Secondly, this is a book for any Christian who wants to contribute more intentionally to peace in the world, at home, in the community, at church, or at work. In our relationships, we sometimes experience a disconnect between Sunday and the workweek. We run into conflict with our partner or children or someone at church or work, and, before we know it, we are immersed in a quagmire. We may feel a vocational imperative or desire to be agents of God’s transformational peace in the world but feel lacking in the confidence and capability to do this. This book provides theological and practical frameworks and tools for practicing peace, regardless of whether we are in structural positions of authority.

Thirdly, this is a book for young and emerging leaders of any (or no) faith background who want to make a difference in the world but are not sure where to start. As a university chaplain, I am constantly impressed by the deep compassion and intellect that young people bring to the world’s challenges. The complexity of many of these challenges is enormous, and many young people I encounter are feeling overwhelmed, depressed, and anxious. These things can manifest as cynical withdrawal or as a generalized anger that has no outlet beyond street protest and yelling in the echo chamber of social media. Such anger is understandable, and protesting is certainly an important mechanism for raising awareness and driving change. However, it can also leave protestors feeling discontented and powerless, because protest still requires someone else to change; it does not necessarily increase a sense of personal agency.

This book is about taking responsibility for what we love, as an act of service to the world. Saint Therese of Lisieux (1873–1897) spoke of doing ordinary things with extraordinary love, and this inspired Mother Theresa to begin an order of sisters that has cared for countless thousands of the poorest of the poor. All initiatives that contribute to the peace and wellbeing of the world start with small groups of committed people sitting together to get clear on their shared story and a shared intention to act. When these thousands of little initiatives are added together, the collective effect can lead to transformational tipping points of change.

These aspects of the spiritual journey are not independent of each other. I am teasing them apart for the sake of investigation, but one of my goals is to consistently draw links between them. It is possible to start reading the book at whichever of the three parts you are most interested in. For example, if you are less interested in the theological foundations and more interested in the how-to of collaborative/dialogic methods, then you can go straight to the action section (pt. 3). Then, to learn more about the theological rationale for using such methods, or the contemplative stance that would help you to implement such methods, you can go back and read the earlier chapters (pts. 1 and 2 respectively).

You will find prompts to reflect dotted throughout the book. These can be used as moments to pause and reflect on your own responses and/or can be used for conversation in a book study.

When I started to read the Bible seriously, in my early twenties, I was immediately troubled by some of the appalling violence it contained and how this could possibly be reconciled (or not) with the beauty of the Jesus story and the “peace of Christ which surpasses understanding” (Phil 4:7).1 The questions that I started asking forty years ago have continued to percolate.

One thing that has become clear over the years is that we human beings tend to make God in our own image, to support our own desires and wish fulfillments. Someone who saw this acutely was the twentieth-century theologian Karl Barth. As Barth observed the rise of the German imperial war machine in the early twentieth century, along with the e’n’thusiastic endorsement of its operations by 90 percent of the church-attending Christians in Germany, Barth discerned that this massive political and ethical failure was underpinned by a profound theological error. This error was to begin theology somewhere other than the decisive revelation of God in Jesus Christ.2 This led to Barth’s role in framing The Barman Declaration and his expansive theological project in his multi-volume Church Dogmatics. Barth’s project was to keep reminding Christians of the absolute centrality of the person of Jesus Christ, out of which healthy ethics and politics will follow.3

Saint Benedict of Nursia in the sixth century also realized the importance of beginning everything with the contemplation of God. Benedict begins his Rule for monastic life with the word listen (incline the ear of the heart to God). In the seventh chapter of the rule, Benedict outlines twelve degrees of humility, the first of which is “keep the awe of God continually before your eyes.” Why is this so important? As Barth realized, we become what we worship.4 If we worship a God who is love (peace), our lives are more likely to take on the character of peace. It has become clear to me that when our image of God is shaped by Christ, it is impossible to make God into a god of war.

There are lots of ways of making peace if we think of peace as the absence of immediate conflict. For example, we can make conflict go away in the short term by silencing, expelling, or killing those who disagree with us. In this way, we conceive of peace as the absence of conflict, because we have driven the confli...