Luther’s theological brilliance lay in resurrecting a long-neglected idea: grace. He reminded the world that salvation came not through human striving but was a gift of divine action. This insight is still profoundly relevant. In the spiritual life, mere striving—however earnest—rarely yields anything of lasting value. Luther’s emphasis resonates across traditions. In Daoism, we find Wu Wei—“action through non-action.” In Buddhism, there is the stillness of silent meditation. While these concepts are not identical, they share a caution against the futility of ceaseless activity. Luther’s grace, Laozi’s Wu Wei, and the Buddha’s silence serve as timeless antidotes to the restlessness and busyness of contemporary life.
Yet, there is always another side to the story. A sad byproduct of Luther’s insight was the distortion of grace into a notion that demanded nothing at all from the spiritual seeker. In its most extreme forms, this took shape in revivalist traditions that promised transformation as a one-time event: “Raise your hand,” “Walk to the altar,” or “Sign this card,” and all will be well. While these moments are often deeply meaningful and sincere—I know from personal experience decades ago—they can leave a seeker disillusioned. What begins as a profound encounter may falter when life feels unchanged sometime later. The cycle repeats, and guilt often follows: “Why didn’t it work for me?”
The truth is that the spiritual life is both grace and effort, stillness and practice, being and doing. Ancient Chinese philosophy offers us a helpful pair of concepts: Wu Wei and Gongfu. Wu Wei is effortless action, a life aligned with the natural flow. Gongfu (from which we get the English transliteration “Kung Fu”) is skill honed through persistent, disciplined effort. These two ideas, seemingly opposite, are in fact complementary. Which path is correct? Both. Embrace Wu Wei, and you will find a life enriched by Gongfu. Walk the path of Gongfu, and it will lead you to Wu Wei.
While Gongfu is often associated with martial arts, its deeper meaning goes far beyond physical combat. The term refers to mastery achieved through consistent practice and dedication, regardless of the domain. One can develop Gongfu in music, writing, teaching, cooking, or even in the way one cultivates relationships. To have Gongfu in life is to approach each task, no matter how small or ordinary, with care, intention, and a commitment to improvement. It is not simply about acquiring a skill—it is about shaping oneself through the practice. In this sense, Gongfu applies to the whole of life, transforming even the mundane into an opportunity for growth and personal development.
As I write this reflection, the year 2025 begins with its own uncertainties. A new U.S. presidency will have global consequences, shaping the direction of international relations, trade, and climate policy. The wars in Ukraine and Gaza continue to devastate lives, while renewed acts of terrorism remind us of the fragility of peace. Rising tensions over Taiwan cast shadows over East Asia, and economic uncertainty persists as nations grapple with inflation, inequality, and an uncertain transition to renewable energy. Would the world be better for someone like Martin Luther to shake things up? Who knows. But each of us can embrace the work of renewal in our own lives.
For me, this year is about deepening my Gongfu: practicing diligently, living intentionally, and honing my craft. At the same time, I aim to rest in Wu Wei, trusting in grace to uphold me in all things.
May this year bring you the same balance: the peace of Wu Wei and the fruitfulness of Gongfu.
Happy New Year!
+Ab. Andy