June 5, 2008

To avoid reflecting on deep rhetorical faith questions...

A few months ago, a friend of mine asked a rather provocative question. This is a question not unfamiliar to many of us. It has been discussed and debated by academics, theologians, seminarians, scholars, parishioners, pastors, preachers, taxicab drivers, hotel clerks, smokers, atheists, what have you... They have not figured out an exact answer, and neither will I. But what I do feel for certain is what I will say here. (I hope my friend will forgive me for bringing what was a private conversation into HAT's blogosphere. I doubt, though, that opening this discussion into this murky private-public space will change the content or meaning of what we write and say -- at least, not in this instance.)

In our discussion, my friend asked what I think is a rather deep rhetorical question. Does the decline of the Church mean that spirituality wanes or that faith diminishes? I assume what is meant by church here is the ecclesiastical bodies, church as an institution, religion as a construction.

I now want to do the Texas-Berkeley Shuffle and sidestep the question altogether in order to raise another (equally interesting) point. Is the church in decline? How is the church in decline? How is the church changing?

Right about now, some of my seminary and professorial friends will be eager to jump in and provide cogent responses (to both questions, I'm sure) by breaking down each part and analyzing the complex layers hidden underneath each question. They will no doubt be able to cite at least three primary and secondary sources to support their points.

The simple answer for today is no. No, I don't think we should ever reduce faith, church, and religion into simple Yes/No questions. Discussing these issues will take three of my lifetimes, and much more gray-matter than I possess.

The beginning of my long answer is to say that I am pleased we are able to think deeply about faith questions -- regardless of what religion we are born into or what spirituality we grow out of. To even think about the plight -- the situation, context -- of the church, or Church, is to indicate that we are connected in tenuous ways with outward expressions of what we believe. And we care about them -- care more or care less, but we care nonetheless.

I enjoy discussing church related issues with my friends and coworkers. Unfortunately, though, to my knowledge, I have engaged few of my former classmates/colleagues in conversation touching upon questions of faith and spirituality. Few questions about God or the Divine have been raised. We talk about culture and society very little and even less about church and religion. I don't know why that is. Perhaps lurking somewhere is the fear that our differences will be highlighted beyond retraction in these conversations -- conversations in which our souls are searched and our inner selves and true ideologies bared -- and we ultimately will find ourselves so vastly different that we must call each other friends. Perhaps our hesitation masks what we already hold to be true -- that we are so much alike in our beliefs that we must call ourselves kin. And there's no running away from that.

So, let's say one day we find ourselves in a situation not unlike that of Obama -- where our own version of Rev. Wright is staring at us from the t.v. screen, and hundreds or thousands of people, or maybe just our daughter or granddaughter, are waiting for us to respond. Church or no church, we are all called to express some kind of faith that brings peace, justice, and healing love to every community. What words would we utter, what actions would we give, to express the Godhead that lives within us?

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