A few years ago, while in the thick of my own discernment, I asked Walter Brueggemann, “What does it even mean to be a pastor today?”
He immediately laughed—that full-bellied laugh—leaned back and said, “Who knows!?” Then he shifted forward, his face sharpening with sudden seriousness: “It seems the only thing we have left is to live as a non-anxious presence.”
The only thing we have left.
Even then, Walter seemed to know that non-anxious presence was not a mechanism for living a good and beautiful life, but rather a last faithful response within a failed world under judgment. It was the practice that remained when so much else had collapsed.
Much has changed since that conversation, including the notable loss of Walter and his faithful interpreting of the world unfolding around us. And while the framework of non-anxious presence served me well in my lament and relinquishing of what was, I’ve come to believe that non-anxiousness is meant to be a beginning rather than an arrival.
In our present context—where so many in public leadership and authority no longer take seriously the responsibility of lived example, where leadership has become performative spectacle rather than humble service—there must be a different way.
And I reckon that our particular moment is so crucial that this is not a time for non-anxious remaining. Now is the time for stepping out with intentionally active presence—a moment for choosing the agency of love over the reactivity of fear.
For the truth is, our world has become skilled at shouting “No!”—no to opponents, no to complexity, no to diversity of ideas and culture, no to personal and social responsibility—while forgetting that the power of a true No depends on the integrity of a deeper Yes.
The deep need of our day is not to float non-anxiously above the fray, but to boldly embody both the courage to say, “Not like that,” and the wisdom to say, “Like this.”
Someone might say this is still non-anxious work, and in a sense that’s true. It is to be not anxious. But there is a profound difference between a posture of negation and one of affirmation—between the via negativa and the via positiva.
The Christian contemplative tradition has long understood this distinction. The apophatic way seeks to know God by saying what God is not—a theology of resistance to clear naming for the sake of leaving open the unknowable. It has its place; for sometimes we must first clear away false images and assumptions.
But the kataphatic way uses positive language to describe what the divine actually is—not merely what it isn’t.
Both are essential movements for clarity. The via negativa gives us the courage to name what is false, distorted, or harmful—“No, not that.” The via positiva gives us the imagination to name what is true, good, and beautiful—“Yes, like this.” Together they form a mature way of being, one capable of discernment rather than reaction.
The way of fear and anxiousness, on the other hand, blurs these distinctions. Fear cannot hold a clear No or a generous Yes. It must find an enemy to blame, a scapegoat to condemn, because it cannot bear the mirror of its own condition and responsibility
And to remain in resistance to fear is one thing; to be animated by loving action is another. If we stay only in a stance of resistance, I suspect there’s a hidden confession—that fear still owns the center of us, still sets the terms. But when our life is grounded in a different reality, a deep trust in the ongoing work of an active Spirit, we can live in that activated way of being.
The goal is not to live in a state of repeatedly telling ourselves, don’t be anxious, don’t be anxious, don’t be anxious. Psychological research affirms what the spiritual tradition has long known: the way of peace is not the absence of anxiety, but its own distinct movement into the presence of something more grounded.
Similarly, I’ve learned from Barbara Fredrickson’s research that demonstrates positive emotions like love, joy, and gratitude are not mere reversals of fear—they are their own distinct pathways that broaden our awareness, build resilience, and deepen connection.
This is what the contemplative knows: to say “No” with integrity clears the ground; to say “Yes” to the way of love cultivates life.
The via negativa plows the ground.
The via positiva plants the garden.
The Way That Remains
Maybe this is what Walter was pointing us toward all along. To live as a non-anxious presence was never meant to be a retreat from the world’s tension, but a resource for its repair. It was the last work in a failed world under judgment—and because it was all the good that remained, it became the threshold to something new.
The Way of Jesus has always been quiet, compassionate, non-violent, unthreatened presence. Not passive withdrawal but intentional action. Leadership by embodied example rather than performative display. Influence through love rather than manipulation through fear.
It is a Way of life that trusts that God’s work has never been stalled by human panic—that Love is always present, steadily remaking the world beneath the mess.
So perhaps the invitation is simply this: to recover the clarity of No and Yes—to say No to fear’s smallness, its petty blaming and scapegoating, and Yes to love’s largeness, its patient and creative participation in the redemption of all things.
To begin practicing active presence not as protest, but as deep participation. To embody generous love not as resistance, but as bold revelation.
What might this look like? Surely it begins as small as a mustard seed:
Sitting with a friend for nothing but intentional encouragement.
Giving a blessing with no expectation of return.
An unhurried walk, letting nature determine your pace.
A candle lit in the night, remembering peace is still possible.
One day a week of non-productivity, letting rest interrupt the need to prove or consume.
Listening to another’s story until they finish it themselves.
Standing at the bedside of someone in pain.
Standing between the threatener and the threatened.
These are not non-anxious escapes. They are small acts of love in action—seeds sown into the unhurried Kingdom, already at work, already near, and open for your participation.
The Way awaits, and it is not anxious.
Shane Ash 