Christianity After Religion: When Religion Fails

I attended a small Christian college in the middle of Kansas during the mid-90’s. Having spent my youth doing everything I could to avoid church, I surprised myself by going nutty for Jesus in this college setting.

The college called itself “enthusiastically Christian,” so it was hardly a honey pot for the “spiritual but not religious.” We learned about those people, though, their faddish subservience to postmodernism and their blind devotion to their own feelings. We learned to point out that “spiritual but not religious” is a kind of religious claim, and to drop that assertion like a grenade in conversation and then triumphantly walk away, imagining as we did the beaming ghosts of C.S. Lewis and Dorothy Sayers.

Diana Butler-Bass has a simple response to the self-satisfied recognition by defensive Christians that “spiritual but not religious” is more religious than it knows: “Duh! Of course it’s a religious claim. And as such it’s probably better than your brand of Christianity.”

“Spirituality,” she writes in the fourth chapter of her new book, “is neither vague nor meaningless . . . the word ‘spiritual’ is both a critique of institutional religion and a longing for meaningful connection.”

In Christianity After Religion: The End of The Church And The Beginning of A New Spiritual Awakening, Butler-Bass traces the evolution of this subset of devotees in the American religious landscape. In doing so, she very helpfully points up the events in the last decade that have soured the public’s perception of “religious” people and organizations (think gay ordination fights and clergy sex abuse scandals). As a result, we now have a growing group of (mostly young) people who want nothing to do with the trappings of church, be it Protestant, evangelical, or Catholic.

And that’s good. Despite all of the denominational hand-wringing over decline, Butler-Bass is holding out the possibility that all of this discontent with religion is a historic opportunity. “Discontent,” she says, “can be the beginning of genuine social transformation by inspiring courageous action.” She charts the evolution of the church as an movement and finds in that evolution a constant push-and-pull between the impulse towards experiential, “spiritual” expressions of the faith and “religious” expressions that seek institutional stability and control. What’s happening now has happened before, and when it has happened before it has deposited terrific things on the Christian landscape, like Jesuits, The Protestant Reformation, and Billy Graham.

So where do you see the impulses of spirituality–your own or other peoples’–giving rise to new and vibrant faith within traditional religious settings? And how do you describe yourself? Spiritual but not religious? Spiritual AND religious? Religious but not spiritual?

That last one has come to describe my faith as a clergy person. Much more of my attention and energy goes into church structures and ordered processes than goes into experiential connections with God. I’m working on that.

What are you working on?

Previous Christianity After Religion posts:

Questioning The Old Gods

The End of The Beginning

The Beginning

The Fellowship Gathering: First Thoughts

“I remember when we shared a vision, you and I”

The Mountain Goats

I’ve just returned from The Fellowship of Presbyterians gathering in Minneapolis. The event was organized by a group of evangelical pastors within the PC (USA) who called like-minded pastors and elders to join with them in creating a New Reformed Body connected to the current denomination and yet separate from it. Though I’m not one of those like-minded pastors (as evidenced by this post), I attended on behalf of my presbytery to listen to The Fellowship’s proposals and to work with local colleagues around them.

Better bloggers than I have summarized the gathering’s accomplishments. Here’s a summary from a sympathetic participant and one from an unsympathetic not-participant. Rather than summarize, I need to process. Thank you.

[update: I contributed to a roundup of reactions over at Two Friars and A Fool that gets more into the mechanics of the event]

I’m troubled by a couple of things. This post will process one.

I’ve been underestimating the distinct theological, methodological, and sociological DNA of evangelicalism and its expression within mainline denominations like the PC (USA). Which surprises me, given my evangelical breeding. I was baptized in a charismatic church and went to college at an evangelical Presbyterian school. I fumbled a job interview at a progressive church with an uncritical recitation of the reasons why gays shouldn’t be ordained, and the first chance I had to vote on the issue, I stood for the status quo (the “fidelity and chastity” standards).

The Fellowship is an expression of the core convictions of American evangelicalism: that the church exists to seek and save lost sinners (read: everyone), that the Bible is the only admissible guide to faith and life, and that Christians stand in a position of loving opposition to the wider culture in which they’re situated. My time in Minneapolis illuminated how differently I relate to those convictions now than I did even five years ago. It’s not that I don’t believe them, it’s that words like “sin,” “save,” and “guide” (not to mention “sex“) have acquired meanings for me that they didn’t have before. The old meanings haven’t been replaced so much as nuanced, complemented, and, pray God, enriched.

I have to believe that God has been in this process, while I still acknowledge that I could be wrong.

This unsettling realization has sent me running to historians of the evangelical movement to help me better understand the ways in which The Fellowship movement is replaying an oppose-and-separate movie the church has seen before (I’m starting here and here). Every Christian denomination has evangelicals in it, even though the vast majority of evangelical Christians belong to church expressions that aren’t affiliated with anything like an organized denomination. For mainline protestants in the U.S., that has always been the case, and it has always been a source of tension, if not all-out conflict (see the First and Second Great Awakenings). Since coming into mainline protestantism in my early 20’s, I’ve understood myself to be an heir of the evangelicals in those conflicts.

I don’t anymore.

My gut reaction to the things happening in Minneapolis showed me that I’m now standing somewhere else. I’m not sure what to make of that.