Wednesday, August 8, 2007 at 1:01am
Accidental Christians no longer
Column: New Houses from Old Bricks
Spending time in Minnesota this summer, I noticed how differently church is done there — not in theology, but in practice. It's not as if we sing different hymns or do communion differently out here in the West. It's that in Minnesota, people seem to show up at church more often.
There, it's expected, and it's almost like people save a little space in their lives for worship and church activities. Out here, that space seems to have closed up entirely. I've even been told that in the Midwest, schools plan around kids' Sunday and Wednesday church activities — though that sounds like utter fantasy to my West Coast ears.
In such an environment, people could almost practice their faith by accident. Peer pressure would work toward Christian practices ("everyone is doing it"), rather than against them. But out here, our faith won't happen by accident. We have to do it on purpose.
When I was a campus minister in the San Francisco area, many things pulled students away from practicing their faith. My job was to lead retreats, but when we would sit down to set a date, we soon ruled out every single weekend of the quarter. One was right before midterms, or right after. One was when "everyone" went out of town. One was during rush for fraternities.
Activities already overfilled their calendars. The assumption was that faith only filled the spaces that were left open. People came to a group or event only if there was nothing else going on. And, since there was no such dead-time at the school, faith practices were often left out entirely.
There are many parallels with congregational life. Substitute any day of the week for "weekend," and you can see why it could be difficult to sustain any kind of ministry long-term.
When practices of faith — worship, retreats, small groups, meditation — only fill the available spaces in the day or week or month, it's highly unlikely they will happen by accident. They have to be chosen intentionally, and usually people have to choose not to do something else. Something has to be sacrificed.
"Sacrifice" has always had a place of honor in Christian faith and tradition. Jesus both taught it to his followers and exemplified it by his self-sacrifice: "For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will save it" (Luke 9:24).
Literally "losing one's life" sounds far more dramatic than the mundane sacrifices required for a life of faith. It might not seem like a big deal to miss Sunday School for a Little League game, skip worship for breakfast with out-of-town visitors, or pass up the annual church retreat to go skiing. Surely God approves of playing sports, eating with friends, and enjoying the great outdoors, right?
God's approval notwithstanding, over time, those and other worthy activities can close up all the spaces where God might renew and illuminate everyday life. Conversely, a year or a lifetime of mundane sacrifices, seemingly inconsequential one by one, define the space held open for God — held open like a door that keeps threatening to slam shut.
When I hear stories of people who have a spiritual awakening through experiences of illness or suffering, sometimes I wonder if it's at least partly because those experiences clear away the busy-ness and define a new space available for God — even if that space first feels like a terrible abyss.
Short of catastrophe, that space has to be cleared intentionally. It no longer happens by accident. As people get busier and more distracted, perhaps that's even becoming true in Minnesota.
Next week: How churches convince people that the sacrifice is worth it.
— — —
Rev. Rebecca Schlatter is an ordained minister in the Lutheran Church (ELCA) in Reno, Nev. You can contact her at {email newhousesfromoldbricks@hotmail.com}newhousesfromoldbricks@hotmail.com{/email}. © Copyright 2007 by Rebecca Schlatter.
There, it's expected, and it's almost like people save a little space in their lives for worship and church activities. Out here, that space seems to have closed up entirely. I've even been told that in the Midwest, schools plan around kids' Sunday and Wednesday church activities — though that sounds like utter fantasy to my West Coast ears.
In such an environment, people could almost practice their faith by accident. Peer pressure would work toward Christian practices ("everyone is doing it"), rather than against them. But out here, our faith won't happen by accident. We have to do it on purpose.
When I was a campus minister in the San Francisco area, many things pulled students away from practicing their faith. My job was to lead retreats, but when we would sit down to set a date, we soon ruled out every single weekend of the quarter. One was right before midterms, or right after. One was when "everyone" went out of town. One was during rush for fraternities.
Activities already overfilled their calendars. The assumption was that faith only filled the spaces that were left open. People came to a group or event only if there was nothing else going on. And, since there was no such dead-time at the school, faith practices were often left out entirely.
There are many parallels with congregational life. Substitute any day of the week for "weekend," and you can see why it could be difficult to sustain any kind of ministry long-term.
When practices of faith — worship, retreats, small groups, meditation — only fill the available spaces in the day or week or month, it's highly unlikely they will happen by accident. They have to be chosen intentionally, and usually people have to choose not to do something else. Something has to be sacrificed.
"Sacrifice" has always had a place of honor in Christian faith and tradition. Jesus both taught it to his followers and exemplified it by his self-sacrifice: "For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will save it" (Luke 9:24).
Literally "losing one's life" sounds far more dramatic than the mundane sacrifices required for a life of faith. It might not seem like a big deal to miss Sunday School for a Little League game, skip worship for breakfast with out-of-town visitors, or pass up the annual church retreat to go skiing. Surely God approves of playing sports, eating with friends, and enjoying the great outdoors, right?
God's approval notwithstanding, over time, those and other worthy activities can close up all the spaces where God might renew and illuminate everyday life. Conversely, a year or a lifetime of mundane sacrifices, seemingly inconsequential one by one, define the space held open for God — held open like a door that keeps threatening to slam shut.
When I hear stories of people who have a spiritual awakening through experiences of illness or suffering, sometimes I wonder if it's at least partly because those experiences clear away the busy-ness and define a new space available for God — even if that space first feels like a terrible abyss.
Short of catastrophe, that space has to be cleared intentionally. It no longer happens by accident. As people get busier and more distracted, perhaps that's even becoming true in Minnesota.
Next week: How churches convince people that the sacrifice is worth it.
— — —
Rev. Rebecca Schlatter is an ordained minister in the Lutheran Church (ELCA) in Reno, Nev. You can contact her at {email newhousesfromoldbricks@hotmail.com}newhousesfromoldbricks@hotmail.com{/email}. © Copyright 2007 by Rebecca Schlatter.