Sometimes (when I feel brave) I wonder if my church is dying, for I know there is a season for everything.
The recent PEW research about America's changing religious landscape has got envagelicals all in a twitter of concern (pun intended), and spawned all sorts of blog essays, especially those that try and find a positive message amidst this news (e.g. evangelicals stay strong and nominals to nones). This push to try and understand the trend also causes some introspection about what we should really be worried about (e.g. Six things). But back to my church - its not in America, so why worry? Well, firstly the fact is our society follows the trends in America, so what we see happen there is very likely coming here, and arguably has already arrived. Secondly, the death of church-as-we-know-it is not the death of Christianity, but it is a huge red flag trying to get our attention and shouting at us that "you need to relearn how to be a relational christian". Yet we typically stumble along pretending all is ok and that business as usual is what we need to protect. What then. First, foremost, above all else, and never without, I need to ask the question "What does God want me to change (if anything)?" Without God in the drivers seat, I'm lost; up the creek without a paddle, let alone a GPS and a 3G link to ask google for help. Its worth reflecting on how and why churches die. This is a complex question, but I suggest we can identify some of the more common causes.
The church is not designed to be stuck in 17th century architecture with 18th century lyrics and 19th century organs using re-worked 20th century liturgy. God intended the church to be adaptable, to be dynamic - not in its theology - that's orthodox as there is only one God whose nature is unchanging. But dynamic in that the church serves the people, and people come in all shapes, sizes, cultures, habits, needs and world views. The church is made for change, we've clothed it in a straighjacket. Aside from the case of externally forced death, my understanding is that the remaining causes are all rooted in fear. We fear change, we fear reality, we fear who we are, we fear what we've become. Just like Adam and Eve after the apple (however literally or figutarively you take that). The Six things I linked above catpures some of these. We fear the magnitude of the challenge, we fear that we have something we should share, we fear relationship, we fear failure, we fear launching into the unknown, and we fear the mess of non-christians becoming engaged in the church. But we have not been given a Spirit of Fear (2Tim 1:17). Let me ask you, and myself, this question: What's the worst that can happen? Answer: my church will die. So what's the big deal about that? God is certainly bigger than one church stuck outside the mainstream of life. Unless I try, my church will still die. The "try" I need to do is to step over to where God has moved to, to stand there, which might be far away from here in my place of comfort. If my church dies while I try, whose responsibility is that? I would argue that if my "try" is in God's will, and the church dies, its God's problem, not mine; he has his reasons and I trust that he will work all things for good - its called "faith", and faith should not fear secular measures of failure or success. So I might as well take that Spirit-led step into the unknown and trust God for the outcome, because I've got nothing to lose of any lasting value. A quick thought on leadership: one cause of death is the failure of leadership to live 1Cor 9:19-23, in order to serve our calling of Matt 28:19, because we lack 1Cor 9:24-27, out of not having the strength of relationship to live in the greatest commandment of Luke 10:27. Basically, that says we've failed to step into the lives of others having expected them to step into church culture first, so we can't disabuse them of the distorted notions about the real Jesus, because we lack the self-discipline to properly understand and prepare, since we've lost the desire that comes from a deep love of God and sharing his compassion for others. (I'm in "lay"-leadership in my church, so these are hard words for myself to hear.)
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I'm a geek, I'm optimistic, I like mixing technology with daily life. Why deny it, that's who I am. I also have a love of trying to know real reality. So when I recently read an article on what the next 10 years may hold, I found the incredible optimism profoundly disturbing!
The web page is here (and archived here in case it disappears). Seven futurists present their vision for the next 10 years. The geek in me loves this, what a great future they protray. Consider a sample of their projectrions:
Where are these Futurists living? In their imagination probably. Not one of these futurists seemed to have factored in any of the following:
All of this is, of course, underpinned by and implemented through human nature. Can anyone persuade me that in 6000 years of recorded history we are growing less selfish, less greedy, less violent? All these futurist's projections may come true - they are not unreasonable in technological terms. But all that this will do, as best I can see, is offer new opportunities and means to continue in our persistant nature of self interest at the expense of others. This optimism about our technology-dependent future is highly exciting, and deeply depressing BECAUSE it ignores the nature of humans. I'm personally glad when I remember this life is not normality; this is a broken picture of who we were intended to be. The religious institutions of the world universily claim we can make it better - except Christ who says we can't, and won't. (Part 1 here)
My brain lies to me: it tries to shield me by painting attractive pictures in my head to hide reality. Fortunately my brain is not a very good painter. I hear the media say "Drink this, eat that, exercise there, and you'll add three years to your life" and my brain tells me that's a great idea. "Try this, experiment with that, you'll gain insight, and everyone is doing it so it can't be bad" and the brain twist irrationality into seeming logic. "Understand that you make your own reality, that you define your morality, if you find your inner strength you'll overcome. All can be yours, you can achieve anything, just believe in yourself" - my brain knows this Disney-mantra is not true, it knows that this is not even logical, it knows that past experiece makes it all a lie. My brain lies to me, but out of the best of intentions. The saving grace is when I tell my brain who is in charge, and its not the brain! These are the times when I have flashes of clarity, when the haze momentarily parts and a real scene is unveiled. For an instant I see the stones of solidity on which I can build understanding. The now-obviousness of true normality is almost but not quite dull, possibly scary, certainly disturbing. The reality is that it is as if we are made of the shards of a broken picture. And of course it must be like that, why is that so hard to see? Of course we're not whole; only someone completely deluded or floating on drugs would rationally deny it. There once was a picture, perfectly painted; and the painting has been slashed. Or like a beautiful piece of glassware that has cracked - it functions like a broken jug and holds water yet leaks. Or like the damaged painting which conveys a scene but where the details are twisted. Its such an effort to explain the obvious. What no one could teach me, once learned I now find impossible to teach. For how can you be instructed about a discovery. How can you teach a realization. Like someone learning to swim, all the instruction in the world can not convey the experience of immersion, the release from gravity, and the unfailing trust one can place in the buoyancy of water. One of my greatest longings (and fears) is that I could live under some great ceiling fan that would sweep aside the fog and show reality for what it is, to see myself and the lives around me as they really are, naked and revealed in all their glory and shame, joy and pain. Then perhaps let the mist return for awhile, for once seen I fear I could gaze for too long without taking refuge in my brain's lies. But practice makes me stronger. This is the truth being lived by my colleages and friends, family and siblings; that life as we now know it is full of joy and pain! In the midst of joy there lives a vein of pain, in the midst of pain hides a streak of joy. This is true, who can deny it? Life is not the social pretence. So now what? (Part 3 might follow) (I wasn't sure if this should be one post, two, or more. I've decided it will be more than one)
She hadn't been seen since last Thursday, and her blog was stripped of content leaving behind only the headings with a link to an Instagram account showing a few dated pictures. In previous weeks some blog entries alluded to “having bad days” and a measure of depression, despite the bright cheery tone of the text. I wonder what happened. I have colleagues who are friends (or is it friends who are colleagues?). I have family and a social circle. I know people I've never met. Their lives all tell a truth about life. Two have spouses with breast cancer. One hates his job, while another's wife is deeply ill and possibly dying. One faces losing her job by the end of this year, and one had a miscarriage last week. There's one who has to live on a cocktail of medication. Three had children who were anorexic and suicidal. Some are living with the pain and loneliness of divorce and fractured families. A few have children who cause them deep pain due to poor life choices. Some are fighting with each other, and some carry a burden of personal illness. There are those in deeply fractured relationships that separate families and more. There has even been a murder. And then there's the parent who beat his children into bruises, yet hides behind protestations of innocence. Nevertheless, when we cross paths at meetings, workshops, reunions, dinners, wherever - the social norms take over. We present polite faces that are, if not cheerful, at least cordial. And in bantering exchanges we “carry on”. What, at any given moment, is it really like in anyone's mind? We all have mental health issues. All of us are mentally ill. Some are brave enough to live it out in the open, others hide behind façades of cold intellect, or retreat into seclusion, or seek protection in positions of power. Others find an inner strength to suppress ever showing their deviancy - yet self regulation is sometimes too effective, and stifles the soul. Still other's simply blind themselves. We are all broken; mental health is our pandemic. Many of us share similar problems, in fact so many of us share the same shortcomings that we've called it “being normal”. As a result, those with more unusual struggles are labled as deviant, ill, or abnormal. They become sidelined because they bring discomfort to other's "normality", and their isolation is increased unless they find more courage than the rest of us “normal” folk. Perhaps they are the only ones living in true honesty about who they are? (part 2 here - it's a bit less depressing) This is a story of a petite dirty-blond haired German woman
I sat in John Calvin's church; in a foreign land with a language I could not speak. Alone in a pew, I was resting my feet from a day of walking the city. A few feet away was "Calvin's chair", which looked even more uncomfortable. The church was empty and hollow sounding, apart from the shuffle of an occasional tourist trying to be reverential without really knowing why (apart from the large American man who unselfconsciously marched around with the longest selfie-stick I've seen, taking photos of himself in front of the pulpit, organ, stained glass window ... everything he thought significant ... although completely missing Calvin's chair). There were moments of quiet between the interruptions of tourists when the only sound was the crack of old wood joints as I shifted in the pew. Into this silence stepped a petite, dirty-blond haired German woman, followed soon by what I presumed was her husband. The young couple walked quietly together down the aisle and, despite it being a protestant church, she crossed herself and dipped her head as she faced the front. Then with her husband slipped into the fourth pew from the front on the right hand side. After a minute of sitting in silence she leaned forward in prayer, resting her head in her hands against the pew in front. The man sat alongside, and cynic that I am, I presumed he was humouring her and waiting patiently until she was done. I said a quick prayer "Lord may your Spirit meet with her as she seeks you, and give him patience not to interrupt her". But then he surprised me as he too bent forward and went down on his knees. After a few minutes he sat again and bowed his head like his wife as they continued their prayers. They stayed like that for almost 10 minutes, heads bowed in earnest prayer. She reminded me of a friend back home, of similar diminutive build, blond, and German heritage, and living through situations in need of prayer. So I prayed for the couple across the aisle, and I prayed for my friend and her situations back home. Finally they sat back, then stood and stepped into the aisle where they both genuflected deeply, crossed themselves, and smiled. |
Why?
Probably the best therapy is to express yourself. Why do you think psychiatrists make you lie on the couch and talk, while all they do is murmur "hmmm", "uhuh", or "go on"? Archives
May 2017
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