The Apostolic Kerygma and the Spirituality of Sarah Mullally’s Novena
«Repent therefore, and turn back, that your sins may be blotted out»
Acts 3:19
This is the second essay out of five analysing God With Us, Sarah Mullally’s novena.
The deepest problem within certain contemporary developments in Western Christianity does not necessarily consist in an outright denial of the historic doctrines of the faith. Quite often, the Christian language itself remains intact. People still speak about the Holy Spirit, prayer, grace, mission and Jesus Christ. Biblical references continue to appear, and the tone is often warm, pastoral and spiritually sensitive. Precisely for that reason, the phenomenon becomes more difficult to discern. The truly decisive question is not simply whether a document uses Christian vocabulary, but what actually occupies the central place within its spirituality. What Gospel finally emerges when all the pieces are viewed together? What is the practical nucleus of the message? What does the reader ultimately come to understand as humanity’s central need and God’s central response?
The novena God With Us, written by Sarah Mullally for Thy Kingdom Come, offers a particularly revealing example of this tension. Throughout the document, the practical centre of spirituality is organised around presence, accompaniment, listening, relational grace, human closeness and inner transformation. The Holy Spirit is presented primarily as a consoling presence and a force of accompaniment amid human fragility. Evangelism is described chiefly in terms of conversation, closeness and the human mediation of divine love. Mullally states that God desires to transform us into people who bring about «the changes we want to see in the world». Later she declares that we are to become «that meeting point between our “Five” and the love of God». The famous quotation attributed to Teresa of Ávila, «Christ has no body now on earth but yours», ends up functioning almost as the symbolic axis of the entire novena. The dominant concern of the document does not appear to be primarily how to proclaim the forgiveness of sins through Christ crucified and risen, but rather how to become a welcoming, humble and compassionate presence for other human beings.
And there an even deeper question inevitably arises: is that truly the centre of the apostolic kerygma? For when one returns to the Book of Acts, the contrast becomes extraordinarily evident. Apostolic Christianity appears from its earliest days as the public proclamation of objective and confrontational events. The centre of preaching is not primarily the believer’s inner experience nor the human mediation of spiritual accompaniment. The centre is Jesus Christ crucified and risen. Peter proclaims at Pentecost: «Let all the house of Israel therefore know for certain that God has made him both Lord and Christ, this Jesus whom you crucified.» The apostolic kerygma possesses an extraordinarily concrete content. It speaks about human sin, guilt before God, the death of Christ, the resurrection, judgement and repentance. Peter does not merely offer spiritual reassurance to his hearers. He confronts them: «you crucified and killed [him] by the hands of lawless men». Stephen declares: «You always resist the Holy Spirit.» Paul proclaims in Athens: «he commands all people everywhere to repent.»
The apostolic kerygma does not revolve primarily around emotional accompaniment nor around the human mediation of spiritual presence. It revolves around a decisive intervention of God in history through Jesus Christ. And precisely for that reason repentance occupies such a central place in Acts. Peter proclaims: «Repent and be baptised.» And again: «Repent therefore, and turn back, that your sins may be blotted out.» The apostolic Gospel does not appear as a mere invitation to experience spiritual acceptance. It appears as confrontation with the reality of sin and an urgent call to be reconciled to God. Human beings are not presented primarily as wounded individuals in need of accompaniment, but as sinners in need of reconciliation with the living God through Jesus Christ.
That makes the reading of Mullally’s novena particularly significant. For although the document revolves around Pentecost, evangelism and the work of the Holy Spirit, repentance virtually disappears from its spiritual vocabulary. Sin is scarcely mentioned and never occupies the place of humanity’s central crisis. Guilt before God does not structure the spirituality of the text. Judgement is almost entirely absent. The cross is never presented primarily as the expiation of sin and objective reconciliation with God. Instead, the dominant language revolves persistently around presence, listening, accompaniment, conversation, service, emotional support and human connection.
This does not mean that these realities are false or inherently anti-Christian. Historic Christianity has always deeply valued mercy, compassion and care for one’s neighbour. The problem emerges when those dimensions begin to occupy the structural place that once belonged to the apostolic kerygma. For the final result is no longer merely a difference in pastoral emphasis. It is a silent reorganisation of the very centre of Christian life. In the Book of Acts, humanity’s great need is reconciliation with God through Christ. In Mullally’s novena, the primary need appears to be accompanying and sustaining human vulnerability through relational presence and spiritual closeness. In Acts, the Holy Spirit appears proclaiming Christ crucified and risen, convicting of sin and calling people to repentance. In the novena, the Spirit appears primarily as a force of listening, accompaniment, consolation and inner transformation. In Acts, the Church is born as a proclaiming community. In the novena, the Church appears primarily as an accompanying community.
And precisely there one of the most troubling questions within contemporary Western liberal Christianity emerges. It no longer needs openly to deny the historic doctrines of the faith. It can preserve much of its traditional language while progressively displacing what occupies the practical centre of Christianity. That displacement becomes particularly dangerous because it retains a Christian appearance. The language remains. The biblical references remain. Spiritual sensitivity remains. Yet the Gospel slowly begins to reorganise itself around another nucleus. What disappears is not necessarily Christian vocabulary, but the confrontational character of the apostolic kerygma. Sin ceases to occupy the central place. Repentance begins to fade away. Reconciliation with God loses priority before the need for emotional accompaniment. Christianity then slowly begins to transform itself into a therapeutic and relational spirituality, where the Church’s principal mission no longer consists in proclaiming the redemptive work of Christ, but in becoming a space of welcome, validation and human emotional support.
And then the inevitable question arises once more: what Gospel are we proclaiming? The apostolic Gospel of the Book of Acts, centred upon Christ crucified and risen, upon human sin, repentance and forgiveness? Or a spirituality whose principal aim consists in accompanying, listening to, sustaining and emotionally supporting the human person? For the two produce profoundly different forms of Christianity. One proclaims that God has acted decisively in Jesus Christ to save sinners and reconcile a fallen world to himself. The other risks progressively reducing Christianity to a spirituality of welcoming presence and human accompaniment. And precisely there lies the deepest problem with Sarah Mullally’s novena. Not in what it explicitly denies, but in what progressively ceases to occupy the central place. For the Church was not sent into the world merely to accompany it spiritually. It was sent to proclaim the Gospel of Jesus Christ.
