Over time Churches have looked upon themselves as teachers of righteousness, the guardians of what is right and holy. They have trouble understanding how anyone might want to define them differently, why they are assigned a different role or why there is a different connotation to the role and equating of them with what is least in any established institution.
No one would deny Churches have done and continue to undertake a great deal of good. They have provided extensive service and they have tried to be faithful to the Gospel as they have understood it. But some of what is best tends to be seen as over rather than as vital as we may wish. In part this is because others have taken over some of the roles. State and other charitable groups are offering at least as much and sometimes may do it better, and it has not always been possible for Churches to decide what they will now do instead. Unless there can be a new function there may be an enshrining of what was, a moving into what used to be, a place they do not really belong.
It is only true that Churches have become aspects of established society. It is, and should be, part of the fabric of the society of which religion is an aspect. It is what it wanted to become. There was a time, at least in this country, where Churches felt a need to be accepted or recognized, when they felt it was their role to be part of the whole. That was, and remains, a reasonable goal and in some ways it has been accomplished. The goal has been met.
But religion is then made focus of the criticism leveled against society. When people are critical of society, indicating its limitations, accusing it of being too staid, comfortable and maybe stagnant, the Churches are covered by the indictment. When people say the American dream may not have been fulfilled for everyone, or that is was not really as honest, good or holy as it claimed, Churches have an opportunity to consider the truth this may contain and then respond. When people shift their gaze from past horizons to something in the future they may exclude what has been, including the Churches, and if this seems unfair then perhaps religion needs to again justify its inclusion in this new perspective.
Some of what is proposed is revolutionary in tone and in its zeal can be destructive in its formulation. In talking of a new order, there is a facile proposition of destruction and rejection, a making of ashes from which something new can arise. It is more important for some that there be ashes, that the false or unfaithful can be done away with. It is not a helpful formulation, at best a partial truth and only half a goal (if that), but it is an aspect of the fervor and is directed against institutional anything, and Church should not need to be excluded.
The responses of Churchmen have varied. Some assume hate born of disillusion will just disappear. They think if ignored long enough and if their wish is sincere it will just stop. Others recognize and accept the presence of bitterness and frustration, but think themselves virtuous enough and so not needing to reply. In their estimation others may be distressed and we might wish they were not but it would not help them, and would do us less good, were we to change. Others still have said yes to the revolutionary spirit, and have repudiated all they have been a part of. It is as though they were waiting for anything to hang on to, anything that would snatch them beyond what they are an integral part of, so they now dangle within and without. For most, however, response has been in lamenting a lack of understanding, a sad wondering why we were not recognized for who we wished we were.
What do we do? What choices are available? We could be condescending and remain as aloof as we can. We could go along with what we do not, and maybe cannot, comprehend, pretending it made more sense than it does. We could say that what was once so right has become at least as wrong, that we are sorry for whatever we have done or may be doing, that it was all a mistake. Those are choices, though not such good ones. Each Church's answer, and each believer's, will vary and in the end may be as complex and incomplete as was the question.
Part of the response may be realization that Churches do not do well if they settle too readily. It may prosper but cannot flourish if it does not grow and change, questioning itself as well as its setting. It is less itself the more static it becomes, and that is a hard temptation to decline. It is easy and easily justified, but it is a settling in which satisfaction can seem like an accomplishment. If it becomes complacent, religion tends to horde its truths and becomes more defensive than dynamic.
Times and needs change even though God may remain the same. Responses should change as understanding changes, and as there is awareness of what is asked. At most times, Churches have available their role as mediator or reconciler. Mediation is not attempting to incorporate the present into the past, or that reconciliation is between the forces or revolution and those of established tradition. The role is rather to mediate the word of God to the ever-changing world of today, and the today that will be tomorrow, while reconciling the world with God, who can change and grow and share through the process.
Mediation is less easily done by a Church standing on the outside of events, an observer believing itself untouched by time or untouchable by the men and women with whom it shares this world. Any time the assumption is that we have arrived, that change is over, or that this point is the place of arrival rather than one of departure, Church will, like any of us, begin to settle and justification can become more essential than any form of reconciliation. Despite (or maybe because of) origins in God, Churches are temporal and spatial. They live and act in and for a world changing and different and demanding from day to day, and sometimes hour to hour. There is no single answer to today's demands, and perhaps anyone offering a single, all-encompassing response has not understood the question.
My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
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