“…the man at the end of the Protestant road…”

I am, maybe, the ultimate Protestant, the man at the end of the Protestant road, for as I have read the Gospels over the years, the belief has grown in me that Christ did not come to found an organized religion but came instead to found an unorganized one.  He seems to have come to carry religion out of the temple into the fields and sheep pastures, onto the roadsides and the banks of rivers, into the houses of sinners and publicans, into the town and the wilderness, toward the membership of all that is here.  Well, you can read and see what you think.

-Wendell Berry, Jayber Crow.

Berry’s take on the common view that Jesus didn’t found an “organized religion” is perfect in its whimsy and wisdom.

Leaving Christianity?

I’ve been a pastor in three widely different contexts and each has brought the same kind of dispiriting and frustrating conversation.  Too many times I’ve listened as disgruntled or despairing men and women have wondered, nervously, whether or not they could remain Christian.  I’m tired of these conversations not because I don’t sympathize with the doubters but because of the predictable pattern that has emerged over the years.

Their faith has been nurtured within a clearly demarcated Christian subculture.

They hold their faith with suspicion not because of some theological or philosophical dilemma.  Neither is it the case that their idealism about Jesus has been trampled on by the church; these are smart and gracious people who understand the flawed nature of people, including Christian people.  There are many factors that would lead to a person questioning her faith but, again, there is one theme I’ve heard repeatedly.

Most of these people have lived as Christians for a long time; some can’t remember not being Christian.  More to the point, their faith has been nurtured within a clearly demarcated Christian subculture.  This is the pattern and the problem.

There are different versions of the Christian subculture but the unifying factor is a strong belief that this is what it means to live as a Christian.  Anything other than this is suspect, written off, or disparaged.  This can look different in Chicago’s affluent suburbs than it does on the South Side.  This can look different depending on denomination.  You get the idea.

Like any subculture, these self-consciously distinct Christian enclaves develop traditions, expectations, norms, opinions and language that sets them apart.  Whether or not it was ever explicitly stated, my conversation partners over the years understood that this subculture, with all of its priorities, embodied orthodox Christianity.

Balancing on the edge of the paradigm, he must consider whether or not he can remain a Christian.

As an example, imagine growing up within a Christian subculture where it is assumed that discipleship to Jesus requires voting exclusively Republican, disbelieving any science that doesn’t support a certain literal reading of of the Bible, and limiting one’s serious engagement with the world to saving souls. Now imagine a collection of magazines, radio programs, books, and the occasional movie which all affirm the notion that to be Christian is to be and believe these things.  This wasn’t the environment in which I was raised but, based on the number of people who’ve shared this version of their childhood with me, there are plenty of people for whom it was.

What happens when a person raised within this subculture encounters questions, information, experiences, and perspectives that don’t fit within the only version of Christianity they’ve known to be true?  A paradigm shift.  But, as I’ve been told too many times, it is exceedingly difficult for the new paradigm to include Christianity because of how thoroughly the subculture claimed that theirs alone was genuine Christianity.  And so, balancing on the edge of the paradigm, this person must consider whether or not they can remain a Christian.

In our pluralistic, modern world there will always be serious challenges to Christian faith.  I’m OK with this.  I’m not OK with how insulated Christian enclaves make it difficult (or, as some of my conversations partners have said, impossible) for someone to remain a Christian once they’ve peered beyond the walls of the subculture.

Have you experienced a paradigm shift that seems to require leaving behind your faith?  How do you explain the tendency of Christian subcultures to so strongly identify their priorities with the essence of Christianity?  How can Christians hold strong opinions about issues (politics, for example) while remaining hospitable to Christians with divergent opinions?

Men in Prison

The following graphic comes from Philip N. Cohen at Sociological Images; visit the site for another alarming graphic along with some commentary.  His statistics come from a recently released report by the Bureau of Justice Statistics.

“Crowds are a worse danger…” cont.

A pastor recently left a lengthy and incredibly thoughtful comment on a post from last year.  In that post I quoted Eugene Peterson twice from his memoir about the danger of churches becoming crowds.  I’m copying the entire comment here as this pastor’s experience and perspective is one that should be heard.

Peterson’s statements hit me like a brick. For years, I’ve heard pastors talk out of both sides of their mouth on the subject, piously dampening the appeal of the Crowd–”Numbers don’t mean anything in themselves”–only to turn around and say things like, “Those who run numbers down usually aren’t running them up.” But, until I read Peterson’s book, I’d never seen a minister take a smooth stone from the ecclesiastical bank, put it in a sling, and send it dead-shot into the face of the giant. I’d never heard a preacher say, “Not only do we not need a crowd; we shouldn’t have a crowd.”

Instantly, I recognized my own tendency to equate the Crowd with success. With a little more effort, I dug deeper, examining the roots of that tendency–my own desire that my preaching should be heard by more people. I confess to sinful pride. I own it; it’s mine.

To be as truthful as I can, though, I don’t believe I’m just worried about how many come to hear me preach. I’m worried about our church itself. I currently serve a congregation that’s aging, probably dying. We have few young families. In a town of 25,000 with a church on every corner, some of which are large and offer many programs, with new churches being planted here every other year, my congregation’s slice of the pie continues to shrink. Many of our people are sick and infirm. Almost weekly, it seems, the phone rings with news of a medical crisis, a turn for the worse, a death. Each day, I can hear the clock ticking. It seems to be growing louder.

The temptation to leave for greener pastures is strong. One thing that keeps me from doing so is my own age. A man in his mid-fifties doesn’t get on the short list of candidates for younger, growing congregations.

So Peterson’s letter, and his book, comes at a critical juncture in my career. It forces me to ask myself what I’m doing and why I’m doing it. If the Pastor is a shepherd, then he can’t simply leave his flock, can he? Not if he cares about the sheep. Naturally, if it’s only sheep we’re talking about, mere wooly mammals, then there might be half-dozen legitimate reasons to leave them–a bigger, better opportunity elsewhere, more money, even sheer boredom. But people aren’t animals to be tolerated ; they’re souls to be cared for.

Struck as I was by Peterson’s statements, I don’t feel any gore antipathy toward larger, even mega-churches. Some of the godliest men I know lead big churches. But that isn’t my calling. I just wish I didn’t feel so frustrated, so frightened in my present position. Thanks for your prayers.

The View From Here