Here We Go Again

“It feels increasingly hard to find institutions in America that aren’t knee-jerk conservative or progressive. Beyond that, Christian institutions—whatever their doctrine or ideology—often hold in common a thirst for power, an unrepentant self-defensiveness, and a lack of courage that altogether belie the gospel. Many of them don’t seem to function all that differently than institutions outside the church.” — Tish Harrison Warren, Christianity Today, June 2021

It’s that last sentence that grabbed my attention, which is why I underlined it.

My religious faith, such as it is, has been molded in the Lutheran Church. More specifically, the LCA and then the ELCA– the more progressive expressions of the denomination. Martin Luther’s wrestling with scripture and grace, and his dying words– “we are beggars, that is true”– have cast a long shadow on how we view ourselves as a denomination and as individuals making our way through life. I don’t believe we’re near the top of the list of those who, as Ms. Warren puts it, “hold… a thirst for power” or “an unrepentant self-defensiveness.” If anything, we may be too quick to defer to louder voices. In our defense, though, we find ourselves enamored of shades of grey, convinced that seeing only black and white solutions does not adequately address the complexities of life and faith.

While she might come on a bit strong in some of her assertions, I believe Ms. Warren has zeroed in on at least one reality with her observation that churches don’t necessarily behave any differently than other clubs or civic organizations with particular charters and philosophies and mission statements. And it may have to do with, as the author puts it, this “lack of courage that altogether belie(s) the gospel.”

If people want a place to socialize and gossip and be with like-minded souls, they can join the local VFW or DAR or the Elks or the Rotarians. The church is necessarily a different animal. And if it isn’t, then those who attend are being done a disservice.

In certain respects, the gospel is offensive, revolutionary, intrusive, and just plain hard to embrace, because it calls on us to question or even let go of certain assumptions and beliefs, along with the dispensed “wisdom” of those whose opinions we may respect. It demands that we listen to the New Testament witness of Paul and others, not to mention… Jesus!

This is the glaring failure, as I see it, of those who espouse the vision of Christian Nationalism, which apparently chooses to root itself in the Old Testament witness of a sometimes judgmental and angry God; which embraces the belief that the Declaration of Independence does not declare all (men) as being created equal, and which cannot admit that the same document– and perhaps even the Constitution and certainly the Bible– cannot speak with authority to more current observations and discoveries concerning race and human sexuality. Among other things.

My gripe with the Church runs deeper than current assessments that its problems lie basically with people whose priorities are messed up, i.e. lazy and convenient interpretations of Scripture, Sunday morning soccer practice conflicts, being too tired from the stresses of parenthood or a crazy work week to bother rallying to attend worship somewhere, or a more general “what’s in it for me?” attitude– as if a key consideration in attending church or not is ROI– return on investment, bang for your buck.

My concern is more elemental than these things, even as they contribute to the declines. As I’ve tried to explain in previous posts, what nags at me is the thought that the church, after all these centuries, is losing its authority as a function of becoming an anachronism. As science and knowledge fill in certain gaps, religion recedes and simply becomes a target for pointed questions about its relevance.

And an unsettling realization may emerge: for a long time, the church enjoyed its lofty perch at the expense of people who lived both literally and figuratively in the dark, who had few choices besides being told what to think and believe. The church flourished because it was the only game in town– for centuries. It offered a sense of community, promised salvation, threatened damnation, all against the backdrop of a certain ignorance, gullibility, and desperation.

I hate to think that maybe the jig is up, yet I can’t help but be concerned for an institution that continues to express hope in a 20-century-old event of mythic proportions that’s fading into the mist and increasingly feels more like wishful thinking than anything real.