An article from my new Substack site:
I remember many moons ago, back in 1999, purchasing two thought-provoking books by the German theologian Jörg Zink: Unter dem großen Bogen – Das Lied von Gott rings um die Erde (Under the Great Arch – The Song of God Around the Earth) and Dornen können Rosen tragen – Mystik, die Zukunft des Christentums (Thorns Can Bear Roses – Mysticism, the Future of Christianity). To my surprise, when I mentioned them in certain circles, the reaction was swift and harsh. “Those books should be banned,” someone told me, with an air of finality that left no room for discussion.
At the heart of the controversy lay Zink’s critique of Christianity as a static representation of faith rather than a living, breathing culture. He was deeply concerned that Christianity had become a rigid institution, detached from the dynamic and experiential nature of spirituality. Drawing inspiration from the teachings of Jesus—especially the concept of the “inner kingdom”—and from Paul’s notion of the “inner Christ,” Zink called for a personal, lived faith. His words were an invitation to venture into the depths of one’s own soul: “Go your own way and live from experiences,” he encouraged, urging believers to connect with the divine through their own spiritual journeys rather than solely through external doctrines.
Zink explored profound themes such as the dark night of the soul, reimagined traditional ways of thinking about God, and offered a vision that celebrated both human potential and the interconnectedness of all creation. His assertion that “man is greater than he knows and that the world is a dance” encapsulated his hopeful and expansive view of spirituality. He saw a radiant divine light illuminating the path ahead and encouraged Christians to find rest in God’s presence, not through fear or dogma, but through love and trust.
Zink’s contributions were not merely theoretical. He had been a pioneering figure in making biblical texts accessible to contemporary readers. His translations of the New Testament, which first appeared in 1966, and his selections from the Old Testament, published in 1967, were significant milestones. By arranging Old Testament texts in chronological order with the New Testament in mind, he bridged historical contexts and theological narratives, offering a fresh lens through which to engage with Scripture. His work was widely respected, and yet, it seemed he had crossed an invisible line for some within the Christian community.
What provoked the strongest backlash, however, was Zink’s inclusivity. His works incorporated not only biblical hymns of praise but also spiritual texts from other traditions: a hymn to Amun from the reign of Ramses II in the 13th century BCE, writings from Aztec spirituality, the Stoic reflections of Epictetus, and insights from Islamic Sufism and the Qumran texts. To many, this was heretical—a dilution, perhaps even a betrayal, of Christianity’s uniqueness. Yet, for Zink, these texts were not a threat but a testament to the universality of the sacred, a reminder that the divine voice resonates across cultures and ages.
Zink’s vision was one of unity and synthesis, of drawing from the rich tapestry of human spiritual experience to deepen and enliven Christian faith. For those who saw Christianity as the sole repository of truth, this was unacceptable. But for others, like me, his words opened doors to new ways of thinking, new ways of seeing, and ultimately, new ways of believing.
Essentially, we live in a mystery, amidst questions that no one can answer, but the answers to these questions, as interesting as they may be, are not, in my opinion, what we need. Rather, we need to embrace the interactive oneness that is life, understanding that it is a fleeting illusion that will pass. But if we arrive at a place unknown and see the fracture we have caused, it will be pain, and misquoting CS Lewis: “There is already a case for purgatory, isn’t there?”
How fleeting is this world
yet it survives.
It is ourselves that fade from it
and our ephemeral lives.[1]
Angelus Silesius
Drawing inspiration from mystical traditions across the globe, our brief sojourn in this world serves as a profound lesson in empathy. The necessities we pursue often bring anguish to sensitive souls, yet in our insecurity, we cling to those very pursuits, deepening the pain rather than confronting its paradox. This paradox teaches us that love is a form of defiance—a deliberate insubordination against the instincts of our nature. Nature commands us to kill to survive, but love rises and boldly declares, “No!”
The story of Jesus exemplifies the defiance of love—a defiance that has often been met with punishment, even by those who claim to follow him. The struggle against human authorities that reject love’s defiance is, at its core, a struggle with something deeper and more mysterious. Across cultures and throughout history, this force has been given many names: the Accuser, the Devil, Mara, and more. It is a universal experience, a trial that tests the resilience and endurance of our love.
In the end, what sustains us will have the last word, but remains mysterious, like in the words of Teresa of Avila:
“It seems that this heavenly water of this spring,
when it gushes forth from within our being,
diffuses itself, dilates our whole interior
and produces goods that cannot be named.
Not even the soul can comprehend what is given to it.
It is as if there were a brazier in that inner abyss,
and fragrant perfumes were poured over the embers.
We cannot see the embers or know where they are,
but the heat and the fragrant smoke permeate the whole soul.
However much we may want to, we cannot reach it by our efforts.”
I dedicate this site to discovering this mystery. Please join me and give me your thoughts.
