Abuse, Not 'Radical Christianity,' Is the Issue

There has been a lot of buzz recently about Runaway Radical. Co-written by Jonathan Hollingsworth and his mother Amy, the memoir follows Jonathan from his first encounter with poverty overseas to befriending homeless individuals in his local community, and, later — as a college student hoping to “save the world” — his decision to spend a year volunteering with a Christian organization in Africa. The book then follows him through the psychological aftermath of abuse at the hands of power-hungry Christian leaders in Africa and later his own pastor, who shames him into silence about his experiences.

In both cases, authority figures manipulate Jonathan by capitalizing on his belief that he must earn God’s love through hard-core obedience. These traumatic experiences leave Jonathan with a shattered faith — one he will not rebuild with the same pieces as before. Embracing God’s grace and unconditional love brings healing, but also leads him to re-evaluate the ideals that led him overseas in the first place.

This was a heartbreaking story told with great courage and honesty. In it, the authors offer a much-needed critique of both fear-based, crime-and-punishment theology and unjust power dynamics which are sadly commonplace within Christian culture. It’s an important story, one which I hope will create space for others who have been hurt by the church to share their experiences without shame or fear of rejection.

However, Runaway Radical struck me as an inappropriate title for a book whose subject matter was spiritual abuse and unhealthy striving, rather than any fundamental problem with the “radical” idea of taking Jesus’ teachings about wealth and sacrifice seriously.

Jonathan writes in the epilogue that he is not opposed to sacrifice, but is simply “trying to dissuade anyone from feeling there is a specific level of sacrifice required to be a real Christian.”

He explains how the spiritual abuse he suffered made it difficult to separate “the words of Jesus from the words of manipulators and legalists who had hurt” him — it was others’ controlling behavior, rather than obedience to the words of Jesus, which drove Jonathan to the point of personal collapse.

Meanwhile, Amy writes that the particular people and circumstances of Jonathan’s ordeal were not as significant as the theology that led him to Africa. She blames Christian writers — from Donald Miller to early church fathers like Basil the Great — for contributing to her son’s unhealthy striving and eventual crisis.

Yet it seems that the root problem actually lies with Jonathan’s mainstream evangelical upbringing, rather than with his willingness to take personal risks in order to serve others. The church and the Christian culture in which he grew up had already instilled a literal fear of God and a deep-seated guilt in Jonathan long before he encountered Blue Like Jazz.

And when Amy recalls her alarm at Jonathan’s transition from “sterile,” safe interactions with people in poverty to up-close, relational encounters with homeless people, the subtext seems to be that engaging with poverty on such a personal level is misguided and dangerous. But how can we as Christians fulfill our calling to care for the poor or to love our neighbor as ourselves as long as we keep them at arm’s length with impersonal charity?

The truly destructive influences in Jonathan’s story are egotistical spiritual leaders and the sense he has internalized of being unloved by God, not the prophetic movements in Christianity which challenge wealthy young Christians in the West to question their privilege and consider a life of solidarity with those on the margins. These “ordinary radicals” offer critiques of consumerism, violence, and material excess which are important correctives to our culture.

There are many communities and individuals whose lives are proof that a prophetic alternative to the status quo can be lived out joyfully and in freedom if the motivation truly is love and not guilt. Legalism is not the only possible motivation for devoting one’s life to the poor.

I spent two and a half years living in a slum in India with a "New Friars" organization before returning home much sooner than expected (my original return date was "never").

I then spent another six months living in an intentional community in the inner city before realizing that my current living arrangement couldn’t accommodate the season of rest that I needed. I am currently living in a non-communal apartment in a middle-class neighborhood — which doesn’t fit with my ideal of “downward mobility” at all.

It was painful for me to confront my own “failure” measured against my earlier checklist of what was hardcore enough to count as discipleship. But even as I have discovered new depths of grace, the friendships I have developed with people on the margins continue to fuel a genuine desire to live in resistance to a status quo that negatively affects them.

I have seen how a “radical” life — one characterized by sacrificial service, intentional community, activism, and even intentional poverty — can ultimately lead to a deeper sense of compassion for ourselves and a more realistic sense of our own limits. As long as we are journeying alongside others, are free to voice our doubts and disappointments, and are rooted in God’s unconditional love, disillusionment can be a positive step toward maturity. Healthy mentorship and community are important for helping young people to work through their shifting theology and their experiences of failure and disappointment. And in my case, both of those supports were provided.

I no longer hold the illusion of being able to save the world, yet I still believe it is important to live simply and to pursue justice in large and small ways in my life — not because these are requirements for pleasing God, but because I care deeply about people who live in poverty. My concern is that Runaway Radical may lead readers to conclude that emotionally healthy spirituality and a life of radical service are mutually exclusive, dissuading young Christians from making countercultural decisions in pursuit of the upside-down Kingdom.

Trudy Smith has made her home in China, India, and Canada, pursuing the Kingdom of God to the ends of the earth and the depths of her soul. She blogs at alreadynotyet.weebly.com, and is currently writing a memoir about living in an Indian slum.