The Chaplain as Public Theologian
Faithful Presence, Truthful Speech,
and Responsible Hope
The Revd Dr Michael Jensen Rector, St Mark’s Anglican Church, Darling Point
From a series of talks originally addressed to Anglican Chaplains in the Defence Forces
Published 1 June 2026. Reprinted with permission.
At one level, all theology is public theology. Whether we want it to be or not, our talking about God, humanity, and the universe will be overheard in the various spaces we inhabit. But to speak of “public theology” as a distinct vocation means something more demanding.
Public theology is the deliberate act of addressing theological truths in public spaces, under intense public scrutiny, and applying them directly to matters of public concern. When we talk of public theology, we are recognising that theology is not simply an insular language meant only for the church, but may also be something of real value to those outside.
Today, this task is made more complex by the often disorienting context in which we have to do it: the post-Christian world. We can’t assume that the public square is reliably hospitable territory for Christians. Now, the rules of modern discourse are shaped by secular, liberal assumptions; and often administered by secularists who firmly believe that theology has no business in the public sphere. Religious matters should be private: public religion is inherently suspect and probably dangerous.
Despite this cultural shift, the church - and particularly the Anglican church - retains a significant institutional and cultural presence. We’ve proved remarkably resilient. This is not least because when voices are raised that want to eradicate the Christian presence, we can still point to the value of the Christian presence in the community in terms of health and social cohesion.
Chaplains feel this tension more acutely than almost anyone else. They are very much in the trenches of this cultural moment. The difficult task they have is to practise Christian theology in public when the public square is not always receptive or even at a basic level understanding of what their mission is. It is incredibly easy in such contested spaces to drift along and, eventually, to cease to be distinctively Christan.
How, then, do we navigate this? What should a robust, public Christian witness look like today? The Bible offers a few striking examples of this kind of work: Daniel in the corridors of Babylonian power, Jonah finally speaking to the Ninevites, and Paul standing in the Areopagus to reason with the Greek philosophers. Perhaps the first letter of Peter is the most instructive, with its vision of living ‘such good lives amongst the pagans’, of giving an account ‘of the hope that is in you’, and of suffering witness. Theologian Miroslav Volf calls this posture: “soft difference”: Christians are to stand out, but for the sake of glorifying Christ and winning over those they serve.
To flesh out what this looks like in practice, we can turn to three towering theological figures of the middle of the 20th century, each of whom wrestled with these tensions: William Temple, Karl Barth, and Dietrich Bonhoeffer. Together, they help us to construct a framework for 21st century public theology and the vocation of chaplaincy: Faithful Presence, Truthful Speech, and Responsible Hope.
I. William Temple and the Incarnation of Faithful Presence
Though he was only Archbishop of Canterbury for two years, William Temple is one of the towering figures of mid-twentieth century Anglican theology - especially as it relates to the public square. For Temple, theology begins with the radical claim that in the Incarnation of Jesus Christ “the Word became flesh and dwelt among us”. Temple famously declared that “Christianity is the most materialistic of all great religions” - by which he meant that the dwelling of God with and among human beings is a remarkable “yes” to the created order.
This means that the entirety of human life - our social, political, and economic realities - is meant to be sanctified. The Christian faith does not condemn the material world as such, nor does it recognise a purely secular sphere. Christ’s Lordship is universal; as the saying goes”: “Christ is Lord of all, or he is not Lord at all.”
This means that Christian faith can never be merely private and internal. The church has a distinct vocation to be in and for the world, as complicated as that may be.
Writing in 1942, against the midst of a civilisational calamity that had starkly revealed the complete bankruptcy of selfish individualism, Temple argued that a society must be rooted in justice, fellowship, and freedom. Himself influenced by the Christian socialism of RH Tawney and others, his vision profoundly influenced the development of the British welfare state in the 1940s and 50s. “The church exists”, he declared, “for the sake of those who are not its members”.
For Temple, the Christian law of fellowship and the love of one’s neighbour are not merely private sentiments, but foundational social principles. Christian ethics are not just for private individuals; they are for societal structures, too. Because the common good is rooted in the image of God present in every human person, the Church possesses a unique moral vocabulary capable of resisting the dual excesses of totalitarianism and hyper-individualism.
However, Temple knew that the church must also remain the church. Theologians, bishops, pastors, and chaplains are not sociologists or economists. They are ‘experts’ in heeding the voice of God in Scripture. Christian doctrine connects to specific public matters through what he called “middle axioms” - bridging principles that translate faith into secular life. For example, Scripture does not explicitly mandate universal healthcare, but the Christian ethic of loving one’s neighbour might lead a society to implement it.
For the modern chaplain, Temple’s thought translates to a vocation of faithful presence. Like Temple’s vision of the Church, chaplains exist for others - specifically, for those who are under stress, far from home, and navigating moral or spiritual crises. Faithful presence means being with people in the complexity of modern life, not standing aloof or above them. It requires being like Christ to point them to Christ, witnessing to the God who is intimately with us. It is crucial to note that this is not simply offering vague empathy, nor is it “cosplaying” in a uniform. And it is certainly not a substitute for evangelism and witness. A chaplain must be dedicated to listening, but they cannot afford to be mute.
II. Karl Barth and the Revelation of Truthful Speech
If William Temple provides the framework for our presence, the Swiss theologian Karl Barth provides the blueprint for our speech. Barth’s theology was forged in the fires of crisis—specifically, the moral collapse of German Protestantism. During World War I, Barth watched in horror as his own liberal theological mentors openly supported the war. Instead of the revelation of God, they stood for empty nationalism.
Later, in the 1930s, as the Nazis rose to power with the backing of the so-called “German Christians,” Barth helped draft the famous Barmen Declaration. Its core claim was emphatic: “Jesus Christ, as he is attested for us in Holy Scripture, is the one Word of God whom we must hear, trust and obey in life and in death”.
Barth reminds us that truthful theology is never neutral. It inevitably confronts earthly powers when they step out of bounds and demand our ultimate allegiance. For Barth, everything hinges on the primacy of revelation. We do not reason our way up to God through human speculation; rather, God makes Himself known on His own initiative, in His own way, via Jesus Christ. This revelation is an act of sheer grace! The Word of God is not a static possession we control, but a gift we continually receive - and so are called to pass on to others.
This helps us see who we are called to be as chaplains. A chaplain’s authority does not come primarily from their rank or institution, but from being one who first listens deeply to the voice of God in Scripture. That is true of the church, as well: its fundamental task is to hear the Word - and then to bear witness to it.
Sometimes the church is called to be more relevant. Barth would be appalled at this thought! We are instead called to bear witness within history, not to be the managers of moral progress or societal outcomes. We do not simply mirror the state’s or the culture’s views back to it. Rather, we are called to be a sign of strangeness and contradiction to it. Barth would fiercely warn against reducing chaplaincy to mere institutional endorsement or moral therapy. That is an ever present danger, especially when the oversight of the institution is secular. But our call is to faithfulness, not to visible success or measurable outcomes.
We must be people who obey the Word of God first, rather than desperately trying to get with the times.
To be honest, this kind of truthful speech will require immense courage. It may cost us, though we should be wise and winsome. Barth teaches us, however, that we must resist falsehood and refuse to let ideologies, nationalism, or shifting cultural sentiments define our reality. We must boldly name the idolatries of race, power, security, and even corrupted religion.
But we never do this as those who are self-righteous, or as those who love confrontation for its own sake. We must speak of the true God, but as someone whose witness is deeply penitent. We take our lead from the cross of Jesus Christ, where God’s “Yes” simultaneously reveals His “No”. To speak of the cross is to declare, at the exact same moment, both God’s unyielding judgment and His boundless grace. In this way, the chaplain’s speech is not merely therapeutic (though it will be); it is deeply prophetic.
III. Dietrich Bonhoeffer and the Resurrection of Responsible Hope
Finally, if we are to maintain a faithful presence and speak truthful words, something beyond ourselves must animate us. Here our guide is Dietrich Bonhoeffer and the necessity of responsible hope.
Bonhoeffer’s life and theology were defined by his context in Germany from the 1920s to his death in 1945. He famously wrote in his classic work Discipleship: “When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die”. Bonhoeffer’s resistance to the Nazi regime was theological long before it was political. In fact, it was political because it was first theological. He recognized that true obedience to Christ demanded the absolute rejection of the idolatry of the Führer.
Bonhoeffer observes that the gospel grants us extraordinary freedom. Yet, echoing Martin Luther, Bonhoeffer understood that this Christian liberty transforms us into servants, and that this service is our perfect freedom. This is the essence of responsibility - a key concept in his work. To be responsible means to be answerable to God. That is, we surrender to God our ultimate judgment over our actions and over what will come of them. This helps us to discern how we ought act for the sake of others while living continuously under God’s gaze.
In the very midst of the rubble of his own life and his country’s history, Bonhoeffer helps us to speak of hope. This is not, however, naive. Christianity, centred on the cross and the resurrection, has absolutely no truck with naive optimism. If a situation is bad, the Christian is free to say so. We have the theological vocabulary to name evil for what it is. We do not offer the world a shallow, self-help gospel. We do not place an unfounded hope in the supposed natural goodness or decency of human beings, nor do we put our faith in the illusions of technological progress.
Instead, our hope is anchored entirely in the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead. The resurrection offers the definitive, historical hope that God has not abandoned or forsaken His world. It is the ultimate promise: “Behold I make all things new!” And, as Temple would remind us, this newly redeemed reality will be gloriously material. We are pointing to God’s day. The future belongs entirely to Jesus Christ, not to some nationalistic agenda or a progressive fantasy of human moral evolution. The arc of history is long - and it bends towards Jesus Christ.
With his execution impending, Bonhoeffer would speak of his fragmentary life, from which he could not make a clear meaning. For this, he submitted to the God of Jesus Christ. He is reported to have said near his execution, “This is the end - for me the beginning of life”.
Yet this fragmentary experience is healed in anticipation by life together in the community of believers. The church - not the institution, but the actual community of brothers and sisters - is called to model and anticipate the future of Christ through confession, prayer, and service of one another. Together, they embody the reconciliation that the fractured world desperately longs for, which is nothing short of a miracle of God. It is not an ideal picture of a flawless community, but a genuine “foretaste of redeemed reality”. However small a church may be, it exists for the blessing of others, offering the grace of community to those separated by dark circumstances.
During his time in prison, Bonhoeffer essentially served as a kind of chaplain - even to those who were his prison guards! He stood there as a hopeful presence. Exercising responsible hope means living answerable to the God who both judges and justifies. It means aggressively contradicting silly, shallow optimism while simultaneously opposing the crushing weight of despair. It means refusing to turn away from human suffering. Ultimately, the public theologian practices Christian fellowship not as an escape from the world, but as a living, breathing sign of hope for the world.
Chaplains have a unique vocation to be do their theological work and their Christian discipleship in public. In this post-Christian context, they are called to be a faithful presence, resembling the God who is Emmanuel, God with us. They are called to truthful speech, as those who are themselves called by the Word of God. And they are to live out a responsible, resurrection hope. By God’s grace, they are not called to be mere mirrors reflecting a broken culture back to itself, but rather to be church spires, faithfully pointing the way toward the Kingdom of God.