Toward a Missiological Spirituality

A couple of weeks ago, I had the opportunity to spend an afternoon with the staff of the church where our daughter attends in Baltimore. Ironically, the conversation had little to do with spirituality. I had been invited to speak on archaeology and what the archaeological remains of the early church might teach us about being the church in a city today. We explored inscriptions, ancient cities, and forgotten practices that challenge many of the assumptions we often make about ecclesiology.

After the presentation, three younger staff members lingered behind to continue the conversation. One of them asked a question that caught me delightfully by surprise.

“What keeps your faith so vibrant?”

It was not a question I had anticipated. In fact, after nearly forty years in ministry, I am not sure anyone had ever asked me that before.

I paused.

Not because I lacked an answer, but because I had never really stopped to consider why my faith continues to animate my life. Why, after decades of teaching, writing, traveling, and serving among churches on several continents, do I still find myself as captivated by Jesus as when I first sensed His leading into ministry?

The more I reflected on the question, the more I realized she was not asking about ministry. She was asking about spirituality. And it was an ah ha moment for me. The piece I’ve been missing as I’m writing the first volume of Missiological Theology: The Perichoretic Framework.

Now, I’m immersed in writing that missing chapter on spirituality. My desk has become surrounded by the spiritual masters. Augustine, Bernard of Clairvaux, Teresa of Ávila, Brother Lawrence, John Wesley, Andrew Murray, Urban Holmes, Dallas Willard, Richard Foster, and dozens of others. Holmes’s volume alone surveyed more than one hundred and thirty voices from across the history of Christian spirituality.

The experience has been both enriching and humbling. It has also reminded me how remarkably diverse Christian spirituality has become.

There is contemplative spirituality and charismatic spirituality. Benedictine, Ignatian, Celtic, evangelical, sacramental, mystical, ascetical, and monastic spiritualities. Each contributes something valuable to the Christian tradition. Each reminds us that communion with God cannot be reduced to a single practice or experience.

Yet as I worked through these traditions, another question has slowly percolated to the top.

What does spirituality look like if we begin not with the practices of the church, but with the mission of God?

That question has occupied much of my thinking over many years of teaching and missions. I have come to believe that the answer lies in what I have begun calling missiological spirituality.

I do not mean a spirituality reserved for missionaries. Nor do I mean that missions is merely one expression of spirituality. Rather, I mean that spirituality itself is inherently missiological because the God we worship is Himself missionary. The Father sends. The Son reveals. The Spirit empowers. The life of the Triune God is not static but perichoretic—a life of eternal love continually moving outward in self-revelation and redemption.

If theology begins with God, then spirituality must begin there as well. That realization led me to what now seems almost obvious. God reveals Himself in two primary ways: He speaks and He acts.

Scripture repeatedly presents these two modalities of divine self-revelation. God discloses Himself through His Word, but He also reveals Himself through His works. The biblical narrative continually invites us to hear what God is saying while simultaneously observing what God is doing.

Perhaps this is where spirituality has become fragmented.

Some traditions emphasize God’s Word almost exclusively. Others become captivated by His activity while neglecting Scripture’s interpretive authority. Missiological spirituality refuses to separate the two. God’s words interpret His works, and His works illuminate His words.

Consequently, the spiritual life begins with two remarkably simple questions.

What is God saying?

What is God doing?

Looking back, I realize those two questions have quietly shaped my life for decades. Whether I am standing among the ruins of Ephesus, reading an ancient inscription, teaching doctoral students, sitting with church leaders in the Middle East, or simply walking through my own neighborhood, I find myself asking the same questions.

What is God revealing here? How is He already at work? Where do His words and His works converge?

Those questions have kept my faith alive because they continually remind me that Christianity is not merely the study of what God once said. It is participation in the God who continues to reveal Himself.

Curiosity, then, becomes the beginning of spirituality. Not skepticism. Not novelty. But genuine curiosity.

Curiosity assumes that God is always worth knowing more deeply. It approaches Scripture, culture, history, creation, and people with the expectation that the Triune God is neither absent nor silent.

Curiosity, however, cannot remain curiosity. It must become discovery.

The New Testament employs the verb theōreō—to observe attentively, to behold carefully. Discovery requires disciplined observation. It requires slowing down long enough to notice what God is revealing.

Perhaps missionaries should be among the world’s greatest observers. Before we speak, we must learn to see. Before we answer, we must first understand. Yet observation alone is not enough. Information has never transformed anyone. Discovery must give way to reflection.

The early church discerned together. Luke records their remarkable conclusion at the Jerusalem Council: “It seemed good to the Holy Spirit and to us.” That simple phrase reminds us that theological reflection has always been communal. Together the people of God ask not only what they are observing, but what those observations reveal about the character and purposes of God.

Reflection, in turn, produces something that theology too often forgets: Wonder. Good theology should always lead to worship. The more clearly we perceive the beauty of the Triune God, the more deeply we are drawn into awe. Wonder is not emotionalism. It is the appropriate response to genuine theological discovery. It is what happens when the mind encounters the inexhaustible beauty of God.

Yet even wonder cannot become the destination. Here, I think, many spiritualities unintentionally stop. They culminate in contemplation. Missiological spirituality does not. Wonder must lead somewhere. It must lead to participation.

The Father is not merely to be admired. He is sending. The Son is not merely to be studied. He is with us until the end of the age. The Spirit is not merely to be experienced. He is empowering God’s people for participation in the renewal of all things. Spirituality therefore reaches its fullest expression not in private experience but in joining the ongoing life and mission of the Triune God.

Participation, however, is not the conclusion. It becomes the beginning once again. The more we participate, the more curious we become. Participation opens our eyes to new discoveries. Discovery deepens reflection. Reflection expands wonder. Wonder compels greater participation.

The Christian life is not a ladder to climb. It is a lifelong spiral into deeper communion with God and fuller participation in His mission.

There is, however, a warning embedded within this framework.

We can stop almost anywhere.

• We can stop with curiosity and discovery, accumulating knowledge that never becomes worship. Theology then degenerates into intellectualism.
• We can stop with contemplation and wonder, delighting in God’s beauty while never joining His mission. Spirituality then becomes emotionalism.
• Ironically, we can even stop with participation. Ministry itself can become routine. Activity can replace attentiveness. Service can become mechanical when it is no longer sustained by ongoing curiosity, discovery, reflection, and wonder.

Missiological spirituality refuses to allow the spiral to stop. It keeps moving because God continues to speak. It keeps moving because God continues to act.

The answer I gave to that very perceptive question in Baltimore keeps my faith vibrant.

It is not archaeology. It is not writing. It is not teaching. It is certainly not having accumulated theological knowledge.

What continues to animate my faith is the conviction that the Triune God is still revealing Himself through His words and His works. Every archaeological discovery, every theological or missiological insight, every conversation, every culture, every classroom, and every city simply invites me to ask once again:

What is God saying?

What is God doing?

Those questions have never grown old. And I suspect they never will. For the Christian life is not merely learning about God. It is continually discovering the God who invites us to participate in His perichoretic life and mission. That, I have come to believe, is the heart of a genuinely missiological spirituality. 

The Practices of the Ancient Church

Practices of the Ancient Church will challenge students to consider the practices, apologetics, theology, and conciliar nature of the church in her first two centuries. The course focuses on ancient writings that solidified apostolic traditions contained in the New Testament and combatted the emerging threats of the many forms of Gnosticism as well as other heresies. Students will see the emergence of a conciliar theology that was held everywhere, by everyone, for all time, especially manifesting in the doctrine of Christ. Additionally, students will identify a historical thread that ties Christianity of the 21st century back to the Christianity of the late 1st to 2nd centuries.