I wrote a reflective essay about "My church is sick, it could die" - and there's been a number of responses from different quarters. One said: "It's the natural evolution of humanity. We will slowly step out of the long shadow of religions just as we slowly stepped out of our primal caves so many thousands of years ago. Long live the burgeoning new age of enlightenment." This response so surprised me - not that the comment was made, but the formulation of it - that I started to reply, but my reply grew lengthy to the point of needing a blog. The short response began as follows. I don't know if the comment was made from an atheist perspective - I suspect so - and if so then I admire your strong faith in nothing, I wish my faith was as strong. Alternatively, if you are simply reacting to the ills of institutionalized religion, then I have a large amount of sympathy. Human institutions, be they religious or secular, are fundamentally flawed because they're run by, well, humans! Yet we are creatures of community, and community creates structures, and structures become institutionalized, and every now and then parts of these structures need to be reworked (die and begin again?) so that they can function effectively for evolving needs (are you listening USA, SA, Russia?). The surprised aspect produced this instead. The commenter speaks of a "natural evolution of humanity" and stepping out of "the long shadow of religions" within the "burgeoning new age of enlightenment". Hmmm. Well now, that carries a slight hint of chronological snobbery, doesn't it? People have been stepping out of the "long shadow of religion" for as long as we have recorded history. Whether by making religion serve their purposes as they so often do with any other secular institution (anyone thinking of the Koch brothers?), or by outright rejection of any named religion as in the evangelistic "new atheism" of today (perhaps Dawkins, anyone?), or the secularization of religion (lots of these - Rob Bell and Ophra, anyone?). What’s happening in this "age of enlightenment" is simply another turn of history's wheel. Think back from today’s post-modernism (which is neither post nor modern) to the '60s, to bohemian France, or the modernist world epitomized by GB Shaw (nicely countered by GK Chesterton's wit) and the industrial revolution, even the manipulation by the Catholic church in the middle ages (mostly a humanist power grab at the macro level), and all the way back to Roman hedonism through to Aristotle, Plato and Socrates. Society has repeatedly flailed against the "long shadow of religion", or else used and abused the institutions of religion for their own greedy purposes. This "burgeoning new age of enlightenment" is nothing really new, only it has been given a louder voice by the unprecedented connectivity of this time. Set against the evangelism of new atheists (and I recognize a subculture of non-agressive atheism whose interaction I value) is the continued and pervasive spiritual hunger across society. "Thinking people" hunger for spirituality in as much as "Thinking people" abuse others, despite the fact that much of the developed world seems to have given up thinking. Its as if logic and reason simply cannot overwhelm an inner awareness that’s shouting "surely I must be more than the mere atoms that make up my body". And if I am more than mere atoms, I am spiritual. And so the question of theology begins once again (and again and again), and once again those who are willing examine history, evidence, experience and their reasoning for the existence of God. Each generation must wrestle with this question for themselves. If we could inherit wisdom, maybe we might see a "natural evolution of humanity", but while we undeniably grow in knowledge, I argue that there is zero evidence that we are evolving in Wisdom. Data is not knowledge, knowledge is not understanding, and understanding is not wisdom. And therein lies the rub. I must come to my own conclusion based on the evidence I see before me, set against my experience and my reason. To adopt a position because someone else tells me to is intellectual suicide - be it for or against religion. To say I am right and you are wrong claims an authority of absolute truth which is arrogance in the extreme. The best I can do is say "My conclusion is ... I recognize I might be wrong ... I acknowledge that you have apparently concluded differently ... but until my reason and experience can tell me otherwise, what honest choice do I have but to live by that which I conclude?" I have concluded that God is real by following my reasoning to uncomfortable places, and by accepting the implications. I may be wrong, I re-examine continually, but my conclusions only ever seem to become more firmly grounded. I hope atheists and people of other faiths do the same, because the uncomfortable reality is that we can't all be right. Syncretism holds little logical value.
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After my recent excursion into a well of dark realities, here's a bit of an antidote in the form of two quotes (I love quotes) and a picture; medicinal diversions of a more pleasant nature (pun intended).
1. "If physicists have free will while performing experiments, then elementary particles possess free will as well, and this probably explains why and how humans have free will in the first place." - The Curious Mind of John Horton Conway. Think about it. 2. “Life is far too important to be taken seriously.” - Oscar Wilde 3. A picture from a recent vacation. There's life in the desert [Note: this entry is a personal reflection on a troubling time, written mostly to get my own thoughts in order. If you're a regular reader here, and find church autopsies interesting, read on. If you're interested in what I think church could/should be about, read on. If you're a church strategist interested in God-led innovation, read on and give feedback! Else you might want to skip and come back when the regularly scheduled program returns!] My church is sick, it may be dying (By church I do not mean the building, nor the formal Sunday services, not a denomination, and not an institution. I mean the community of people who agree to interact because they hold in common a faith in something that is far, far bigger, and indescribably more important than any one individual's interests.) I am part of the community, so I am ill too. Sometimes makes me angry with God. Its hard to write these words: "my church is sick" … or even to say that it might even die. Not only is it an admission one does not like to make, it also immediately raises the temptation to find cause, to cast blame. But that's not the intent here; for to acknowledge what is real is only being honest. And like any medical diagnosis, honestly assessing the situation is the first step for (potential) recovery. What is my church like? Its a classic old church building made of blocks of sandstone with a vaulted ceiling and many of the religious trappings one would expect. Unlike the very original stone churches, cathedrals and castles, the stone walls are not painted or decorated, but are left unadorned in their natural state. There is little in the way of strong colour. The lighting is somewhat dim. It is very cold in winter, very hot in summer, and leaky when it rains. The church is heavy. The people inside perhaps share some of these characteristics. If there is one thing I can say with confidence, our church is not bold: not visually, aesthetically, intellectually, theologically, or experientially. If anything, one might be tempted to call it safe, even perhaps tentative. But not bold. In some ways the church is almost completely unlike what I want myself to be. What is happening? The outward problem is simple: my church, located in the city centre, is experiencing an accelerated decline. Numbers are decreasing and approaching a threshold of viability. It is like someone with a progressive degenerate disease that a doctor is struggling to diagnose. Vital functions are decaying. Strength is ebbing. Resources, both spiritual and material, are strained. Initiatives quickly fail. Grand ideas never see the light of day. We've run surveys of the people, looked at the city census, but few dominant statistics stand out. For myself this is all particularly troublesome as I have a deep desire to engage with post-modern inner-city society, but this particular vehicle seems to be running out of fuel. What are the symptoms? It is alway sad to describe the slow sickness of a loved one. I remember my mother's back problems and how it was so discomforting to hear of her pain and progressive degeneration of a spinal disk. I remember being troubled by my father describing his loneliness after she died in a tragedy, and the difficulty in listening to him describe the symptoms of his own ailing body. It was a mercy when he died too. So too it is difficult to describe the symptoms I see in my church. As a generalization (and all generalizations are wrong in the specific), among the regular members of our community I see mostly apathy. An attitude where gathering as Christian community is merely one among many priorities, where the church family has a low priority in a mix of other lifestyle options with competing ways to get a spiritual "fix". I see a multiple of sub-groups motivated by complicated and conflicting preferences; weakly understanding the nature of “family”, unwilling to strongly invest in helping the family to function, not buying in with any seriousness to a common vision. There's not even full agreement on theological fundamentals, and syncretism is pervasive. If there is “Clear speak” about what one might consider to be obvious faith non-negotiables, these are not challenged but also are not necessarily accepted. Like water off a ducks back some members slip through the rain of faith fundamentals without getting wet. It shows, for example, in the apathy in singing; I see secular concerts where the attendees are 10 000 times more engaged. Commitment to follow-through is weak. Involvement in activities begins with enthusiasm, but the follow-through fades, and before long one is asking “so what happened to so-and-so”, or “where did that initiative get to?” Fundamentally I see people living more by the reality of gravity, than the reality of God. The willingness to say “I Will” is easily countermanded but the desires of “I prefer”. (All of this is a generalization of course, for there are always some exceptions.) What about the leadership? Sincere, and with a healthy diversity of maturity, understanding, age, and experience. It ranges from “mildly confused but faithful” to “deep experience backed by knowledge”. But it is also a leadership of volunteers that have limited interaction, and with far less dialogue than what I have experienced among the volunteer leadership of many secular organizations I'm engaged with. And that is something that is hard to state, because I am part of this church's leadership. As a result, decisions are often taken quickly or else deferred into ultimate forgetfulness. Perhaps more importantly, decisions that are taken are typically safe decisions; the measure of willingness to make hard choices that risk offending some, is low. As a result the church changes through small incremental adjustments. What went wrong? There's been no scandal in the church, the leadership are prayerfully sincere, there's a valuable and viable vision in place, the location is excellent, and we're surrounded by a spiritually hungry, questioning, post-modern, inner city, young professional, techno-literate and internet-connected community dominated by early career young couples and singles. Yet the patient seems to be dying. So, has the Spirit departed? Are we walking a path far away from where God is headed? Have we lagged behind God? Are we simply being dumb? Or deaf? Perhaps we're cowards? Or is this symptomatic of an external secular attack? Have we misread our community? Is our timing wrong? Did we not listen to God enough? Yet the direction seemed clear, the vision strong, and God gives us ample ability to reason and the intelligence to translate his direction into action. Or are we simply not willing to radically trust? For what's the worst that could happen? Failure? So what! Why have things gone off-track? To attempt to answer these questions would require one to tell a lengthy back-story, and to try and dissect details in a hopeless quest to understand the present. Frankly, while one can point to a few specific moments of difficulty, there's been nothing dramatic, and certainly nothing particularly unusual compared to the experiences of other churches. Yes, over time we have seen a few leaders (amicably) walk away for different reasons and which temporarily undermined momentum, but aside from that its hard to identify a singular reason. If I had to put my finger on one thing it would be that caution has been allowed to replace faith-full boldness, which in turn has allowed personal preference to place limits on change. How culpable am I? Of course I am culpable; as are any and all who have been involved, we all carry some measure of culpability. Is it the culpability of deliberate deception? No. But perhaps I could have tried harder (although in my defence, I now recognize how close I have been to burn-out from personal over-investment on a number of occasions). Perhaps I should have not invested so heavily? I recognize that often I have raised an idea, but as soon as it failed to gain traction with others I would drop it. Some of the ideas being floated today I raised 8 years ago. That's not to say all my ideas were right or timely, far from it and it is likely that many (most?) of my ideas were wrong. But should I have retreated in the face of challenge? I think not. (And the same goes equally for all others in the leadership). The leadership seems to have worked by a principle of amicable consensus - but when ideas compete then consensus makes mud. Perhaps I am culpable of helping to make mud. What could have been done differently? I have long believed that 1 Cor 9:19-27 captures the essence, purpose and necessary function of our church, for we have long been seeking to collectively connect with this relativistic society that is so driven by individualism. Paul says “I will become all things in order to reach others”. That is a powerful statement that says I choose, and as circumstances dictate I will change, I will do whatever is necessary despite my personal preferences, and I will complete it, see it through, run the race to the end. In my secular workplace I have sometimes been described as a benevolent dictator; for I have authority and I exercise that authority (somewhat reluctantly) as best I can in the interests of my colleagues, of those in my employ, and our shared objectives. I sometimes make radical choices when the direction is clear, for the authority is vested in me. So it is with the church where some have tremendous authority, yet often this authority is seemingly wielded in a fear that it will be abused. And abused it can be - some churches have abused authority and across the world there are many horror stories of power relationships causing tremendous damage (e.g. Mark Driscoll's recent turn of events). But abuses of authority should never prohibit exercise of authority. It is worth thinking how there are four ways authority can fail.
What could happen now? Well, God can come and do a miracle. Of course, if God is God he does not need us to accomplish anything. Yet I suspect that many of the reasons that he actually asks us to do something, and then waits for us to do it, is for our own benefit – the object of the actions may even be secondary. For in doing things for God, in acknowledging his authority to ask us, in choosing to respond, so we are changed. So perhaps we have not "done" and God is waiting till we "do" so we become changed? But I digress. What could happen in my church, absent of God stepping in with a miracle? Well there may be a small core of people who could catalyse a new birth if given the space and freedom (which means authority has to give space and freedom). Yet I have this fear. On the one hand a new dynamic leadership (if such could be found) could humanly build almost anything, but without the heart and soul of the followers wedded to God in intent, action, and commitment, it would be a leaders human effort. And therein lies my fear: I see little evidence among our church of a widespread commitment that transcends personal interest; of a pervasive and driving love for God among the community producing a fruit of sustained investment. As they say, a chicken makes a donation, a pig makes a commitment. We need bacon pigs, not chicken eggs. So yes, something healthy could potentially be regenerated our of the current ailments. But it is worth asking if the necessary prerequisites are in place, or can be put in place. Alternatively, perhaps the way forward is to go backwards, start with a clean slate. Of course that means letting (some) current endeavours die. That's quite drastic, but perhaps severe surgery is needed. Or perhaps a programme of medication by the Spirit is the solution? That of course requires the patient to take the medicine, which in turn requires commitment to complete the course of antibiotics. One of the main reasons we have drug resistant tuberculous in the world today, is because patients do not complete their course of medication. I wonder sometimes if, in our tentative approach, we have perhaps been cultivating Spirit-resistant hearts. Or perhaps it is simply that the seasons are changing, and this expression of church in the city needs to pass to make way for something new. I don't know exactly what Dr. God is prescribing, at least I don't know with any great clarity or authority, but having said that ... What would I do (in my naivety)? I've left this till last, for it is always enticing to say what one would do, and that can be highly egotistical. Like everyone else I value my own opinions. So at the risk of seeming foolish, or worse arrogant, I would like to speculate on what I would do. This is not any statement that this is what God is saying. But I know the vision of the church for the city, and I know the desires of my heart, and I feel I have some sense of the people around us. So with these qualifiers, if I were seeking to be a benevolent authority in my church, this is what I would like to do. I would begin with a doctor's consultation. This is the hardest step to take, because the patient may respond negatively. But this step is, I believe, imperative, for if the patient is not fully involved with understanding what's at stake, then any treatment will fail. It must surely begin with a frank and open statement “You are ill, and unless you receive treatment you will die.” At this point the patient may get angry, storm out the office, become deeply depressed and fatalistic, go into denial, seek high-promising quackery elsewhere, or hopefully find the courage to say “do what is needed.” If the patient agrees to face up to their sickness, counselling and extensive discussion is needed on the three steps that have to be taken: triage, surgery, and rehabilitation. And the counselling begins with a discussion on the vision of what a future healthy state will look like, and honestly acknowledging that it will not look like the past. The patient may have to lose a limb, change their lifestyle, eat a different diet, adopt new routines, etc. I'm getting a bit metaphorical here, so here's some of what I think would be part of the treatment involved in triage, surgery and rehabilitation. a) Visually and aesthetically. As soon as possible create a space that fits the culture. I would sell the pews and use the money to replace them with something comfortable and movable – to create flexibility of space and an environment to encourage people to settle into conversation. Chairs and couches are a nice start. I would rip out the communion rail, for that fosters an “us and them” - a division - and among the emerging generation I feel that mystical repetition of misunderstood ritual mostly massages the conscience to make you feel momentarily ok. Then move the pulpit and other brass accoutrements to a new dedicated “Museum space”. I would paint the walls – with light and bold colours. Early churches had highly decorated walls; so let stone be what it is - strong and supportive - and now find ways to complement that. With our current brown stone, brown wood, brown pews, brown floors, and occasional olive carpet, its a drab place to be. I would put in good lighting, strong lighting, adaptable lighting … the lighting we currently have is odd at best. I would lay carpet … the acoustics are dreadful for contemporary community and conversation. It's fine for traditional modes of organ and choir, but we don't base our gatherings on organ and choir; our modern ears and voices are attuned to youtube and band-based music. So I would decorate, add bright colours, be visually bold, and make this a place that serves a purpose of meeting - not a temple, but a home. b) Theologically: Say what is and what isn't, and say it again. God is God. Jesus is God. God is Big. God is worth your attention not for what you can get from God, but simply because he's worth your attention. I would speak about relativism, about how self-constructed morals are meaningless. I would not judge, not saying this and that is wrong. That is not needed. If one provides sufficient examples, with evidence and reason for what is God's intended normality, that is enough to illuminate any deviancy. Theologically, I would boldly say “this is God's normal”, backed by reason and logic and evidence. I would say what is creation's intended normal in relation to all the pressing issues; ambition, money, power, authority, sex, relationship, marriage, etc., etc. (In seven years I've yet to hear our church speak on LGBT). c) Intellectually: I would say “Let's talk”. Let's reason together. Let me listen to you, and would you listen to me, and lets understand why that is so incredibly important. Lets talk about why prayer works, about how the infinitely small can perceive the infinitely large, about joy in the midst of grief, about suffering's logic. Lets follow reason, whether it takes us into dark places of discomfort, or into realms of joy. For truth is to acknowledge reality, else we are only engaged in deceit and perpetuating our ignorance. Lets together learn once again how to listen and think, with enough courage to face our conclusions. I would be blunt. If I am more than mere atoms, then I am spiritual. Spirituality starts with saying I will be what I am. And I was created to be in commitment. God commits to us, it's the least we can do (and I really mean its the least) to commit to God. Without commitment, one is left in the loneliness of individualism on a path of preference. I would speak of love and justice; how these are forever joined in God and cannot exist without each other. And so we need to understand that God is love, and God is just, and that when you put the two together you find grace and judgement. d) Experientially: I would build any and all activities around fostering relationship – relationship with God, and relationship with each other, and relationship with the city. For right relationship is the foundation of spirituality. Spirituality becomes lost in the fogs of mysticism, it is never found in emptying one's mind, and is crushed in playing with other powers. Spirituality is relationship. So lets build all our activities around expressions of relationship, and use all our senses and talents in creativity and experience. We are made to be creative, lets create. Music, arts, conversation, discussion, debate, new ideas, new expressions, new perspectives, and new relationships. Lets do what is required with all our heart, soul, mind, and strength. Lets give each other freedom to explore, which means also freedom to fail. That's enough about what I would do. What next (for me)?
I sort of like it when people are angry with God, and I suspect God does too, even though it's probably misdirected. Anger means they care. But nonetheless, I'm disturbed by my own anger at God. I met a man at a dinner who was offended by God. Deep down he was angry at the real and perceived injustices which he blamed on God. He was a good man, as best I could tell, but his anger showed though, because he cared. He spoke about everything from global child abuses to his personal grievances such as, why God didn't “come through” when he needed him to? I encounter such buried anger often - in friends, colleagues, and acquaintances - and with the right trigger it suddenly bursts out. Sometimes aimed at the the institutions of religion - and I fully share that sentiment - but mostly at God. If pressed for an response I usually trot out the typical platitudes, trying desperately to make them fit the particulars of the circumstances: “God sees a bigger picture; free will causes pain; God is not a slot machine; we grow through suffering; God hurts too when he sees these things”, and so on. Yet as we all know, platitudes can be both completely true and at the same time absolutely useless. If God is all powerful and all loving, why doesn't he “just fix it”? Some people respond by walking away from God, some bury their anger in denial, some begrudgingly continue in faith like a person who doesn't like what gravity does but can't deny its reality. A very few seem to have worked through it to where they can say with total honesty “I trust that God knows best.” I think everyone else simply are not brave enough to face up to it. Because God can be incredibly frustrating at times: "I can see what needs to be done, why won't he do it" is the typical line. But logically, if God is God, then he does know better. But I still need to work through my anger and frustration. Come on God! You make all these promises, you say to just ask, you painfully point out that I'm broken but say that you still accept me, and then tell me that the power and treasures of heaven are supposed to be available. Ok, I admit you also say there will be trials and suffering, and I still don't quite know how to fully reconcile all that. But, But! Why is it that so often talking to you is like talking to a brick wall? I look at all these “religious” people who religiously pray for world peace and bless our president and heal my neighbour and won't you fill up our church and please solve my financial problems and, and … and it makes me think "so what is all that about, because mostly nothing seems to change?' Ok, so you say I must pray, you say to trust, and you also say you know all about it already. And there I was going around thinking you were logical and then you come along and throw all these paradoxes at me and tell me to get on with it and have faith. So goes my occasional semi-irrational outbursts of anger – when I'm brave enough to acknowledge that I do harbour anger. The rest of the time I battle the temptation to step up and take charge of the situation, whether I have the ability to or not (usually not). In that I have a whole heap of company … I think most people trying to be Christians battle that temptation and lose … but they don't realize their attempt to play God is rooted in a deep seated irritation at the intransigence of God! I believe that all Christians, somewhere deep down, have a pot of anger they are desperately try to keep a lid on. For some its a big pot with steam hissing out from under the lid, for others its a tiny little container hidden away in the dusty corner of a disused mental room behind tightly locked doors. Regardless of the size, we keep it bottled in because we are scared of saying “I'm cross with God”. Why? Why not admit it? God knows it anyway. Until I open the lid, its simply going to fester. Have you ever forgotten a cup with dregs of coffee and come across it weeks later (I confess I do that all too often)? There's interesting "growths" inside - and that's sort of what happens with bottled up anger. In any relationship, hidden grievances are destructive and grow like a nasty mould. When all is said and done I find myself going back to the truths of what I once disrespectfully called "platitudes", and despite my kneejerk reaction that they're about as useful as some doctors quackery, I find they help if I can simply get them past my prejudice and pride. They don't all make total sense, I can't quite wrap my mind around how it all works. But like the duality of light's wave and particle nature, at least these "platitudes" are logically consistent, and I can accept that as good enough … until I find another hidden pot that needs to be opened. I've seen more and more articles about whether a Christian should go to a LGBT wedding. My immediate response is, "why ever not?" I say that because to not do so would be hypocrisy given everything else we do. Do you go to hetero-sexual weddings by non-Christians? Do you go to weddings by couples of other faiths. Do you attend the weddings of atheists? Of course Christians do, and seemingly without hesitation. If you don't go to a LGBT wedding because you think this is implicitly sanctioning what you deem to be a sinful lifestyle, then by the same logic going to any of the other examples I gave you, you are implicitly legitimizing atheism, other faiths (syncretism), and a range of secular lifestyles. This debate over Christians attending LGBT weddings is much more a case of elevating LGBT to the status of a "special sin" because a Christian feels (a) threatened, or (b) wants to exert power through moral authority, or (c) likes to feel superior on a moral high ground. Regardless of whether you view LGBT as a "sin", at least be logical! At least be honest about being inconsistent. A far more interesting question: when does Christian participation equate to endorsement? (And by the way, I see the LGBT debate as being part of a much more fundamental question: what is non-normative to God's created intent? And how is relativism defining a moral code according to personal preference? That leads to all sorts of interesting topics: e.g. what should we really be wrestling with, learning to live in an ethical wasteland, and simply about Christians being relevant) Some say that to give love in one place is to take love from somewhere else ... as if love was a finite quantity. Some, however, bottle up their infinite spring, build a dam to hold it in, and keep the sluice gates firmly closed. Eventually the rust makes all the mechanisms seize up, and if or when they try to open up, at best they produce a trickle of brown, rusty and unpalatable water, and all their potential is squandered. Some say it would be better to plant dynamite and blow up the dam wall; some damage may occur, it may even be fatal, but at least there is the possibility of love being released. |
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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