you are striving toward. In order to hide the fact that Christian ity simply does not exist we say, "I confess that in the strictest sense, in the New Testament sense, I am not a Christian, but I am trying." Having said that, or taking care to say it every Sun day year after year, or hearing it said, one concludes that one needs to do nothing. We are, after all, Christian.
Let me use an illustration. There is much talk these days about an expedition to the North Pole, an undertaking involv ing extreme exertion and danger. Now suppose that we had got ten the idea into our heads that taking part in such an expedition had significance for our eternal salvation. And let us assume that the clergy have also gotten into the affair and now are going to help us (out of love!). It is perfectly clear that in or
47 Christianity Does Not Exist
der to take part in such a North Pole expedition a person must first of all (if he lives in Europe) leave Europe, his home. Then he must travel a long way north before there can be any ques tion of a North Pole expedition, which can be assumed to begin only with dangers and the initial exertion.
The clergy would make use of this. They know, of course, that those who would actually make the strenuous and danger ous journey will be few, an insufficient number to supply a liv ing for the many pastors with their families. Consequently they change the terms. It now becomes a matter of changing "North Pole expedition" to "an effort in the direction of such a North Pole expedition" and then to babble on about it to those who pay money to listen. Managing to delude everyone into think ing that they, too, are striving in the direction of the North Pole, they manage to make everyone very happy and, in the process, to secure a living for themselves.
How this delusion is accomplished is clear enough. There is, for example, a man in Copenhagen. He travels by ship to Lon don and back in the greatest comfort and ease, "and," says the pastor, "this was his North Pole expedition. No, he did not reach the North Pole, but he tried.""It is perfectly clear,"expounds the preacher, "that if you are going to make an expedition to the North Pole and live in Copenhagen, you must first of all leave Copenhagen. This man did that. On the other hand, no one has yet reached the North Pole anyway. Even those who have gone the farthest have only made an effort. But so has this man. To travel to London is also an effort." Wonderful, tremendously popular! And to take a ride to the city park on Sunday after noon, leaving one's home, is also an effort aimed at discovering the North Pole: ergo, we are all striving! This is the way all of us have become Christians, and paying Christians to boot!
48 What Madness
We now have, unlike original Christianity, a com plete cast of bishops, deans, and pastors; educated clergy, degree and all, talented, gifted, humanly well-meaning. They all preach with tremendous confidence – doing it well, very well, stupen dously well, tolerably well, or badly – but not one of them lives in character with the Christianity of the New Testament. This grand cast of characters accomplishes one thing: it gives rise to a false impression that because we have such a complete cast we must of course have Christianity, too.
We also have what one might call a complete inventory of church buildings, bells, organs, pews, altars, pulpits, offering plates, and so on. But when Christianity does not exist, this in ventory, so far from being an advantage, is a peril, because it is so very likely to give rise to the false impression that we must have Christianity, too.
The illusion of a Christian nation, a Christian "people," masses of Christians, is no doubt due to the power that num bers exercise over the imagination. And yet how many are able to say of their Christian acquaintances that they are truly Chris tians in the New Testament sense, or that their lives are even close to resembling those of the first disciples. But when there are thousands upon thousands who confess to being Christian, one becomes easily confused. Perhaps we are all Christians after all. Why be so harsh?
48 What Madness
This brings to mind a ridiculous story about an innkeeper. It is said that this innkeeper sold his beer by the bottle for a cent less than it cost him. When a certain man said to him, "How does that balance the account? You're losing money," he replied, "No, my friend, it's the big number that counts."
When you have finished laughing at this story, you would do well to take its lesson to heart, which warns against the power that numbers exercise over the imagination. No doubt this inn keeper knew very well that one bottle of beer at 3 cents meant a loss of 1 cent since it cost him 4 cents. And, no doubt, he realized that selling 10 bottles also meant a loss. But 100,000 bottles! Here the big number stirs the imagination. The innkeeper be comes dazed. It's a profit, he says, for the big number does it. So also with every calculation that arrives at a Christian nation, and dare I also say at a church, by adding up units which are not Christian, getting impressed with the results by means of the notion that it is the big number that counts!
Numbers are the most dangerous of all illusions. Inasmuch as Christianity is spirit, the honesty of eternity, there is nothing its detective eye is so suspicious of as of Christian states, Christian lands, Christian endeavors, Christian movements, a Christian people, and (how marvelous!) a Christian world. Even if there were something true in this talk about Christian peoples and cultures, everything this world has up to this point seen in the way of criminal affairs is a mere nursery rhyme in comparison with this crime.
Christ requires followers and defines precisely what he means by this. They are to be salt, willing to be sacrificed. But to be salt and to be sacrificed is not something that the thousands natu rally go for, still less millions, or (still less!) countries, king doms, states, and (absolutely not!) the whole world. On the other hand, if it is a question of size, mediocrity, and of lots of
talk, then the possibility of the thing begins; then bring on the thousands, increase them to the millions – no, go forth and make the world Christian.
The New Testament alone, not numbers, settles what Chris tianity is, leaving it to eternity to pass judgment upon us. It is simply impossible to define faith on the basis of what people in general like best and prefer to call Christianity. As soon as we do this, Christianity is automatically done away with. There are, in the end, only two ways open to us: to honestly and honorably make an admission of how far we are from the Christianity of the New Testament, or to perform skillful tricks to conceal the true situation, tricks to conjure up a forgery whereby Christian ity is the prevailing religion in the land.
Honestly, New Testament Christianity simply does not exist. If the human race would rise in rebellion against God and cast Christianity away from it, it would not be nearly so dangerous as this clever way of making Christians of everybody and giving this activity the appearance of zeal for the truth. This is nothing but a scoffing at God by offering him thanks for bestowing his blessing upon the progress that Christianity was making.
49 The Echo Answers
Endless volumes have been written to show how one is to recognize what true Christianity is. This can be done in a far simpler way. Nature is acoustic. Pay attention to what the echo answers, and you will know at once what is what.
When one preaches Christianity in such a way that the echo answers: "Glorious, profound, brilliant, articulate Christian, you should be exalted with high praise," know that this signifies that this preaching is a base lie. Though it is not absolutely cer tain that he who walks with chains around his ankles is in fact a criminal (for there are many cases when the powers that be have condemned an innocent man), it is eternally certain that he who by preaching Christianity wins honor and prestige is a liar, a deceiver, who at one point or another has falsified the truth. It is simple: It is impossible to preach Christianity in truth with out having to suffer for it in this world.
When one preaches Christianity in such a way that the echo answers, "He is mad," or "What nonsense," know then there are considerable elements of truth in his preaching. However, this is still not the Christianity of the New Testament. He may have hit the mark, but he does not press hard enough, especially not by the preaching of his life.
But when one preaches Christianity in such a way that the echo answers, "Away with that man, he does not deserve to live," know that this is the Christianity of the New Testament. Capital
punishment is the penalty for preaching Christianity as it truly is. Does Christ's life indicate anything different? Hating oneself to love God; hating everything in which one's life consists, every thing to which human beings cling. Capital punishment is the penalty for preaching Christianity in character. Preaching less, appealing to forms of the interesting, the relevant, or the con troversial, is nothing but a religious falsification.
The merit of "Christendom" is that the world has now be come so tolerant, has made such progress, that persecution can no longer take place. There is nothing to persecute. Oh, yes, Christianity is perfectible! And oh how the echo answers!
50 The Tax Collector
In Luke's Gospel we read: "But the tax collector stood far off and would not even lift up his eyes to heaven, but beat upon his breast, saying, God be merciful to me a sinner" (Lk. 18:13). The tax collector stood far off. What does this mean? It means to stand by himself, alone with himself and God. Only when you are literally alone with God do you discover how far off you are. Oh, even though you are not as sinful as the tax col lector, when you are alone with yourself before God, you also stand far off. And this is as it should be. For as soon as there is somebody between you and God, you are easily deceived, as though you were not so far off. You too easily use a deceitful standard of measurement, the standard of human comparison. It is as though you think you could measure how far away you are, which, of course, is never that far.
But the Pharisee also "stood by himself." Was he not also standing far off? Yes, if he had stood by himself. But the Gospel says that he stood by himself and thanked God "that he was not like other men." He did not stand by himself, for when we have others in view, we do not stand by ourselves. The Pharisee's pride consisted just in this – that he proudly used others to measure his distance. He held this thought fast, in order to stand proudly by himself in contrast to the rest. But this indeed is not to stand by yourself, least of all to stand by yourself before God.
The Pharisee stands by himself, the tax collector stands afar off – and yet, and yet, the Pharisee saw the tax collector but the tax collector did not see the Pharisee. When the Pharisee came home he knew very well that this tax collector had been in church, but this tax collector knew nothing of this Pharisee's having been in church. Proudly the Pharisee found satisfaction in seeing the tax collector; humbly the tax collector saw no one. With eyes cast down and turned inward he was in truth before God.
And so, "the tax collector went down to his house justified." With regards to this tax collector, the Scripture says of all tax collectors and sinners, that they draw near to Christ – just by standing afar off they draw near to him (whereas the Pharisee with presumptuous insolence stood far, yes far off). Thus the picture is inverted. It begins with the Pharisee standing near, the tax collector afar off; it ends with the Pharisee standing far off, the tax collector near. The tax collector went to his house justified. For he cast down his eyes; but such eyes see God, and in seeing God the heart is lifted up.
51 Gospel for the Poor
Christ was not making a historical observation when he declared: The gospel is preached to the poor. The ac cent is on the gospel, that the gospel is for the poor. Here the word "poor" does not simply mean poverty but all who suffer, are unfortunate, wretched, wronged, oppressed, crippled, lame, leprous, demonic. The gospel is preached to them, that is, the gospel is for them. The gospel is good news for them. What good news? Not: money, health, status, and so on – no, this is not Christianity.
No, for the poor the gospel is the good news because to be unfortunate in this world (in such a way that one is abandoned by human sympathy, and the worldly zest for life even cruelly tries to make one's misfortune into guilt) is a sign of God's nearness. So it was originally; this is the gospel in the New Tes tament. It is preached for "the poor," and it is preached by the poor who, if they in other respects were not suffering, would eventually suffer by proclaiming the gospel; since suffering is inseparable from following Christ, from telling the truth.
But soon there came a change.When preaching the gospel became a livelihood, even a lush livelihood, then the gospel be came good news for the rich and for the mighty. For how else was the preacher to acquire and secure rank and dignity unless Christianity secured the best for all? Christianity thus ceased to be glad tidings for those who suffer, a message of hope that
transfigures suffering into joy, but a guarantee for the enjoy ment of life intensified and secured by the hope of eternity.
The gospel no longer benefits the poor essentially. In fact, Christianity has now even become a downright injustice to those who suffer (although we are not always conscious of this, and certainly unwilling to admit to it). Today the gospel is preached to the rich, the powerful, who have discovered it to be advantageous. We are right back again to the very state original Christianity wanted to oppose! The rich and powerful not only get to keep everything, but their success becomes the mark of their piety, the sign of their relationship to God. And this prompts the old atrocity again – namely, the idea that the un fortunate, the poor are to blame for their condition; that it is because they are not pious enough, are not true Christians, that they are poor, whereas the rich have not only pleasure but piety as well. This is supposed to be Christianity. Compare it with the New Testament, and you will see that this is as far from that as possible.
52 How God Relates Inversely
The law for God's nearness and remoteness is as follows: The more the outward externals, the appearances, indi cate that God cannot possibly be present here, the closer he is. The opposite is also true: the more the outward externals, the appearances, indicate that God is very near, the farther away he is. Consider the first case, and think especially of Christ. When ever it appeared that this man could not possibly be the Godman, then people even refused to recognize him as a man. But it was then that God's actuality was most present. Now consider the law for God's remoteness (and the history of this is the his tory of Christendom). It is as follows: Everything that strength ens the appearance of God being present (in the worldly sense) distances God.
At the time when there were no churches and the Christians gathered together in catacombs as refugees and lawbreakers, God was close. Then came the churches, so many churches, such great, splendid churches and to the same degree God was distanced. For God's nearness is inversely related to externals, and this ascending scale (churches, many churches, splendid churches) is an increase in the sphere of appearance. Before Christianity became a doctrine, when it was only one or two affirmations expressed in one's life, God was closer. And with every increase and embellishment of doctrine, with every in crease of "success," God was distanced. When there were no
clergy and the Christians were all brothers, God was closer than when clergymen, many clergymen, a powerful ecclesiastical or der, came into being. For clergymen are an increase in appear ance, and God always relates inversely to outward show.
This is how Christendom has step by step become so distant from God. Christianity's history is one of alienation from God through the gradual strengthening of appearance. Or it might be said Christianity's history is one of the progressive removal of God – tactfully and politely by building churches and monu mental buildings, by a monstrous doctrinal system, with an incalculable host of preachers and professors. Established Chris tianity is about as far away from God as one can possibly get.
Now if I say this to anyone, I will be surely be told, "True, something must be done, but the problem is that there are too few pastors in proportion to the population. Let's get a thou sand more (Excellent – in order to get farther away from God!), a good many more churches (Excellent, in order to get farther away from God!), and a permanent alliance of pastors and pro fessors to make the doctrine more strictly accurate (Excellent, in order to get farther away from God!)."
No, no, no! If you are really serious about getting God closer, then consign the whole system of established Christianity with its lying gang of preachers and professors, these Christian ex perts who en masse provide an excellent commentary on every Bible passage, to death and the devil. Seek first God's kingdom. The Christian rule for action is simple: Venture to act in accor dance with the truth and at the same moment through this ac tion you will collide with the environing world. Your action will be such that you will discover the collisions of the essentially Christian. In no other way can one enter into the situation where faith can come into existence. Venture right into the middle of actuality. Risk – and then God will truly come. But
52 How God Relates Inversely
now God sits and watches to see if there is one single person who will venture.
Every single human being is able to venture, and God is will ing to become involved with absolutely every human being who ventures. He is infinite love, but he is also majesty. And he is a connoisseur; with his dreadful sharp-sightedness he is able to see whether a person wants to exploit him or is venturing. But where is there one who will actually venture? Oh yes, there are ministers and professors and church workers by the thousands who make a profit, and who are willing to venture a tiny little bit as long as they can count on a proportionate increase in their income. But where is there one person who will actually venture, who trusting in God and in the power of God, will dare relate inversely to appearance – something Christians do not seem to accept, in fact can't stand.
No, Christendom would rather build great, spacious churches for God, presumably so that he (and we) can really have enough room. But in actuality even the smallest space is too large for God. One single, poor, abandoned, simple person, who trusting in God, will venture, will risk – there God is present and makes him, humanly, or paradoxically speaking, less unhappy. This is what God must do before he is able to be there – to such an ex tent does God relate negatively to externals. But we prefer to build huge edifices for him, and hundreds, yes, thousands of church professionals are summoned together in an enormous institution, convinced that when such a colossal body is as sembled and sits together at an unbelievable cost that God is present, that he is closest there, that his cause is advanced there. No. God relates inversely to the outward show of externals.
53 Undercover Clergy
S: Tell me, Preacher. What in the world are you do ing in our neighborhood?
P: No, first things first. A glass of schnapps to open the meal and the heart. (Drinks a schnapps.) Well, to be brief, I am out here on behalf of the Temperance Society.
S: Ah, now I see why you had to have a glass of schnapps, for if you had not asked for one, I certainly would not have been able to have offered you a schnapps.
P: Please don't misunderstand me. I have by no means joined the Temperance Society. Anything but! I will drink a second glass in honor of the Temperance Society. I always drink a sec ond glass in honor of the Temperance Society. (They clink their glasses, both drink and say: Long live the Temperance Society!) Now to the business at hand. You see, it is well known that I have an extraordinary speaking ability. The Temperance Society became aware of my talents and in the interest of the Society it decided not to let them go to waste. To put it briefly, I have been called and installed as "Pastor" to the Temperance Society. That I do not fully subscribe to the Temperance Society's explicit aims is understood. Yet, the Temperance Society Board is of the opinion,"What does it matter if the pastor drinks a schnapps or two? What does it matter as long as by using his gifts he is able to win scores of members for the Society?"
53 Undercover Clergy
S: The Society is right about that. Even the strictest teetotaler knows that every such glass of schnapps for the pastor is well utilized, presupposing that you do get members for the Society.
P: So you agree. I, of course, am completely convinced it is right, and if I had not already done it I would drink another schnapps in honor of the Temperance Society. To go on with my story, I have made an agreement with the Society, whose activity in volves diet, that I have my diet: four schnapps every day, two glasses of punch, and an extra glass for every one who signs up as a member. It all goes on the expense account. Just as I believe they are satisfied with me, so I am also satisfied with it. I really don't want to make any alteration or to leave. I even grieve to think of leaving a congregation which I love and esteem and which loves and esteems me in return.
S: You have become a "pastor" and somebody of influence in this world. Maybe you can tell me one more thing. I have often imaged myself as a pastor. It must be easy to stand and preach the very opposite of what you are doing – after all, you certainly cannot feel what you are saying.
P: Why do you say that? I can assure you – and every one of my many listeners is able to testify – that I sometimes am so moved that I can scarcely talk. In the first place, I think of the four schnapps, the two glasses of punch, an extra glass, and also the fact that I am successful in the world and have a good living – isn't that moving! Next I think of my useful and beneficial ac tivity. While I stand there speaking I look at the people I am talking to and can read their eyes: there sits one who as sure as my name is Pastor H. will go right out of this meeting and sign up as a member. I can get so emotional over this that I some times start to cry, and this has such a powerful effect that I can see on his neighbor's face that he is going to do the same. Now,
if that isn't moving then I don't know what is. If I were a saint do you think I would be able to produce such an effect? The people would quickly lose interest. Am I right?
S: Perhaps. But isn't it untrue to call yourself a pastor?
P: Not at all. If a person can proclaim the teaching that we should not aspire after earthly honor, esteem, wealth – if a per son can proclaim this in such a way that he convinces people to live their lives accordingly, does it make any difference if he himself does just the opposite? Or isn't this the best proof of his extraordinary talent for speaking, of his being truly a great ora tor, the fact that although he doesn't exactly do what he preaches he still has such an enormous influence?
S: But doesn't it ever happen that people complain that you are not a member? Don't you get reproached for it?
P: Yes, of course, but I dismiss it. I explain it as a conflict of per sonalities, of style. Anyway, it is my job to preach, and one should stick to the subject of what I am teaching. That slays them.
54 "First the Kingdom of God"
The theological candidate Ludvig From is seeking. And when one hears that a "theological" candidate is seeking, one need not have an especially vivid imagination to under stand what it is he seeks. Of course it is the kingdom of God, which indeed one must seek first! No, it is not that after all. What he seeks is a living.
First he has to get properly educated. He must go to university. With that he is a theological candidate. And one would perhaps suppose that after he had first passed all his exams, he would fi nally be prepared to work for Christianity. But, no, first he must go on to seminary, and when that is finished eight years have gone by during which there was no question of being able to seek.
And now we have reached the beginning of the novel. The eight years are past, and Ludvig From seeks a position. He sends out his résumé. He fills out one application after another. He interviews with this congregation and that one. He recom mends himself to the ministerial hierarchy. He is now entirely in the service of the Absolute. Thus the years pass by. And so our theological candidate really is in need of some rest. He needs to be nursed a little by his future wife, for meanwhile he first needs to become engaged.