The Theology of Staying

When persecution strikes, should Christians stay or go?

A memorial to Dietrich Bonhoeffer in the city of Hamburg, Germany. Photo by Keoki Seu

Between 2009 and 2013, I lived in the city of Arlington, Virginia, a suburb of Washington, D.C. During this period, I worked for the Egyptian government, an episode so unusual, I have written three articles about it.¹ I came to know much about Egypt and its people during that time, and not solely due to my employer, for I met many first- and second-generation Egyptian immigrants outside of work, the DC metro area being one of the most ethnically diverse parts of the United States.

However, the Egyptians I met at work were in one way very different from those I met elsewhere: they were Sunni Muslims, whereas a high percentage of the immigrants I met belonged to Egypt’s Coptic Christian minority.

You see, for the first few centuries of Church history, Egypt was part of the Christian heartland. Many of the greatest theologians were trained in its schools, and it had a major influence on the development of Christian doctrine and practice through such figures as Cyril, Origen, Athanasius, and Anthony, the latter one of the “Desert Fathers.” While the Church in Egypt did disagree with the rulings of the Council of Chalcedon, creating a distinct Coptic Church, it was still a land dominated by Christianity.

Then came the conquests of the Arabs, who brought with them the teachings of Islam. While Egyptians were not forced to convert to Islam on pain of execution, it was socially advantageous to convert, and the preaching of Islamic evangelists also proved convincing to many. Within a short period of time, Egypt was a majority Muslim nation, but unlike some other lands conquered by the Arabs, it maintained a substantial Christian minority.

However, the century since the end of Ottoman control in Egypt has brought important changes. There has been an exodus of Copts from Egypt as large as that of the ancient Hebrews, if not larger. This is generally thought to have occurred because the situation for Copts has worsened, and several factors are potentially to blame.

First, nationalist leaders like Gamal Abdel-Nassar have emphasized the Arab and Muslim nature of Egypt. Second, the creation of the state of Israel has led to an almost complete exodus of the other large religious minority—the Jews—while also creating political tension. Third, economic hardship caused partly by the legacies of colonialism has led to blame casting and general bad will. Add this to the honor/shame dynamic present in Egyptian society, and you have a recipe for all kinds of local score settling and acts of violence, which I would see in news reports often during my four years in the Egyptian Press Office.

Around the time I was meeting all these Coptic immigrants, I remember hearing someone talk about the general flight of Christians from the Middle East that has occurred in recent decades due to increasing persecution. He mentioned something called the “theology of staying”: the idea that you should not go into exile when your people are persecuted but remain to stand as witnesses to the truth. You do not seek your own good, but that of the Church, which needs righteous people there to provide support and encouragement.

This “theology of staying” has implications far beyond the current situation in the Middle East. When our cultural context becomes difficult and we experience suffering, should we remain where we are and attempt to better the situation, or should we move to a place that is more welcoming? On one level, it is a matter of individual versus communal valuation. How much of a duty do we owe to the community in which we live, and how much do we owe to ourselves and our immediate family? How much do we owe to our local church, and how much to the Church universal?

On another level, it is a matter of where individuals are called by God, or where they can do the greatest good. Following the Fall of France in 1940, some members of the French resistance fled abroad and some remained. Was Charles de Gaulle right to spend most of the war in London producing radio broadcasts rather than sabotaging rail lines in the French countryside?

These questions have become more pressing for me of late. The political and economic situation in the United States is changing. Society has become downright nasty. I have found myself fantasizing about moving to a country where politics is boring and one doesn’t have to think about it. Moreover, I wonder if my child with special needs might receive better services somewhere else.

These are not serious ideas. I realize that the cost of moving to another country would be massive, and not just financially. The mere logistics of it are enough to scare me off. But my ancestors moved to this land in pursuit of a better life for themselves and their children. Why would it be so odd for me to do the same? And I know from my study of history that once the political situation somewhere gets really bad, it can be nearly impossible to get out. Those who left Germany early following the rise of the Nazis were better off than those who attempted to depart in the late 1930s.

But what if God put me here in the United States during this era on purpose? What if I am not meant to seek comfort far away, but accept suffering here in whatever form that may come?

When we think about Germany in the 1930s and 40s, one of the Christian exemplars who stands out is Dietrich Bonhoeffer. We admire the way he boldly opposed the Nazis, even having some connection to an assassination plot against Hitler. (The extent of his involvement remains disputed.) However, following the Nazi takeover of the government, Bonhoeffer initially decided to leave Germany, moving to London in 1933 to minister to two German-speaking congregations there.

Although Bonhoeffer did not mean to desert the German church or simply avoid trouble, his decision was sharply criticized by theologian and friend Karl Barth, who like Bonhoeffer was a leading voice in the emerging Confessing Church. In a reply to Bonhoeffer on 20 November 1933, Barth wrote,

“Reading your letter, I believe I can see that you, like the rest of us—yes, all of us—are suffering under the enormous difficulty of ‘making straight paths for our feet’ through the present chaotic situation. But shouldn’t it be clear to you that this is no reason to withdraw from the chaos; that perhaps we are called to man our position in and with our uncertainty, even if we stumble and go astray ten or a hundred times over, or however well or badly we then serve our cause? I am simply not happy with your putting your own private problem at center stage at this point, in view of what is at stake for the German church today. Won’t there be time enough afterward, when, God willing, we are beginning to come out on the other side of this mess, to work off the various complexes and scruples from which you are suffering, as others are suffering as well? No, to all the reasons and apologies that you may still have to offer, I can only and shall always have the same answer: And what of the German church?”²

Barth makes the case that not knowing exactly how to respond to the rise of evil is no reason to do nothing at all, for our failings will be covered by the grace of God. He also indicates that, due to Bonhoeffer’s position of influence, the German church needs him in its hour of difficulty.

Bonhoeffer did return to Germany in 1935 and worked to train pastors for the Confessing Church in secret. However, things grew even worse over the next few years, and in June 1939, with war imminent, he accepted an invitation to Union Seminary in New York City. There he quickly determined he had made the wrong decision and needed to remain with the German people in their hour of suffering. He was afraid of being conscripted, knowing he would not be able to swear the mandatory loyalty oath to Hitler, but his conscience nevertheless bid him return to Germany. As he wrote to his friend, Reinhold Neibuhr,

“I have come to the conclusion that I made a mistake in coming to America this time. I must live through this difficult period in our national history along with the people of Germany. I will have no right to participate in the reconstruction of Christian life in Germany after the war if I do not share the trials of this time with my people.”³

In the end, Bonhoeffer was won over by the “theology of staying.” Although as an individual he could object to the political decisions made by the nation of Germany, including the majority support for the Nazi regime, he was not for that reason separate from the German people and their Church. Like the biblical prophets of the Old Testament, he realized that his relative righteousness did not exempt him from the sins of the nation. This does not mean that he bore personal guilt for what was done to the German Jews, for example, but it means that there is a sense in which being part of a community ties one to the destiny of that community.

For Bonhoeffer, that meant that if the German nation was going to be destroyed and its people endure immense suffering, he had to be there suffering alongside them, or he would lose any right to be involved in the nation and the Church after the war was over. He would have forsaken his people permanently, never to be rejoined.

Does this mean that all of us are tied to our nations in this way? Does it mean we should always stay in difficult situations because we glorify God by suffering?

No, I do not offer an immediate “yes” to either of those questions. The concept of a nation-state is a rather modern one. Each of us bears multiple communal identities—nationality, ethnicity, family, organization—whose interests often conflict with one another. I do believe our communal bonds are important and we have a duty to our fellow human beings. We in the West have gone too far in our embrace of individualism. However, there are situations in which an individual might abandon a communal identity without committing sin.

I also do not believe God calls us to remain in every difficult situation if a path of escape is provided. St. Paul told slaves to get their freedom if they could. (1 Cor. 7:21) A husband or wife need not remain under the same roof as an abusive spouse. Sometimes you should leave the church, the job, or even the country to which you have become accustomed. But I think we should always consider the possibility that God wants us to stay, and pray that he will make our path clear. Sometimes we can serve him better in the middle of the struggle, and sometimes better in exile.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer was uniquely positioned to oppose the Nazi takeover of the German Church. That meant he bore a greater responsibility than the average parishioner to speak out against abuses. But for Jews living in Germany, the decision to leave in the 1930s was almost certainly the correct one. We are not all Bonhoeffer, nor are we all Jews subject to the Nuremberg Laws. The specifics of our own situation are important when deciding whether to stay or go, whether to speak out publicly or work in secret.

The Middle East has seen a greater decrease in its Christian population due to emigration than executions. It is those exits as much as anything else that has called the survival of those churches into question. Yet, the churches in America and elsewhere are strengthened by the presence of these immigrants. Perhaps I would have a better life in another country, or perhaps I would regret my decision to abandon my fellow Americans. My suspicion is that it would be the latter.

Even so, let us consider the spiritual value of staying right where we are and seeking the good of the city in which we live. And whether we stay or go, speak out or remain silent, let us first of all pursue the virtues of faith, hope, and love, always seeking the face of Jesus Christ. For without faith, hope, and love, we can do nothing that glorifies God.

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PUBLISHED ELSEWHERE:

• An interview about my novels with fellow Substack author Gina Dalfonzo at Dear, Strange Things

• “Virtue Remains” an article about responding to our present cultural moment with faith, hope and love, at Mere Orthodoxy

• The talk I gave at the recent Mockingbird conference in New York City on the subject of resurrection hope can be viewed here beginning at around 1’15”. (It should automatically start at about that time.)

1. The first can be found here:

My Time Working for Egypt - Part 1 - Oddities

2. “From Karl Barth – 20 November 1933” in Dietrich Bonhoeffer Works, Volume 13: London 1933-1935 (Augsburg Fortress Publishers, 2007), 39-41.

3. Bethge, Eberhard. Dietrich Bonhoeffer: A Biography, trans. Eric Mosbacher, rev. and ed. Victoria J. Barnett (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2000), 655.