When Imagination Fails

When asked about Senator Rob Portman’s recent change of position regarding gay marriage, John Boehner responded that he “can’t imagine ever supporting gay marriage” himself. The fact that he can’t imagine it doesn’t mean it can’t happen; it just means he doesn’t have any idea what could prompt such a change in his thinking. Let me make it clear that I don’t expect John Boehner to change his mind about gay marriage or anything else any time soon, if ever. I’m just saying that a failure of imagination is simply that, a failure to perceive circumstances that could prompt changes in one’s thinking. It doesn’t mean that changes are impossible.

Off the top of my head, I can think of at least two things that I never imagined – in fact, they were things that I was certain never would happen – that later transpired. The first was my decision to resign from the ministry. I have a distinct memory of a moment that occurred many years ago as I walked into the chapel at a Salvation Army officer’s training college. As I entered the chapel, I was overwhelmed by the idea that I was wearing a uniform with blue epaulets on my shoulders, each adorned with a single red bar that designated my status as a first-year cadet. I thought,”I struggled against coming here, but now that I’m here, I’m in for life. Nothing will shake my commitment to being an officer (pastor) until I retire.” Eleven years later, circumstances I’d never imagined had indeed led me to resign my officership. Just before I exited my quarters (manse) for the last time, I glanced into my nearly empty bedroom closet. All that remained were my Salvation Army uniforms, these ones adorned with red epaulets bearing two stars each (designating my status as a captain). I deliberately left them there as a symbol that my decision was irrevocable; I would never again wear a Salvation Army uniform. That was 17 years ago, and, indeed, I haven’t worn a uniform of any kind since.

The other thing I never imagined happening was not believing in god. Through most of my adolescent and adult life, I wrestled, off and on, with the doubts that plague many religious believers. For most of those years, I accepted living in a state of what I called “intellectual tension” about those doubts. I now know that the proper term for my “intellectual tension” was cognitive dissonance. Terms like “intellectual tension” are terms believers employ when they decide to just shrug their shoulders and say, “God knows better than I do; it will all make sense one day.” There was a time in my first ministry appointment when, as I pondered god’s existence, I distinctly thought, “my belief is firm; nothing will ever dissuade me from it.” We all know how that turned out.

The thing I can’t imagine happening now is ever believing in a deity again. It would take extraordinary events and circumstances for that to happen. I suspect that, if it ever happened, that deity (or deities) would turn out to be unlike anything ever imagined. By now I’ve learned “never to say never.” Having said that, though, I’m not wasting time or energy searching for either gods or goddesses. If such beings exist, and if they care at all about me and want to communicate with me, they know where to find me. And if they never call on me, I’ll never miss them; I’m content living my life without them.

– the chaplain

 

Leaving Faith Behind

Last night I finished reading a book called Leaving Faith Behind, by Jeff Olsson, a former Anglican priest in Canada. As books go, it was a mediocre effort, as the writing was very dry throughout. Nevertheless, three sections stand out that are worth mentioning here.

First, I welcomed Olsson’s insights into the residential system whereby the Canadian government decreed that First Nations children would be forcibly removed from their homes and families so that they could be properly educated (read: Westernized, at best, or more correctly, brutalized and brainwashed).  Churches often provided residential and educational services for these programs, and the Anglican Church of Canada was a major player in this process. This system ended fairly recently, in the mid-1990s (1996, if my memory is correct), so I’m not talking about ancient history here. Three of the issues that prompted Olsson to reconsider his beliefs were a) the extent of the guilt of Anglican priests in abusing the children in their care (abuses were physical, emotional, sexual – the whole gamut of possibilities was exhausted), b) the callous indifference of Church leaders for the damage they caused to several thousand children and families, and c) the Church’s overriding concern to evade fiscal, civil, or criminal consequences for the actions of its representatives.

Second, I appreciated Olsson’s discussion of the Canadian Anglican Church’s struggles to deal with homosexuality in a wholesome way. He provides a detailed chronicle of how the issue was handled within his former Church from the 1970s through the mid-2000s (the book was published in 2009). The issue stands at a stalemate now – no action is being taken so that neither liberal nor conservative wings of the church will have cause to leave the broader Anglican fellowship. Olsson also has some great insights into why remaining within the broader fellowship is so important to many believers.

Third, Olsson’s chapter about his childhood sense of wonder with the world around him, the loss of that wonder as a believer, and his regaining of it as a nonbeliever resonated powerfully with me. He described his childhood love of the Encyclopedias Americana, Canadiana, and Britannica, and how he nearly always found answers to his questions in those tomes. Then, as he became more immersed in his biblical studies, the encyclopedias gathered dust (as my Bibles do now). Finally, he recounts an outing with his nephew, in which they watched two groups of ants struggling with some caterpillars about some territory near a tree. During their discussion, he is struck by his nephew’s curiosity and wonder, which mirrored what his own had been like and prompted him to think deeply about how and why they had been lost. He’s since recovered both the curiosity and the wonder and revels in his newfound love of the world around him.

As I noted in this post’s opening paragraph, this book is not a riveting deconversion story. Many other more engaging, better written accounts are available. On the other hand, the Kindle edition of this book was only a couple of dollars, so I don’t feel like I wasted my money. People interested in glimpsing some of the history the Anglican Church of Canada may find it a worthwhile read.

– the chaplain

 

3 Approaches to Religion – An Illustrated Post

The first illustration shows how the gullible, vulnerable and indoctrinated view their dogma:

The second approach illustrates a pragmatic approach. This is better than the first one, and it’s tempting sometimes, but it can render one vulnerable to hucksterism and manipulation (see first illustration):

The third approach is the one I recommend – read carefully and widely, and think critically about everything you read:

Thus endeth today’s illustrated sermon.

P.S. – the sermon applies to politics too.

– the chaplain

 

Signposts on The De-Conversion Trail

Like many children, I thought church was extraordinarily boring. Unlike many children, I was compelled to be at church several times a week. That being the case, I couldn’t help absorbing the dogma that was reiterated ad nauseum in both church and home. I was not raised in a complete bubble, but it was about as close as it could get short of being home-schooled. As an adult – even as a Salvation Army officer – I resolved never to let my life, or the lives of my children, become completely absorbed in evangelical Christian and – especially – Salvation Army bubbles. In hindsight, I think that resolution probably sealed my fate.

I was about 12 when I first learned that there were people who didn’t believe in god. Until then, I had no idea that no-god-belief was even an option. As far as I knew, everyone believed in god, and everyone I knew personally believed in god, or said they did. The medium through which I learned about atheism and agnosticism was a TV show called All in the Family and the first “out” nonbeliever I encountered, via the boob tube, was Mike Stivic, Archie Bunker’s agnostic son-in-law. All I figured out at that time was that agnostics professed not to know whether god existed, and atheists did not believe in god. I didn’t know of any way to find out more about nonbelief, so I just tucked those little bits of information into some corner of my mind. I didn’t love god. I didn’t want to “do god’s will.” And I certainly didn’t want to go to church as often as I did, but I wasn’t in a position to change that circumstance anytime soon. So, I got on with my life as best I could.

I was about 14 when we studied Greek mythology in 9th grade English class. I was greatly amused by those randy gods who couldn’t resist having sex with all those beautiful mortal women. One day, I had a weird thought: What’s the difference between those gods and dolls, and god and Mary? Wow! Stunning idea! An idea I quickly dismissed by rationalizing that god didn’t actually have sex with Mary, so it wasn’t the same thing at all.

So I went on living my life.

But…that Virgin Birth thing never really sat well with me; I had a feeling there was more to that story than I was being told. I believed in god, Jesus, the whole evangelical schtick as far as I knew it, but I still didn’t love god or Jesus, and I still didn’t want to “do god’s will.” I just labeled myself a rebel and got on with my life.

I was in my mid-teens when I “got my heart right with god,” and, after graduating from high school, I attended a Christian college. Needless to say, the indoctrination process there was thorough, and I graduated completely convinced that Christianity was the True Religion, and evangelicalism was the right way to do it.

Fast forward to my mid-thirties. I’m the oldest person in my graduate school History of Education class. I’m also the only former minister. One day, as we’re examining Martin Luther’s writings on education, a student asks: What’s he talking about when he keeps saying that the devil is tempting him? I wait for the prof to field the question, then jump in when he shrugs his shoulders. I explain that all indications were that Luther believed that Satan was a real being – a spirit being, but a real entity nonetheless – who worked evil in the world and in people’s lives. She looks astonished that any adult would believe such a thing. The prof looks abashed, but doesn’t say anything. I just shrug my shoulders and think, “Yeah, it does sound pretty silly, doesn’t it.” That was the day I stopped believing in Satan.

There were other signposts along my de-conversion trail – points at which I stopped, caught my breath, and wondered whether the path I was following led anywhere at all. I’ve written about some of them before but there’s more to tell. In good cliffhanger fashion, I’ll save those stories for another day.

– the chaplain

 

Are You a Drifter or a Rebel Or…?

Young people aren’t walking away from the church—they’re sprinting. According to a recent study by Ranier Research, 70 percent of youth leave church by the time they are 22 years old. Barna Group estimates that 80 percent of those reared in the church will be “disengaged” by the time they are 29 years old. Unlike earlier generations of church dropouts, these “leavers” are unlikely to seek out alternative forms of Christian community such as home churches and small groups. When they leave church, many leave the faith as well.

Thus opens the publicity blurb for a book entitled, Generation Ex-Christian: Why Young Adults are Leaving the Church and How to Bring Them Back. In an interview published by Christianity Today, author Drew Dyck made this observation:

No two “leavers” are exactly the same, but some patterns did emerge. “Postmodern” leavers reject Christianity because of its exclusive truth claims and moral absolutes. For them, Christian faith is just too narrow. “Recoilers” leave because they were hurt in the church. They suffered some form of abuse at the hands of someone they saw as a spiritual authority. God was guilty by association. “Modernists” completely reject supernatural claims. God is a delusion. Any truth beyond science is dismissed as superstition. “Neo-pagans” are those who left for earth-based religions such as Wicca. Not all of these actually cast spells or perform pagan rituals, but they deny a transcendent God, and see earth as the locus of true spirituality. Spiritual “Rebels” flee the faith to indulge in behavior that was incompatible with their faith. They also value autonomy and don’t want anyone—especially a superintending deity—telling them what to do. “Drifters” do not suffer intellectual crises or consciously leave the faith; they simply drift away. Over time God becomes less and less important until one day he’s no longer part of their lives.

These groupings were not meant to be scientifically precise; their value was diagnostic and utilitarian. I wanted to help people understand why young people abandon the faith and equip Christians to engage leavers in meaningful conversations about God.

I’ll list Dyck’s categories below to facilitate my consideration of them:

• Postmodern
• Recoilers
• Modernists
• Neo-Pagans
• Rebels
• Drifters

I don’t think much needs to be said about the “Postmodern” category, as Dyck appears to have described that mindset adequately. I am offended, however, by his glib dismissal of the “Recoilers:” people failed and God was blamed unfairly. Uh, no, Drew – people failed and God did not do what he was reasonably expected to do, either

a) protect the victims who were hurt, or
b) prevent the perpetrators from hurting them.

In other words, Drew, God reneged on two of his key responsibilities: delivering people from evil (which is doubly evil when it’s done at the hands of so-called “godly” people or, even worse, in the name, and on behalf, of a god), and enabling his followers to be good, kind and honest, rather than nasty, brutish and devious. I consider divine protection and divine prevention (or intervention) reasonable expectations because both of those functions are ascribed to the Christian god in the Bible and in church doctrine. Therefore, when a god does not perform as promised, it’s reasonable to wonder if he/she/it does anything at all, including merely existing, and to reject a god that doesn’t live up to its billing.

Dyck’s characterization of “Modernist” church-leavers renders that category as little more than a stick-figure. Since his book is an example of social scientific research, one would presume that his concept of “science” goes beyond the “hard,” physical sciences that often come to mind when the term “science” is used in casual conversation. Readers who understand Dyck’s use of the term in that narrow sense may miss the fact that many, if not most, Modernist atheists are informed by insights gained through the natural sciences, the social sciences, the humanities, and the arts. We are not geeks with our eyes glued to microscopes, and pens and calculators sagging in our shirt pockets. We are multi-faceted people with multi-faceted interests who think in multi-faceted ways, characteristics that Dyck’s categorization appears to miss, or dismiss, completely.

The author’s final two categories seem adequate. I went through a period of spiritual rebellion as a teen, and I’ll admit that his description captures quite accurately the attitude I had then. And many of us can probably think of people who are Drifters.

I briefly considered getting Dyck’s book, just for shits and giggles, but I’ve decided to keep my money in my wallet. The bottom line is, I’m not going to waste my time reading a book that

…equips and inspires parents, church leaders, and everyday Christians to reawaken the prodigal’s desire for God and set him or her back on the road to a dynamic faith…. identifies six different kinds of leavers…and offers practical advice for how to connect with each type. Shrewd tips also intersperse the chapters alerting readers to opportunities for engagement, and to hidden landmines they must sidestep to effectively reach leavers.

The reason I’m not interested in reading this book is that Dyck has misidentified the problem at hand. His view is that people who leave churches are problems. I don’t agree with him. In my view, the people who leave churches are not problems. Rather, churches themselves are problems. The problem is not that so many people are leaving the church. The problem is that too many of them are staying.

– the chaplain