by Luke Stamps
Christian spiritual formation is not to be confused with natural moral formation. To put it differently, Christian spirituality is not just self-help with a Christian veneer. It’s not a project in self-improvement or increased productivity with Jesus as our guru. Spiritual formation is, rather, a work of the Spirit of God to fashion us into the morphē of Christ: the form or character of God Incarnate. As such, spiritual formation is a work of grace that rushes into our lives and catches us up into the life of God.
To be sure, Christian spiritual formation incorporates our natural efforts, but it places them in a framework of grace and suffuses them with supernatural power. Another way of thinking about this dynamic is to consider the difference between the natural or cardinal virtues, on the one hand, and the theological virtues, on the other. The natural virtues—prudence, justice, fortitude, and temperance—can be acquired by habit. Even unbelievers can discipline themselves to become more courageous or self-controlled, for example. The capacities for these virtues are embedded within human nature (this too is a gift of God). Our ability to develop these virtues and to become habituated to them has been attenuated but not annihilated by the fall. Unbelievers cannot save themselves by growth in the natural virtues, but they can engage in what Martin Luther called “civil righteousness.” They can be generous with their neighbors, but they cannot produce the iustitia Dei, the righteousness of God, which is always and ever a gift of grace through faith in Jesus Christ.
On the other hand, the theological virtues—faith, hope, and love—are not acquired by nature but are instead infused by grace. They are called theological virtues for three reasons: they concern God, they are given by God, and they lead to God. These virtues must be placed within us by the regenerating and sanctifying work of the Holy Spirit. Because of the pervasive effects of sin, we have no natural inclination to believe in God’s trustworthy Word, to hope in God’s glorious promises, or to love God supremely and love others for his sake. There is a sense in which our natures are open to these gifts of grace, but they are not operative in them until the gift is received. Gratia praesupponit naturam: Grace presupposes nature. But this doesn’t mean that the seeds of faith are present within nature and need only the coaxing of grace. No, grace must be infused (infundere: to pour) into the human soul from without. But grace doesn’t destroy nature and replace it with something entirely new. Nature has its own integrity, which grace honors and then suffuses with supernatural light. The theological virtues, then, perfect the natural virtues, placing them in their true habitat in relation to God. Even the cardinal virtues, as Augustine teaches, are ultimately expressions of love.
The theological virtues, then, do not merely supplement the natural virtues, nor do they replace them; rather, they fulfillthem, as the gospel fulfills the law (Matt 6). Still, the distinction between the natural and the theological virtues must be maintained in order to safeguard the gracious character of God’s saving work. This is especially important for spiritual formation because of the constant temptation in the Christian life to a kind of quasi-Pelagianism: we can tacitly assume that the spiritual life is about improving ourselves by dint of moral effort. If we just pray harder, read more Scripture, or participate in more church activities, we think we can manufacture transformation in our lives (or in the lives of others). In reality, we are dead in our trespasses and sins and must be made alive to God by divine grace. Moral transformation isn’t something we do; it is something that happens to us, often in unexpected and painful ways. With few exceptions, the pattern is fairly uniform: life must break us in order for God to break in. Grace initiates, enables, empowers, sustains, and completes the whole process.
But this is not to suggest that the redeemed are merely passive in this process. Spiritual formation (which Protestants typically place under the category of sanctification) is act of the Spirit to which we must give our willing consent. So, even these infused gifts, the theological virtues, must be stewarded in faithful ways. We must stir them up by our own grace-enabled effort. “Therefore, my beloved, as you have always obeyed, so now, not only as in my presence but much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you, both to will and to work for his good pleasure” (Phil 2:12-13). It is in this context that the spiritual disciplines have such a crucial role to play in our lives. The spiritual disciplines don’t stand alone as a kind of how-to manual for self-transformation. They are placed in the context of God’s antecedent grace in uniting us to the work of Christ and infusing his life within us. But we must habituate ourselves to them by faithful spiritual practices: by making diligent use of the ordinary means of grace (Acts 2:42) and by engaging in exercises of private devotion such prayer, fasting, and giving (Matt 6).
God’s sanctifying grace—the indwelling Holy Trinity (John 14:17, 23)—also produces actual grace in our lives: preparing, stirring, and enabling our active participation. So, what would it look like to become increasingly habituated to the infused life of God in our actual experience? Speaking of our participation in the life of grace in terms of spiritual disciplines can be helpful a starting point. Discipline, after all, highlights our status as discipuli, disciples or learners of the Lord Jesus Christ (Greek: mathetai). But if we are not careful, the connotations of the English word “disciplines” can make it seem as if the life of grace is all about what we do or can suggest a life of drudgery and self-determination. Like an athlete who requires discipline to perfect his performance in a sport, we can come to think about growth in the Christian life as something that is all on us, untethered from the life of grace that has been given to us as a gift: first, in our free justification through Christ’s righteousness, and then in the life of sanctification infused in us through the work of the Spirit. To be sure, Paul does use an athletic imagery to describe his spiritual discipline: “But I discipline [hupōpiazō, beat, wear down] my body and keep it under control, lest after preaching to others I myself should be disqualified” (1 Cor 9:27). But, again, we must bear in mind that this working out is grounded in God’s working in (Phi 2:12-13). The actual graces God produces in our lives are enlivened and empowered by the sanctifying grace that God has given as a free gift.
The spiritual disciplines are best understood as spiritual exercises (a term common in Ignatian spirituality) that connect us to the life of God. Spiritual disciplines, then, are conduits of divine participation, sharing in the divine nature (2 Pet 1:4). Again I ask, what would it look like to participate in the divine life that has been given to us freely as a gift. Consider what a day of spiritual exercises might look like in the experience of a believer seeking to grow in God’s grace. I suggest seven Rs:
Read: Prayerfully read a digestible portion of Scripture in the morning, considering not only its grammatical, historical, and canonical contexts, but also its intersection with the concrete particulars of your life and current trials.
Ruminate: Meditate on the words and phrases of the text. Reflect on what it teaches about God, the nature of his redeeming work, and the demands and promises it makes to you personally. Mediate on your own soul as well, considering how the text exposes your own desires, temptations, and needs.
Request: Move organically from reading and meditating to prayer. Ask God for his grace (forgiveness, healing, transformation) for yourself, your family, your church, and the world. Pray God’s words back to him.
Rest: Sit in silence before the face of the Almighty (Hab 2:20). Leave space for God to communicate his presence to you, without your overactive mind setting the agenda. If wordless prayer is new to you, you might set a timer for even 5 minutes (or 20) and just still your heart in the presence of Christ.
Rise: Rise from your morning prayer in an attitude of perpetual prayer, practicing God’s presence in your daily tasks.
Recollect: Set aside time throughout the day (perhaps praying during certain set “hours”) to remember God’s presence with you. God is present everywhere and in all things, but he is present in a unique way in believers through his indwelling presence.
Reflect: End the day with an examination of conscience, perhaps as you pray the Compline (a bedtime prayer). Think through the specifics of your day, asking for God’s forgiveness for the ways you fell short of his demands and asking for his forgiveness, help, and protection as you rest in his love.
Again, the challenge is to avoid viewing these exercises as just another to-do list for self-made transformation. Sanctification is a gift. We must receive it well, but transformation is not something we do. It is something done to us and in us and through us.
