Math puts me in a mood

Basically, I know just enough math to know why this is funny.

Let’s not confuse “numbers” with “growth.” 

We all know I have no love for numbers, but when it comes to statistics I not only lack warm, fuzzy feelings, I lack the patience of a 2-month-old. Statistics – just like labels – are neat, tidy, convenient bundles of near-meaninglessness. Don’t believe me? How else is it possible that the tiny church I once attended claimed to have attendance of over a thousand? Really, it was much more likely that 30 people attended 40 times . . . and even then I think one person probably just hopped back and forth over the threshold a bunch, in order to get the numbers up. 

All this is to say that, in recent articles about the “dying church,” I remain largely unconvinced and unconcerned. Are numbers dwindling at both liberal and conservative churches across the country? Well, yeah, probably. There are, most likely, fewer people sitting in pews inside church buildings in the Unites States on Sunday mornings than there were 20, 30, or 40 years ago. But notice all the qualifications I had to put on that? Where do I even start to unpack that? 

First of all, Christians worldwide make up about the same percentage of the population today as they did a century ago. So if church numbers are shrinking in the US, we have to look elsewhere to see growth; in fact, there’s been explosive church growth in what’s often referred to as the “Global South” (South America, South Asia, and sub-Saharan Africa). This isn’t a bad thing! This is amazing! What I think is particularly cool about it (but which I think also threatens “established” Western churches) is that Christianity in those contexts looks different from how it looks in the US. Maybe church is an a tiny apartment, maybe indigenous music is used instead of hymns, maybe there is no paid staff . . . all of the things we’ve gotten used to thinking church has to have, those churches are going to be – and should be – different. 

Turning back to the US, though, I think a lot of Christians (perhaps particularly those from my generation) are slipping through the cracks of the statistics because they aren’t in a church building on a regular basis. Now, I should say that I absolutely believe that the biblical model is to come together regularly as brothers and sisters; however, I think I a lot of young adults are perfectly OK with doing that at someone’s apartment on Monday nights with a group of their friends. Who’s counting those people? Is that not church? Why not? I’ve thought long and hard about this for personal reasons: When I returned from China in 2008, I struggled with moving from my close-knit, loving and accountable home fellowship back to the American consumer church model. If I’d found a home church back then to join, I would have in a heartbeat. Where’s the problem in that? What defines a church?

Finally, and what gets me the most, is the idea that numbers alone reflect growth. Gosh, even typing that sentence I get the heebie-jeebies. Listen, I don't think having more people in church is a bad thing. It's true that Acts mentions the growth of the early church in numerical terms ("And the Lord added to their number daily those that were being saved.") and the Gospels talk about the thousands that followed Jesus, but I also don't think Scripture states or implies that numbers = life. How are we to be known? By our fruit (Gal. 5:22-23; Matt. 7:20), by our love (John 13:35), by our sacrifice (1 John 2:6) . . . by our large congregations? By our multiple church "campuses"? By made-up statistics? :) I don't think these are things we're called to concern ourselves with.

How do you feel about numbers? Am I missing the point (it happens; feel free to call me on it)? Can we say the church is "dying" because numbers are down? 

Add your thoughts in the comments or on Facebook. Have a great Thursday!

Labels are so handy! And mostly useless!

I have always wanted to do this when forced to wear one of these dumb nametags.

I wonder why it even matters what we call ourselves. In re-reading yesterday's post, which got this little ball rolling, I looked at some of the identifying labels I used:
- Christian
- conservative
- orthodox
- evangelical
- liberal
- traditional

And notice I didn't even mention any specific denominations. Or use other labels that often get tossed around in the church: inclusive, charismatic, liturgical, Reformed, egalitarian, complementarian . . . the list could go on and on.

Why are we (and by "we" I think I'm referring to those of us who actively think about matters of faith and the Church, but this could perhaps be broadened) so fascinated by labels? Why do we ask what denomination other believers come from, or attend now? And, the biggest labels of all: Why am I even opening up this bag of LIBERAL and CONSERVATIVE faith?

Labels are so easy, people! So simple! They're part of our identity. They tell me who I am. Despite no longer attending the Salvation Army, there are ways I'm still very much a Salvationist. My theology is Wesleyan-Arminian. I'm egalitarian. My faith is orthodox. I like liturgical worship . . . these tell me things about myself and they also serve as shorthand for others to get to know me. See, just reading those things, you've probably made assumptions about me, just like I would make assumptions about someone who told me that they were Reformed, or complementarian, or (gasp!) United Methodist. (Kidding, all my UMC brethren.)

(This makes me think of many of my dear PCA friends, who, when asked what denomination they're part of, almost always tend to respond with, "Presbyterian . . . PCA, not PC (USA)." They know how important labels are.)

There's a major issue with all this, though. These labels limit me. They limit my growth. They force me to stay in a box, and others then assume that that box is all that I am. After a while, everything I read or study or think about confirms and reinforces that label, until my faith has conformed to the limits of the box, instead of having a chance to change and get messy and be challenged.

We want our faith to grow, right? To do so, it has to leave the confines of a labeled box.

This is a scary prospect. If you come from a conservative background, it might be scary to start thinking that you're not - like me - going to use the "evangelical" label anymore. If you call yourself a liberal Christian, your fellow churchgoers might start looking at you strangely if they see you reading a book by Tim Keller or NT Wright. On both sides, I think that when we starting asking questions about what we believe we're going to be told to stop, or to "be careful," because who knows what kind of dangerous place questions will lead us to?

We need to get out of the labeled box, ignore old assumptions, and start asking those dangerous questions. I think that's how we're going to grow as Christians, and as a Church.

Living in the Tension and Wrestling with Faith

(You know what’s fun? When we pretend I haven’t taken a 4-5 month hiatus from blogging, only to post a random entry that has nothing to do with my previous entries. Just go with it.)

The thoughts contained in this post aren’t necessarily new or recent – they’ve been swirling around in my head for a while – but the decision to go ahead and articulate them and post them was largely precipitated by a recent post on Rachel Held Evans’ blog. I would suggest reading that before checking my post out.

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Earlier this year – and it’s not a coincidence that 2012 is an election year – I had a bit of a realization. I can no longer describe myself as an “evangelical” Christian. Now, lest my mom read this and begin to pray for my soul (hi, Mom!) I still very much count myself as an “orthodox” believer: I believe and affirm Christianity as defined biblically (and historically), can totally sign off on the Nicene Creed, and consider that I’m theologically in line with much of what traditional Christianity has always considered to be vital to faith.

But.

I can’t pretend anymore that I fit in with how the American (Southern? WASP-y? Conservative? I don’t know) church seems to define being a Christian. I have no idea how “evangelical” stopped being a theological term and started being a political one. I get vaguely nauseated by the tagline for the local (and terrible) Christian radio station: “Safe for the Whole Family.” We’re living in a time and place where Christians seem to be defined more by their hate than their love – maybe that’s not new, but it sure is starting to feel personal – and where “Christian” itself is a label that has no inherent meaning. And I am puzzled, looking around, to see brothers and sisters who are more concerned with getting other Christians to agree with them on political issues instead of living out the transforming power of the Gospel.

I’m digressing. Oh, gosh, I see another series of posts coming on. I really wasn’t planning that!

Let’s focus this one, ok? For this one, what I really want to say is that I have come to grow increasingly distrustful of easy, pat answers. I have a deep appreciation and love for the faith tradition in which I grew up, but looking back I have to acknowledge that there was a lot of legalism going on - and, for the record,  I was absolutely, positively fine with that. After all, rule-following is WAY easier than prayer and trust. It’s always going to be simpler to tell your youth group members not to drink rather than explaining the complicated biblical truth that God created wine to “gladden the hearts of men” (Psalm 104) but that the Bible condemns drunkenness (not to mention that we’re called to obey the law). It’s always going to be easier to tell dating couples to “leave room for the Holy Spirit” or have random hand checks on youth group bus trips, instead of explaining acknowledging that chastity is one of those most difficult things that they will ever do, but it’s a spiritual call that’s worth it.

As I get older, though, these checklists of laws become less and less clear because my spiritual walk stopped being about the fear of breaking a rule and more about the intention of my heart. I find that there are more gray areas in my life now, not fewer. And it’s discouraging to me that any public acknowledgment of these things seems to send some Christians to a place of immediate judgment: If you’ve stopped thinking that faith and church and fellowship have to look a certain way, you must be perilously close to heresy, runs their thoughts. But see, I don’t think I am. And in any case, I don’t think the best response to that is to try and force me back into that old mold of churchiness, but instead to have a gracious, loving, and occasionally provocative conversation about what 21^st century faith needs to look like. (Some of you are rolling your eyes at that, or thinking “Faith is faith is faith!” But nope, sorry, it isn’t. Worship and doctrine are expressed differently through history and it’s silly to pretend otherwise.)

This post has gone on a ridiculously long time and I’ve barely scratched the surface of what I wanted to say. A series it will be! I’m sure most of you can’t wait . . . all three of you. In the meantime, I’d love to hear your comments and reactions either here, or on Facebook, or in person.