Another new year. I’m amazed. When I
think back on my profligate youth I can’t figure out how I made it to fifty,
much less seventy. It must have something to do with the way the grace of God
intercepted me back in ‘67.
In a Gazette op-ed a few days ago Bonnie
Erbe hammered a nail or two through the lid of contemporary Christianity’s
coffin. Citing research polls indicating that more and more Americans are
abandoning religious affiliation (20% of us, according to a Pew Research poll).
Erbe triumphantly concluded, “One day, Christian leaders will wake up and
recognize that their era is crumbling.” If the trends continue, she believes America
will eventually free itself from the shackles of “oppressive Christianity.” Thus,
Christianity will become irrelevant and powerless. Erbe sees this as reason to
celebrate.
Should I, as a Christian, be
troubled? Absolutely not! If my faith meant nothing more to me than cultural
relevance or political power it would be utterly meaningless. I gave no thought
to those things when I embraced faith in Jesus. In fact, I was powerless, not
powerful. I was an outsider looking in, not an insider looking out. I was weak.
I was lost! No amount of cultural relevance or political power could fix what
was ailing me.
Nothing that I’ve seen on the
political or social scene over the past fifty years has changed my thinking. Political
power shifts over time. So do society’s trends. The powerful one day become the
downtrodden the next. Yesterday’s chic and trendy becomes laughable as soon as
the latest fashions are displayed on the runways in Paris.
There’s one thing, though, that
doesn’t change with time – our search for meaning in life.
Nancy and I have seen this played out
over and over again. We moved to New Jersey in the late eighties. Once we found
a place to live we started looking for a church, a particular type of church. It
wasn’t easy, since the prevailing religions on the east coast are humanism and
mammon, and sometimes a marriage of the two. But we found it in a place called
Jockey Hollow. It wasn’t a glorious place. There were no flying buttresses;
there was no massive pipe organ. In fact, the roof leaked and the chairs
creaked. But, over the years we found ourselves bound together in a pilgrimage
with a small, eclectic band of societal castaways, nuclear and design
engineers, musicians, poets, vagabonds, and a PhD chemist thrown in for good
measure. We had none of the trappings one normally associates with power. We
had very little money, and the little we had flowed through us. I remember a
business meeting when we deferred plugging the leaky roof and gave every penny
we had to missionaries in India, the Philippines, Afghanistan, Mali, and other
mission posts along the world’s 10-30 corridor. I can still hear the cheers
erupting as the last dollar was given.
The church in Jockey Hollow was never
relevant or powerful in worldly terms, but Nancy and I experienced quiet,
transcendent power in that seemingly insignificant place. The relationships and
bonds of affection we developed there will last our lifetime, and beyond.
We’ve seen that transcendent power
displayed in the most unlikely of places. We’ve even seen it on Memphis’s Highland Strip, in a
small generation X church sandwiched between a psychic advisor and Rocky’s
Tattoo Parlor.
We
occasionally reminisce about a Sunday morning years ago when we toured Paris’s
Notre Dame Cathedral. Like most that morning, we were tourists
caught up in gargoyles and the gold-laden altar. We made our way around the
nave, taking pictures as we did. As we moved close to the altar we noticed a
small group of worshippers singing a’ Capella. They didn’t seem to take any
notice of the tourists like us skulking around. My words can’t adequately
describe the beauty of the polyphony. It was a transcendent moment. The twenty
or so songs gathered together, became one, then rose gently heavenward, past
the massive columns and statuary. The power of the experience brought me to my
knees.
I often hear that Christianity has become meaningless in
Europe. My experience that morning taught me that Christianity’s European
presence, while small, is alive and powerful.
It’s sad, but true. Religion almost always loses its way
when it becomes big, socially relevant, or politically powerful. So, Erbe may
be at least half-right. Institutional Christianity may be on the wane. But,
whatever happens, there will always be small bands of pilgrims searching for
absolution and meaning. We may become the minority report, but we’ll still be
there. As Bob Dylan put it:
I practice a faith that’s long been abandoned
Ain’t no altars on this long and lonesome road.”
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