Incurvatus In Se

Martin Luther defined our predicament as humans as homo incurvatus in se, that is, being “humans curved in on” ourselves. In this definition, he was following the great theologian of the early church, Augustine (no surprise, since Luther was himself a member of the Augustinian order). Luther was followed, in turn, by Karl Barth, one of the most prolific and influential theologians of the 20th century. While I disagree with their assertions about the fundamental nature of sin (pride for Augustine and Luther; falsehood, pride and sloth for Barth; personally, I vote for idolatry), I think the metaphor of being curved in on ourselves illustrates some profound truth. Not only are we as humans homo incurvatus in se, but often the congregations made up of humans are examples of ecclesia incurvatus in se, the church curved in on itself.

This “incurvature” is evident in both the embedded theology and, by extension, the practical life and ministry of many congregations. Our incurvature makes us obsessed with our own sin and salvation and deafens us to all that Christ had to say about living the gospel in this life. We speculate endlessly about who is in and who is out, whether God will forgive this or that person or this or that sin. This speculation is, I believe, born out of the fact that we don’t really trust Christ to redeem us, and so we want to know just exactly where the line is. Because of our worry about our own salvation, we don’t give a thought to the salvation of those around us. Our incurved theology is all about what we hope God will do for us and what we fear God might do to us; there is little thought and less energy expended on what God is calling us to do on behalf of the other.

Our incurved theology leads inevitably to incurved ministry. Our worry over our own salvation makes us oblivious to the spiritual needs of those outside the church. Pastoral ministry is focused on meeting the needs of the congregation, not on carrying the gospel out into the community. Lay ministry is focused on keeping things inside the congregation’s running smoothly, not on leading it out into the world in mission. We’re more concerned with who made a mess in the church kitchen than with the thousands right outside our doors who have not heard the gospel. We boldly proclaim that we want our congregations to grow, but rarely are we willing to make the changes that will require; even more rarely do we think about embodying the gospel for others purely for the other's sake. To be sure, there are exceptions to what I am describing. The vast majority of ELCA (Evangelical Lutheran Church in America; my own particular tribe) congregations, however, are indeed curved in on themselves, more concerned with their own well-being, size and budgets than with the huge numbers of people right outside our doors who have never heard that Jesus loves them enough to die for them.

The irony is that the more inward focused a person or a congregation becomes, the less likely it is that things will stay healthy inside that person or that congregation. Like black holes, the ultimate cosmic example of incurvatus in se, people and congregations can become sucking vortexes of anxiety and neediness. Like black holes, such people and congregations absorb light rather than emitting it; like black holes, they can become enormously destructive to those around them (and ultimately to themselves).

So what are we to do? How do we keep ourselves and our congregations from being incurvatus in se? The short answer is, we don’t. As so many of us repeat week after week, “we are in bondage to sin and cannot free ourselves.” We cannot free ourselves! The answer to our predicament, the only one who can bend us out, curving us outward in love for each other and for the world, is Christ. As Paul writes in Romans 6,

“We know that our old self was crucified with him so that the body of sin might be destroyed, and we might no longer be enslaved to sin. For whoever has died is freed from sin. But if we have died with Christ, we believe that we will also live with him. We know that Christ, being raised from the dead, will never die again; death no longer has dominion over him. The death he died, he died to sin, once for all; but the life he lives, he lives to God. So you also must consider yourselves dead to sin and alive to God in Christ Jesus.” (Romans 6:6-11)

We cannot transform ourselves, but Christ can. We cannot break our addiction to self-centeredness and self-justification; only when we fully accept our own powerlessness are we prepared to let Christ do what we cannot. Only when we accept our own idolatrous self-absorption can we, as individuals and congregations, find the courage to die to self, trusting that Christ will indeed make us more fully alive to God and to one another in him. It is only by letting go that we can receive; it is only by dying that we can rise; it is only by admitting our slavery to sin and self that we can be made free; it is only by accepting and confessing our incurvature that we can open ourselves to being re-bent by Christ. For that to happen, we must be willing to let our old self die. As Dietrich Bonhoeffer so profoundly put it, “When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die.” The same is true for congregations. If we are to live the life Christ offers, a life of freedom and meaning and abiding joy, we must first die to life incurvatus in se. There is no resurrection without crucifixion.