The Art of Withdrawal (John Hendrix)

Merely waiting and looking on is not Christian behavior. 

-Dietrich Bonhoeffer 

In my primary research and professional activity, I write and illustrate picture books and graphic novels for young people. But for several years, I've drawn a side-project comic strip called The Holy Ghost. This little diversion has given me a way to ruminate on ideas in the fictional voices of a little squirrel and a blue ghost (the latter of whom may or may not be one-third of the Trinity).

It has barely been two weeks since my world, like yours, began to slowly contract. Now, we are all homebound, for better or worse, perhaps for months. Isolated in our houses, we are all doing our part, (rightly so!) to prevent a growing viral outbreak from becoming a rampant contagion. Let me be clear, this is not just the logical choice, it is the only choice for those who profess a “love for our neighbor.” The sacrifice asked of us, isolation, is quite small for such an outsized effect on the greater good.

Still, in recent days, I've noticed a subtle but crooked change in my behavior. The smallest of activities now carry with them the bizarre and ominous weight of personal calamity. Touching gas station pump handles, opening doors, and even receiving mail brings fear of spreading a disease to others, to the vulnerable, to my family . . . but, if I'm honest, mostly to myself. I crave retreat, not for rest, but for protection. 

The Christian is not called to self-preservation. Yet, I have caught myself fearing for my “self” disturbingly more than my fears for others. For me, there is a danger in my isolationism. Despite name-checking the virtues, I can already sense a reluctance to put myself in harm’s way for the sake of another. Our hearts are bent inward on themselves, even in this moment of quarantine. Under the banner of protecting society, I secretly hope to protect my own future, my own plans, my own hopes. But God calls us to something beyond an ethic of "safety at all costs."

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a German pastor and theologian, who himself discarded his own safety to risk joining a conspiracy to kill Adolf Hitler during the second world war, said this: "The church is the church only when it exists for others. . . . The church must share in the secular problems of ordinary human life, not dominating but helping and serving. It must tell men of every calling what it means to live in Christ, to exist for others."

Right now, to exist for others means to isolate ourselves. That is what love entails, and yet that act of love can bring its own spiritual dangers. I can sense already that my pride may seize upon this retreat-in-love and turn it into a worship of self-protection and self-importance. Indeed, the example of Christ is profoundly different. Jesus had no home, and seemed to thrive when he was disrupted, hindered, and exposed.

What does it mean to still put ourselves at risk, for love of others, at this moment when our love of others might ask us . . . to withdraw?

John Hendrix is Director of Communications for The Carver Project and Chair of Design in the Sam Fox School at Washington University in St. Louis.

Suggested Reading:

• Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Letters and Papers from Prison (quotations in the above post taken from Bethge’s 1971 volume)

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