Monday Morning Quarterback
Note: Monday Morning Quarterback is a weekly post reviewing Sunday, the busiest, most stressful, most gratifying day in the week of a pastor/parent/spouse/citizen.
Song of the day:
Unknown time. Eyes open to darkened living room. Look out the window at an eastern sky that is grudgingly lightening. Check watch. 4:30. Parents visiting from Denver: asleep in my bed. Wife and daughter: asleep in daughter’s room. Me: awake on the couch.
5:00. Give up trying to sleep. Coffee on.
5:16. Leafing through The Powers That Be in an attempt to solidify the Adult Education program I’m leading in a few hours. Not looking good.
6:02. Drain coffee cup and close my eyes for a few more moments of jittery sleep.
6:15. The L.A. Times on my Kindle. Comprehending nothing.
7:11. Daughter coming downstairs so I throw a blanket over my head. You know, to hide. She pulls the blanket off and screams, “Found you!”
7:12. Wife descends the stairs with a gift bag full of children’s books for a baby shower after church.
7:15. Explaining to daughter that leaving for church by myself in about 20 minutes. She’ll come later with Grandma and Grandpa. Mommy is staying home to set up for this afternoon’s Egyptian Birthday Party Bonanza.
7:45. Wife prevails upon me to take Daughter, Grandma, and Grandpa to church with me so she can finish party preparations uninterrupted.
8:01. Dressed for church, setting up folding tables on the lawn. And moving a lawn umbrella. And taking out trash. Stress mounting.
8:04. Wife to Daughter: don’t let Daddy forget the books for the baby shower. Insulted.
8:05. Neighbor to me. “On your way home from church get about 30 lbs of ice for the party.” I got this.
8:07. Pleading with Daughter to brush her teeth. My dad’s sitting and smiling, watching me struggle at the basics of child rearing.
8:12. Off to church with Grandpa, Grandma, and Daughter. Daughter is rocking a purple scarf she got as a birthday present.
8:17. Arrive at church to the realization that I forgot the bag of books for the baby shower. Curse.
8:23. Making the rounds: youth room, adult Sunday school room, office, sanctuary. Everything is as it should be, but something feels off.
8:42. Former student who just finished her freshman year in college shows up. Much rejoicing.
9:07. Trying to condense reams of research on the effects of media violence on behavior by saying, “nobody really knows.”
9:40. 10 minutes left in the adult education forum, and I’m about a third of the way through what I had planned. Fail.
9:52. Acolyte comes to retrieve me from Sunday school. Now that’s a reversal.
10:13. Daughter and her playmate processing down the center aisle with orange, red, and yellow pom poms they made in Sunday school for Pentecost. Playmate stops halfway down the aisle and performs some left and right elbow jabs. Impressive.
10:34. It’s a special service focusing on music, so most prayers replaced with hymns. Deciding against singing the Scripture lesson. Then, deciding against joking about having decided against singing the Scripture lesson.
12:17. Return home from church without the ice I was told to get. Curse. Shoving leftover party sandwiches in my mouth on my way to the store.
12:53. Return from store. Wife has transformed condo complex courtyard to into an Egyptian tableau: tables, decorations, a painted backdrop, a tent. It’s impressive, to say the least.
1:39. Trying on Wife’s best party decoration: a “full-figured” adult Pharaoh costume. Man, I look good.
3:06. Guests arriving for party. Nobody else wearing a Pharaoh costume.
3:39. Enjoy an afternoon and evening of great food, family, lovely weather, and Daughter. Top that, universe.
10:10. Truncate the end of Monday Morning Quarterback. Toooo trred t’finsh.
Monday Morning Quarterback
Note: Monday Morning Quarterback is a weekly post reviewing Sunday, the busiest, most stressful, most gratifying day in the week of a pastor/parent/spouse/citizen.
Song of The Day:
6:21. Eyes open to unfamiliar surroundings. Body aching. Lips chapped. Throat raw. Clarity returning now . . . rock climbing wall . . . wind-blown games of H-O-R-S-E . . . late night convulsions of laughter over The Game of Things . . . All Church Camp.
7:02. Bathroom greeting with church member. Is that ever not weird?
7:35. Daughter and her playmate are up. They’re scaling the bunk beds as Wife groans below.
8:11. Stumble down to join the rest of the church in the camp’s main lodge. Head of Staff’s husband has brought Starbucks travelers for everyone. Ask, “Is it cool if I kiss you right now?”
8:18. Reviewing with students the best Game of Things answers from the night before. Consensus quickly emerges that the best answer came in response to the prompt, “Things you shouldn’t say to a police officer to get out of a speeding ticket.” Answer from 7th grader: “I knew you were trouble when you walked in.” Now lamenting the fact that, for the prompt, “Things you would have said to Eve after she gave you the apple,” I didn’t answer, “We are never ever ever getting back together.”
8:28. Breakfast. Daughter is protesting the apple juice, which, she says, is not as dark as the apple juice her playmate had at lunch the day before.
9:44. Planning worship in teams around the Man of Macedonia story. 5th grader on my team wants only to perform a play where he’s a ghost who emerges from behind a bath towel.
10:34. Daughter’s playmate and her family leave. Prolonged hugs. And kisses. And hugs.
10:43. At the lake with Wife and Daughter. Didn’t pack a jacket, and it’s cold. Wife: “You never pack a jacket. I don’t feel bad for you.” She’s wearing a fleece and a sweater.
10:46. Daughter is machine gunning Cheeze-Its at the ducks.
11:23. Ping pong. For, like, an hour.
1:43. Closing worship service. Somehow, Head of Staff and her team have parlayed the Man of Macedonia into an acapella hip-shaking rendition of Paul Davis’s “Cool Night.” Yeah, okay. I can see that.
2:02. Time to go. Trouble brewing for daughter. She’s demanding more playground time.
2:04. Playground-gate escalates to a full-blown spectacle. Trying to get Daughter in the car before entire camp hears her screams (subsequent text from student asking “What’s wrong with her?” will reveal utter failure).
2:12. Daughter still screeching as we descend the mountain. Church Intern who rode with us getting a valuable lesson in parenting–the what-not-to-do kind.
2:24. Daughter pacified by a pan dulce.
2:25. Daughter slumped over asleep, pan dulce falling from her hand.
2:32. Wife turning green. “I’m trying not to puke,” she says. Foot off the gas.
2:47. Daughter jolts awake. “Are we off the mountain yet?” No. Slumps back over and sleeps.
2:52. “Are we off the mountain yet?”
2:44. “Are we off the mountain yet?
2:45. “Are we off the mountain yet?” Yes. “Oh, that was fast.”
3:01. Home. Dropping bags in the doorway, wife (still green) trudges upstairs and collapses on bed.
3:44. Answering Daughter’s critical questions about “Tinkerbell And The Great Fairy Rescue.” It’s not really that believable.
5:02. Leaving for Youth Sunday Planning Pizza party. Pay for the pizza, set up the room, print off instructions and old worship bulletins . . .
5:12. Arrive at church to discover I’ve left my laptop at home. Doh! Improvising.
6:39. Whirlwind presentation of Presbyterian principles for ordering worship. “The preaching of the Word of God IS the Word of God!” Students leap to their feet with thunderous applause and gasps of “Amazing!”
7:22. Volunteers working with teams of students to plan an entire worship service. Marvelling. Doing nothing but marvelling.
8:01. Youth Sunday planned. Dismiss students with a benediction of “Waving Flag.”
8:12. Stopping at grocery store on the way home to pick up flowers for Wife. Well, not for her. For her nurses. It’s nurses week and she forgot.
8:24. End the day with with the day’s only play of the iPod.
9:01. Contemplating writing Monday Morning Quarterback. Nope. It’ll wait for the morning.
Monday Morning Quarterback
Note: Monday Morning Quarterback is a weekly post reviewing Sunday, the busiest, most stressful, most gratifying day in the week of a pastor/parent/spouse/citizen.
Song of The Day:
6:00. Alarm going off. Snooze not working. Remember alarm clock app I downloaded that rings until you’ve taken 10 steps with it in hand. What if I throw it?
6:01. Downstairs, finger over phone speaker, walking hurried circles around the living room. Alarm not stopping. Power down.
6:11. Coffee in hand. Phone back on. Quiet.
6:48. Finish agenda for Triennium Delegation meeting this afternoon. What’s the statute of limitations on your go-to ice breaker, anyway?
7:04. Daughter protests, “Daddy!” from her bunk as I top the stairs outside her room. She thinks it’s a school day and that I’ve come to retrieve her. “Shhh. It’s a church day.” Silence.
7:58. Take wife a cup of coffee in bed and head out the door.
8:11. Greeted by ceramic elk head on my desk. What the?!
8:15. Head of Staff arrives. Ask her, “Do you know anything about this?” hoisting the grisly elk head. She looks at the ground. “I didn’t put it there.” Awkward pause. “Do you know anything about it?” She walks away. Blurg! Pastors’ kids!
8:22. Finessing the formatting on the sign listing Christian Formation Hour room assignments is surely a sign of a poor understanding of the relationship between causes and effects (“Coffee And A Good Book” is in Room 1, by the way).
8:47. Laptop and projector assembled in sanctuary, ready to show slideshow of 30 Hour Famine pics before worship.
8:53. Frantic. Can’t find Jr. High youth group curriculum for the afternoon. I’ll be gone. Volunteers need it. Failing them. Noooooo!
9:14. Final confirmation class with students who joined as Active Members during last week’s session meeting: brief history of the Protestant Reformation. Making a point to mention Servetus. Glad we saved that til after they joined.
9:47. I just said, “vocare.” I’ve lost them.
10:08. Acolyte trying to light all six candles solo before the end of the Introit. Not . . . gonna . . . make . . . . it . . . . run over and light the last one so he can lead the Call To Worship.
10:19. Student uses Peace-passing time to narrate something for Monday Morning Quarterback. “10:19,” he says . . . wait. What was the rest of it?
10:21. Commissioning a mission volunteer during Children’s Time. Ask the kids to lay hands on his shoes. Much giggling, but I learned my lesson the last time I asked a group of children to press their palms onto an unsuspecting commissionee. Never again.
10:23. Kids singing with much clapping and west African drumming, piano and organ accompanying a pop song. Dizzy from happiness.
10:40. Folks in the balcony are swatting at something. They notice I’m watching, and someone does the hand motions to “The Eentsy Weentsy Spider.”
11:09. Talking easily with a Deacon, resting my elbow atop the metal coffee percolator. Doh!
11:22. Gotta be in two places at once. Kiss wife and daughter as they head to a carnival.
11:31. Jr. High youth group volunteer calmly remembers where all the curriculum is. Weep tears of joy.
12:12. Grabbing lunch to go.
12:39. Eating lunch in the youth room, watching a couple innings of the Royals/Indians game. Get to see this.
1:38. Driving with students to Triennium delegation meeting. They’re rotating turns playing songs from their iPhones, having trouble finding music without profanity. Sigh.
2:30. Our Triennium delegation is awesome. That is all.
3:12. Students requesting food for commute home. I need gas, so I guarantee a chance for gas station food.
3:34. After passing two gas stations with insufficient convenience marts, finally find a satisfactory one. Students suddenly realize they brought no money. Blurg!
3:52. Something amazing happens on the drive home. I didn’t do it.
4:14. Back at church in time to check in with Junior High youth group volunteers before skipping out for a commitment for wife’s work. Tell them I love them and mean every ounce of it.
4:32. Return home to find wife ironing and daughter in bath in preparation for wife’s work commitment. Daughter: “Get away from me!” I’m wanted less and less.
5:35. In the car, playing bargain bin cd find for daughter, some story about a pure and spotless lamb named Judah who thinks he’s a lion.
5:39. Daughter is bored with the fable and protests, “I want a real Bible story!” Atta girl!
6:12. Daughter from the back seat: “When are we gonna be there?!”
6:22. Arrive. Daughter asleep, hunched over the arm of her booster seat. Wake her up. She exclaims, “Wow! That was fast!”
6:46. Sipping Pinot Noir on a Pasadena patio full of pediatricians. Wonder if they can tell I’m a dunce just by looking at me or if they need to hear me speak first.
7:12. Move to the front lawn with daughter, who is eager to prepare a “feast” on the unoccupied picnic table. She brings crackers, arranges them, then prays over them.
7:15. Daughter skipping through the garden singing the Celtic Alleluia chorus we use in worship.
8:27. Daughter has set up shop in hosts living room, performing somersaults on their couch.
9:43. Home. Check email to find message from a stranger questioning a blog post I wrote 15 months ago. Head to bed.
9:55. Come back downstairs to answer email about blog post.
11:20. Monday Morning Quarterback: done.
The Gospel of What We Don’t Know
I can never remember who, but some theologian of mission made the provocative suggestion that the best analogy the church has for evangelism is journalism. Telling the good news is a journalistic task: Christians are witnesses of real events that are unfolding in real time concerning the Kingdom of God and the salvation of the world. If anyone knows who that was, please tell me.
I heard that a decade ago, and it’s had a grip on my imagination since. It’s why I subscribe to the Columbia Journalism Review and listen to On The Media and read Jeff Jarvis’ blog.
Jarvis wrote yesterday that, in the aftermath of journalists’ coverage of last week’s Boston bombing and pursuant manhunt, he’s convinced that journalism’s value lies in telling the public what we *don’t* know. Here’s the money quote.
The key skill of journalism today is saying what we *don’t* know, issuing caveats and also inviting the public to tell us what they know. Note I didn’t say I want the public to tell us what they *think* or *guess.* I said *know*.
Yes. Yes. And . . . Yes.
Let’s try that quote again, but replace “journalism” with “evangelism.”
The key skill of evangelism today is saying what we *don’t* know, issuing caveats and also inviting the public to tell us what they know. Note I didn’t say I want the public to tell us what they *think* or *guess.* I said *know*.
Hmmmm . . .
Here’s why this excites me: In the same way that journalism is an enterprise transformed by the modern avalanche of information and channels for the public to share information, the church’s witness to the gospel is coping with a public that is swimming in religious “information” and sharing that information with ease. The church has competition now for reporting on The Meaning of Life. It ceased a while ago to be the Great Grey Lady of how to be a good person and live a fulfilling life. Now there a Pinterest board for that.
What if we took this analogy seriously? What if we shared the gospel by saying first what we don’t know?
“It’s being widely reported that faith is no longer relevant to modern people, but it is unclear at this hour how people are measuring relevance . . .”
“Witnesses describe widespread displeasure with the plight of the poor, but lived experience of poverty could not be confirmed . . . “
“Sources say the Bible is anti-gay, but questions remain about the historical context of that stance, its literary function, and its effect on the lives of gay people today . . . “
“We’re hearing that people are prosperous, autonomous, and happy, but at this hour we can’t account for the social isolation people are experiencing at the same time . . . “
What do you think? Does the church have value to add to the world that consists in elevating what we *don’t* know?
Monday Morning Quarterback
Note: Monday Morning Quarterback is a weekly post reviewing Sunday, the busiest, most stressful, most gratifying day in the week of a pastor/parent/spouse/citizen.
Song of The Day:
6:40. Wake to alarm. No memory of the 6:00 and 6:20 alarms. The night following the 30 Hour Famine is one of the hardest sleeps of a Youth Pastor’s year.
7:22. Coffee and the LA Times on the Kindle–catching up on all the Watertown madness that transpired over the weekend.
7:45. Baby Girl comes downstairs and crawls in my lap. Decide to take her to church early with me.
8:17. Enter the office to discover . . . babies! Colleague and her partner have brought the new foster adoptive twins to church for the first time. Gettin’ my baby on.
8:55. Leaving Baby Girl to her Godly Play devices.
9:34. Discussion with confirmands about social issues and the church. Encouraged by their perception that the environment, poverty, and immigration are big deals at their church.
10:08. Acolyte sails through Call to Worship, then promptly leaves. Sick.
10:17. During Children’s Time led by guest missionary, 3 year-old walks across the chancel to grab the bunch of plastic grapes on the communion table. Remark to my colleague, “That’s the right instinct.” “Lest ye become like a little child . . . “
10:24. Choir is whistling during the anthem. Whistling.
10:50. High school student rises to sing the antiphonal Lord’s Prayer. Caught off guard. Can’t sing. Wiping eyes.
11:54. Adult Education Committee putting the finishing touches on a four week gun violence series, planned in under 40 minutes.
1:22. Reminding Mario at La Parolaccia about the junior high students I’ll be bringing back tonight looking to do some good. He’s pumped and ready.
1:34. Thumbing in notes on my phone–stuff to remember for Monday Morning Quarterback.
1:43. Watching Rob at Heirloom cut Perrier bottles into drinking glasses using something called a G2 Bottle Cutter and buckets of hot and cold water. Must. Have. Bottle. Cutter.
2:11. Retrieving neighbor’s refrigerator box from the recycling bin to use as a pyramid for Baby Girl’s Egypt-themed birthday party next month.
2:55. Baby Girl wants to watch The Ten Commandments again. Fine. There’s laundry needs done.
3:32. Inadvertently merge 100 of my phone contacts into one. Oops.
4:51. Junior High Impact Challenge is on. Wondering if junior high students aren’t the worst possible population for an experimental activity that requires approaching strangers with earnest pleas to do some good.
5:01. Impact 1: student holds the door for patrons of an ice cream shop.
5:12. Impact 2: students serve as unofficial “greeters” for a local business.
5:19. Impact 3: students wash windows at a restaurant.
5:33. Impact 4: students help bakery employee stack chairs at closing time.
5:35. Impact 5: students procure end-of-day croissants from bakery for giving away.
5:43. Impact 6: students procure $25 gift certificate from window washing restaurant.
5:50. Impact 7: students give gift certificate to lone man wearing a “Vietnam Vet” hat in a motorized wheelchair eating a sack lunch at a courtyard table.
5:52. Impact 8: students procure individual pie from pie shop for giving away.
5:58. Impact 9: students chase down elderly couple and give them pie.
6:13. Processing Impact Challenge learnings: need to make contact with decision makers beforehand. Hourly employees have little decision making power that can be helpful.
6:52. Back in the office watching the 9th inning of the Royals/Red Sox game.
7:10. Lasers and Burritos. It’s on.
7:33. In line at Laser Tag concession stand, remark to volunteer, “I hate this place.” Pretty sure the guy getting my Sierra Mist heard me. Wonder: could he have spit in it?
8:40. Treating students to their first ever Chipotle burritos. An under appreciated aspect of youth ministry.
8:43. Wait. Chipotle has something called a Quesorrito? Why wasn’t I told about this?
9:17. Driving home past Adult Toy Box billboard. Students cracking jokes. Share that I can’t partake in the humor, an impulse confirmed when student says, “Yeah, because if you do Christ will come and stab you.”
9:38. Waiting with students in church parking lot for parental pick up. Student retrieves phone to call when I crack some mid-90′s slang on him. “Yo, Ima hit these digits right quick.” In seconds, he’s on his knees convulsing with laughter. When I add, “Playa,” he’s rolling on the asphalt and begging for mercy.
9:43. Students’ parents aren’t coming. Driving them home to a lively discussion of Sonic The Hedgehog music.
10:05. Back home, watching highlights of Royals/Red Sox games.
10:11. Consulting Monday Morning Quarterback notes on phone. They’re useless. Memory diminished by lasers and burritos.
Monday Morning Quarterback
Note: Monday Morning Quarterback is a weekly post reviewing Sunday, the busiest, most stressful, most gratifying day in the week of a pastor/parent/spouse/citizen.
Song of The Day:
5:48. Eyes open. Check clock on phone. 12 minutes more . . .
6:00. No way that was 12 minutes.
6:14. It’s going to be a red pants day.
6:38. Chewing strong coffee and scribbling edits to the late night sermon manuscript. What a mess.
7:12. Daughter clomps down the stairs. Sermon editing done. Well, not done. But I’m not doing any more now.
8:00. Wrestling with daughter’s favorite dress. Who designs clothes that have to be tied on? “It’s not long enough!” she protests. Pardon me for insisting on some five year-old modesty.
8:17. Daughter pitching a fit over limited wardrobe choices. Teeth not brushed. Hair tangled. Not fed. No way I make it to confirmation class on time. Drumming the stair rail impatiently. Dangling one of mommy’s scarves as a carrot.
8:24. Resorting to the fake phone call to the neighbor reporting that Daughter will need to stay home. Screams. Tears. But movement. Fake phone call saves the day.
8:41. Out the door as Daughter presses the protest over dress length. Realizing that wheels-up on Sunday is not the same as wheels-up Monday thru Thursday. Mommy usually gets Sunday, but she’s at a conference this weekend.
8:49. Arrive at church to find daughter’s playmate. All concerns over dress length forgotten. Deposit jumbled manuscript on the pulpit, hand Daughter off to Sunday School teachers, and fly to confirmation class. Student already there.
9:16. Going over Book of Order description of the “Ministry of Members” with confirmation students. Deer. In. Headlights.
9:53. Giving a rough once over to Scripture drama with four student readers. Lots of room here for calamity.
10:08. Spot the 10th grade nursery staffer balancing a two year-old on his hip during the opening hymn and the tot’s parents looking on in delight from 10 pews back. Loosening up.
10:18. 3rd graders getting Bibles presented to them by 6th and 7th grade peers. Perfect, perfect, perfect.
10:49. Using conclusion of sermon to rehearse an improv Charge and Benediction. Congregation nails it. “Um, amen.”
11:04. Stopped at rear entrance after recessional by guest who just arrived with a flurry of questions. Improv indeed.
11:21. Shaking hands and noticing glances going downward to the red pants protruding from the bottom of the black robe. “They’re not red,” someone insists. “They’re coral.”
11:28. Where’s Daughter?
11:44. Collecting garden-grown lettuce from church members from the church fridge. They grew it in the new church garden, then picked it and left it for me on Thursday. I’m only getting it now, and the disappointment in their faces is hard to ignore.
12:02. Tearing Daughter away from her playmate to go home.
12:17. Home and working on lunch. Daughter wants to play birthday party and make me a “Birthday Salad”: leaves of lettuce topped with pepper and thyme sprigs. I choke it down. She bounces like a sprite.
1:06. Still playing birthday party. Daughter sits me on a stool and throws things at my head. “It’s a plague simulator!”
1:49. Turn on The Ten Commandments for Daughter so I can lay on the couch with her and doze off. First, watch the Royals walk off against the Blue Jays. Sweet Sunday nap dreams.
2:38. Awake to paused movie and Daughter gone. Find her upstairs “getting all fancy” to watch the rest of it. “Do you know who I am?” she asks. Nephritiri? “Oh, yes, of course!”
3:01. Coffee and planning the week’s meals with new Trader Joe’s vegetarian cookbook.
3:56. Dropping Daughter at neighbors’ so I can head to youth groups. Kissing neighbors’ feet.
4:42. Heaping helping of seven layer bean dip brought by 8th grader for snack. Careful–the red pants.
5:49. Sardines in the sanctuary. Small 13 year-olds should not be allowed to hide amidst pageant costumes.
6:32. College-aged youth group volunteer advising me on upcoming “dating and relationships” talk with high school youth. She was in high school only three years ago, and I never did this talk with her class.
7:13. 9th grader keeps announcing that he’s Batman. I’m lost=missed meme.
8:32. Talking dating and relationships with high school students. No problem. I got this . . .
8:33. Wait. I don’t got this.
8:46. Student describes his father’s youth: “He went to Catholic school. Nuns. All guys.”
8:47. Three minutes of giggling about guy nuns.
8:56. Colleague arrives mere seconds after her kid spills the beans about who gives the birds-and-bees talk at their house.
9:22. Home to find neighbor horizontal on couch. Down comes Daughter from her bedroom and jumps into my arms from the fifth step. Kiss the neighbors feet again.
9:27. Five minutes of The Hobbit with Daughter in her bed. Maybe the giant spider part not the wisest choice.
9:45. Settle down to watch condensed game of Royals win. House is quiet. Pants are still red.
The Present Shocked Church: Chronobiology
I’m making my way through Douglas Rushkoff’s new book, sharing observations for the church as I go. The book’s received complimentary reviews in the New York Times, among other sources, if reviews are important to you. My first post on the book is here.
Here’s what Douglas is worried about:
Instead of demanding that our technologies conform to ourselves and our own innate rhythms, we strive to become more compatible with our technologies and the new cultural norms their timelessness implies. We compete to process more emails or attract more social networking connections than our colleagues, as if more to do on the computer meant something good. We misapply the clockwork era’s goals of efficiency and productivity over time to a digital culture’s asynchronous landscape. Instead of working inside the machine, as we did before, we must become the machine.
We’re conducting something of a “listening campaign” in my church that involves lots of one-on-one conversations conducted by a trained group of people who then share what they’re hearing with one another. We’re hearing what Rushkoff describes, particularly from folks in the prime of their working years who also have school-aged kids. They expect machine-like efficiency and precision of themselves in their jobs, at home, and even in their community commitments. And the youth I work with? Of course they’re addicted to Instagram and Facebook, but not for the reasons grown ups think they are. It’s actually worse. They must be social networking machines because they’re terrified of missing out, and thus being left out, of the social life of their peers. One of my students recently confessed her guilty angst that she missed a text from a friend in need at 1:00 in the morning.
One obvious asset our church has to combat this “digiphrenia” is the liturgical calendar. To people who expect mechanistic productivity of themselves all day every day, every day of the week, whatever the season, the liturgical calendar offers a valuable narrative canopy and rhythm for life. The colors, stories, and songs that attend Advent and Lent and Easter and–my favorite–Ordinary Time are a lifeline, a road to stroll, not march. People badly need that.
But there’s more to this. In an era of participatory decline, anxiety abounds about the future of the church. Many in my denomination have left to start something new out of protest over liberalizing theology, yes, but also over worries about decline (which they clearly tie to the liberalizing theology). One departing colleague said to me, “I just want to be part of something that’s growing.” You could hear the yearning in her voice.
There’s a clear expectation here that the church be always growing. Getting smaller raises all kinds of fears and longing for a more robust era or church involvement. Like the price of a stock, we fret and strategize when church attendance goes down. What else would we do?
Present Shock gives two examples of businesses that have built regular decline into their planning, even into their identity. One of those is Duncan, the toy company that makes the famous yo-yos. The toys
“enjoy a cyclical popularity as up and down as the motion of the toy itself. The products become wildly popular every ten years or so, and then retreat into near total stagnation. The company has learned to ride this ebb and flow, emerging with TV campaigns, celebrity spokespeople, and national tournaments every time a new generation of yo-yo aficionados comes of age.
There’s also Birkenstock.
Birkenstock shoes rise and fall in popularity along with a host of other back-to-nature products and behaviors. Instead of resisting these trend waves and ending up with unsold stock and disappointing estimates, the company has learned to recognize the signs of an impending swing in either direction. With each new wave of popularity, Birkenstock launches new lines and opens new dealerships, then pulls back when consumer appetites level off.
Could we see church “decline” as something more cyclical? Could it be something that happens naturally, something that we allow to shape our experience of the church’s story (death and resurrection?) rather than kicking against the goads to get the thing running like it did back in ’55?
What say you?
Bonus points to the first person who comments with the details of their Duncan yo-yo.
