The Lessening of Religious Intensity

While reading last night, I was struck by the following words by church historian Rodney Stark in his book The Triumph of Christianity: How the Jesus Movement Became the World's Largest Religion:

Because erstwhile monopoly religions inevitably are relatively lax, lazy, and worldly, most of their opposition will come from groups promoting a far more intense faith--from sects, that being the name given to high intensity religious groups.  Monopoly religions slide into accommodation with their social surroundings even when they were first established by those committed to an intense faith.  One reason that a monopoly religion drifts toward laxity is that religious intensity is never transmitted very efficiently from one generation to the next.  Inevitably, many of the sons and daughters of sect members prefer a lower-tension faith than did their parents.  So long as leadership positions in a sect are restricted to those who are committed to the original standards, a sect can sustain a relatively high level of intensity.  But when these positions are hereditary, and when they are highly rewarded as well (so that the less "religious" seldom depart for other careers), the institution will soon be dominated by those favoring a lower level of intensity.  (Kindle Edition page 38)

Stark uses the term "monopoly" rather loosely, and I would use the equivalent as dominant.  Stark readily admits that no culture has a complete monopoly religion--all cultures have some sort of religious diversity, but his point, I think, has to do with how as generations pass the mantle, the level of religious intensity wanes.  Whereas the religion at first stood against many of the cultural values and norms, as time passes, the religion accommodates those same norms and values.  If the leadership is well paid and "seldom depart for other careers", the religious intensity drops further.

There is no doubt in my mind that Christianity in the west has made such cultural accommodations, and I will not even delve into the theological battles between progressive and conservative Christianity.  That tiresome war will never cease.

What I would like to share is a personal observation rooted and grounded in congregational experience.

I have served long enough in my current setting to see three generations of Christian families worship.  That is somewhat of a rarity in these days of massive mobility and families being scattered to the four winds.  So, what do I see?

The oldest generation is entering their twilight, but when I first arrived, many were still vibrant and able to get out easily.  You could count on them being at worship and church events like clockwork.  Rarely did they miss any event.  Their involvement and faith life was intense, to say the least.

The next generation--a bit less intense.  Instead of regular, weekly worship, church attendance has lessened to two to three times a month.  Sometimes, especially during seasons of harvest (or hunting) attendance is less.  This group is less apt to attend certain church functions, and attendance at Bible study is extremely rare.  Church is an option among many options, and the other options win at an alarming rate.

The third generation--second removed from the first--is the least intense of all.  Church is actually more of a nuisance than anything.  It is one more thing in a long laundry list of activities that one can be involved in, and it is the least fun of them all.  Character building and entertainment can all be wrapped up in weekend sports.  God can be worshiped in a deer stand or on the lake.  Verbal commitments to attend activities are broken without a second thought.  This does not mean this generation is not moral or concerned with dealing with a broken world--far from that.  In fact, many are working hard to help others and make a difference, but they don't see how being actively involved in a congregation helps with this process.

These are broad generalizations.  There are exceptions to the rule, and for that I am thankful.  In fact, I have several congregation members who have traveled in the quite the opposite direction.  Their parents and previous generations have not been active in the church and had no religious intensity what-so-ever.  Their involvement is light-years ahead of previous generations; however, many of these folks are still caught up in the busy-ness of our current society.  They want religious intensity and involvement in the church community, but it is a struggle.  I am greatly thankful that these folks are dedicated to that struggle.

As I ponder these things, I wonder just what can be done to reverse such a thing?  Does this have to be the natural progression of things?  Does religious intensity have to decline?

I don't think it does.  I think the faith can be passed down, but it is a much more difficult job. Somehow the head and heart must be captivated; captured; by the radical love of God.

Simply finger pointing and telling people to do good things or get their act together isn't going to do it. (Witness the contempt many in society have toward churches who do just this.)

Just telling everyone God loves you just the way you are isn't going to do it. (Witness the rapid decline of denominations who use this as their central proclamation.)

Somehow, I think we must find a way to do as Tim Keller said in a lecture I watched numerous times.  "You've got to drill down with the truth, and then put the dynamite in.  Then, you've got explosive transformation."

And that's a lot of work.

Back to My Roots

This afternoon (July 2), I listened to that small voice inside which said, "This afternoon is family time."  Office work would wait.  Holy family time was needed.

I thought we'd go to the Houston Museum, but as we prepared to go, I remembered the kids bowl free stuff we signed up for at the beginning of summer.

"Museum or bowling?" I asked the kids

"BOWLING!!!"

It's rare we have a unanimous decision.  Bowling it was.  Brenham bowling alley, here we come.

But there was a problem.  A summer school program or camp had invaded the bowling alley.  Too crowded.  We needed an alternate plan.  We got in the car, and I simply started driving up SH 290.  As we drove, I thought about the Cotton Museum in Burton.  We'd never been.  Kaylee had studied about it in second grade.  Perhaps this would be a worthwhile activity.

It was.

Video presentation.  Cotton gin tour.  Kids getting to see how cotton was ginned with a miniature gin.  Questions asked and answered.

Then, Kevin asks, "Daddy, can we pull a cotton leaf?"

There was a reason he asked this question--a reason dating to over 20 years ago when I was working with my grandfather in the cotton field.

It was the last year my grandfather farmed before he succumbed to cancer.  We were cultivating the cotton, and it was my job to ride on the tractor, spot weeds, flag my grandfather when I saw them, jump off the tractor, and then pull the weeds putting them in a burlap bag.  Grandpa liked his cotton field absolutely clean.

During a particular stop in a weedy patch, Grandpa told me to take a water break.  When I climbed on the tractor to get a drink, Grandpa asked, "Kevin, have I ever showed you God is in the cotton?"

I was in my second year of college studying Theology/Philosophy.  I thought Grandpa was about to get philosophical on me--perhaps talk about his love of farming and how it showed him God.  I had been exposed to all sorts of ideas at Texas Lutheran, and I thought I'd hear another one.

Boy, was my assumption completely wrong.  Grandpa had other ideas.  Very concrete ones.

"Go pick me four or five big cotton leaves.  They have to be really big ones."

I did exactly as my grandfather instructed and brought the leaves to him as he sat on the tractor.  He took a leaf in his hand and pulled out his pocket knife with the other.

"Now," he spoke, "you need a really sharp knife, and you have to cut the leaf in just the right place."

I watched as he spoke these words.  Grandpa's hands shook, and he had a hard time holding the knife steady.  He made a cut, looked at his work, swore, and threw the leaf and stem to the ground.  Picking up another leaf, he spoke again, "You need a really sharp knife, and you have to cut in just the right place..."

He cut again.  Looked at his handiwork again, and this time held the remaining stem for me to observe.  Looking at the cut, which had been made right near the juncture of the stem and leaf, I observed something mind blowing.  Wonderful.  Amazing.

The veins which brought water to the leaf formed the letters G...o...D. 

It was as if God left His signature right there in the midst of that field on each and every plant--on each and every leaf.  No wonder Grandpa had a special affinity for cotton.  God was in it.

I had told this story to my kids.  I had tried to show them at one point, but the leaves were too small.  Kevin, Jr. remembered.  He wanted me to cut a leaf and show him while at the cotton gin museum.

So I asked the lady giving us the tour, Linda, if I could have a cotton plant leaf.

She replied to Kevin, Jr. "Well, ordinarily, I would let you, but if I let you, then I would have to let other people as well.  Then, our plants wouldn't have any leaves on them."

My wife rose to the challenge.  I didn't want to talk about Kevin, Jr.'s reasons.  My wife had no such inhibitors.  "Tell her why he wants the leaf."

Linda's curiosity was piqued.

"God is written in the cotton," Dawna said.  "If you cut the leaf just right, you can read the word God in the stem.  I thought he (me) was crazy when he first told me about it, but then he showed me.  It's there."

"I've never seen that!" Linda said.  "I want to see that."

She took me outside to their cotton plants which grew in wooden barrels. 

"First, you need a really big leaf, and I hope my knife is sharp enough..."

We went back inside, and I sat in a chair.  Linda talked with my kids and another couple visiting the museum.

I cut the leaf.  I put my knife where the stem met the leaf.  I hadn't done this in years.  I wondered if my knife was sharp enough.  I wondered if I was cutting in the right place.  I cut slowly and carefully.  After separating the leaf from the stem, I looked.  Kiera, my eldest was right there looking over my shoulder.  "There it is!!" she exclaimed.

Sure enough: G...o...D.

The couple from San Antonio was next.  Exclamations of amazement as well as attempts to capture what they saw on camera.  Pretty difficult to capture on a cell phone.

Linda took the stem in her hand.  Being a little older, it took her moving the stem to where she could focus.  "Wow.  I never knew..."

I didn't either until my grandfather showed me in that cotton patch many years ago.  Linda thanked me  profusely for showing her God in the cotton.  I thanked her for the tour and a walk down memory lane--memories which took me back to my roots.  Roots which include cotton hoes, mile long rows, hot sun, cold drinks, the sounds of a roaring tractor engine, an old man smoking cigarettes who took some time to show his grandson God's signature.

Amazing how it still affects me today.

"I Want My Mask!!!"

While on our cruise, I excitedly awaited our final port of call: Cozumel, Mexico.  We planned to go to the beach at Chankanaab National Park with the kids.  Knowing we could snorkel there, I bought the kids and I some cheap equipment while in Belize.

The afternoon after purchasing the equipment, I took the kids to the ship's pool to show them how.  My oldest loved it.  The younger two--not so much.  They decided wearing the mask was o.k., but the snorkel wasn't fun to breathe through.  Their choice.

When we arrived in Cozumel, we packed up the equipment, minus the youngest kid's snorkels and headed to Chankanaab.  The beauty of the beach was breath taking.  The kids couldn't wait to get in the water.

At the recommendation of the beach staff, we put all the kids in life vests and headed to the appropriate entry places--Cozumel is a coral atoll, and there are several places where there is no gradual entry into the water.  You literally have to climb down rocks or metal stairs to enter.  The kids weren't thrilled with that, but they still couldn't wait to swim.

My eldest began snorkeling right away.  My middle child, put on her mask and began observing the underwater features.  My son had decided to forgo any thoughts of snorkeling when we were putting our stuff in the lockers.  "I don't want my mask!" he dictated.

Suddenly, my eldest surfaced.  "Check out all the fish!!!" she exclaimed.

My middle child stuck her head underwater, surfaced, and shouted out, "Cool.  They are so close.  I almost touched one!"

My son yelled out, "I want my mask!!!"

Fortunately, he has a nice uncle who went back and got it.

Maybe he learned a lesson.  Maybe.

In our world--particularly in our United States Culture--we have an affinity for everything new.  We have an affinity for the latest and greatest.  We believe we need to focus on the young folks who have new and amazing insights.  We need to strive to experience things ourselves and forge new pathways.

There is nothing wrong with this--as long as it is rooted and grounded in the wisdom of the past.

I mean that in all sincerity.  I used to be one of those craving the newest and latest stuff--especially in the Church.  New insights into theology; new worship music; new methods of interpreting Scripture.  This was the stuff which would turn the decline of the Church in the U.S. around.

NOT!

If my son would have listened to me, he would have taken his mask with him from the get go.  He would have understood there was something really neat to experience under the water for which his mask would be a huge asset.  But wanting to do things on his own without regard for the knowledge I had, he almost missed out.  Almost.  Fortunately, I had the forethought to pack his mask even though he was adamant he didn't want it.

Perhaps it is time many of us in the Church listen more carefully to those who have gone before.  Perhaps it's time to acknowledge contemporary scholars and their contributions to theology, but to ask them, "How does this relate to the Old Time Religion--the religion founded upon grace; the religion that cuts everyone to the heart (Acts 2); the religion which states there is no other Gospel (Galatians 2).

"For it is by grace that you have been saved through faith," and this is not any work that you did on your own.  It was God's work, and God's work alone.  This is the wisdom of those who have gone before--extending back to the earliest disciples of Jesus.  This was the message which caught the world by fire (the Spirit) and water (baptism). 

Much of the church in the U.S.'s focus is on what we are supposed to do instead of what God has already accomplished.  We have done a poor job of being heralds.  We love being advisers and telling people what they should do.  We focus on our action instead of God's.

Perhaps it's time to trust the wisdom of those who have gone before. 

A Conversation with my Son

He's five, mind you.

Sunday evening, my son and I drove to meet my wife and my daughters in Brenham.  They attended a birthday party by invitation.  The boy and I got to hang out and do guy things: shoot guns, bows and arrows, play video games, and then ride in my Mustang GT.

On the way home, Kevin, Jr. asked, "Daddy, why did God die?"

Five years old.  I thought to myself, "O.K. hotshot.  Get your way out of this one."

"Kevin, let's pretend for a minute.  Let's say that Daddy told you not to drink Dr. Pepper and play with his Kindle at the same time.  But, one day, you decided to do that."

"I'd NEVER do that!"

"I know, son, but let's pretend.  Let's pretend that you did anyway, and you spilled Dr. Pepper on my Kindle.  The Kindle got broke and wouldn't work anymore.  Could you fix it?"

"No."

"Who would buy me a new one, then?"

"I would."

"Do you have any money to do that?  Could you buy it for me?"

"No.  I couldn't."

"But someone has to pay for it?  Who else could pay for it?"

"You could."

"That's right.  I could, and I would.  But I would still have to pay for it.  If something gets broken, it has to be fixed, and somebody has to pay for it.  If you can't pay for it, I can, and I can forgive you.  That's what God did on the cross."

"How?"

"Adam and Eve broke the relationship with God."

"How'd they do that?"

"They didn't listen to God, and they didn't trust God."

"Oh."

"And when they didn't listen to God and trust God, it allowed all the bad stuff to happen in the world.  It allowed death; it allowed pain; it allowed sickness.  It was bad.  And the punishment had to fit the crime.  Adam and Eve couldn't fix it.  We can't fix it.  Adam and Eve couldn't pay for it.  We can't pay for it.  So, who had to pay for it?"

"God."

"That's right.  God."

"O.K."

There are Certain Things...Part 1

Which put life into perspective.

Such things make you think really hard about reality and how you put into practice the faith of Christ.

In a Matter of Moments

Just before leaving for a period of vacation and recuperation after Christmas, my wife and I took our kids shopping.  The money they received for Christmas was burning a hole in their pockets, and they wanted certain items.  Rather than fight the battle to wait, we had time, so we used it.

We stopped at Wal-Mart in Katy and after the kids found their hearts' desires, we headed to the checkout line.  As we were waiting to place our items on the conveyor belt, I overheard a mother talking to her daughter right behind me.  The girl wanted an item on the end cap and was pleading with her mother to get it.

Apparently, the mom wanted to purchase the item for the girl but was unable to, "What part of 'I don't get paid until Friday' don't you understand?"

The comment was rather heart wrenching to me.  I'm blessed enough not to "have to wait until Friday" to purchase special things for my kids.  I work.  My wife works.  Revenues are more than expenses most months.  Not everyone is as lucky.

I reached into my wallet at this point, took out a $20 bill and handed it to the woman.  "Get it for her and Merry Christmas."

The woman stared at me with a look of utter disbelief.  I mean, she was literally in shock.  "Are you serious?  Thank you."

"You are welcome."

It was then quite priceless to hear the woman try to explain to her daughter just why she could now have this item.  "Thank you," the little girl then said.

"You are welcome."

Even more priceless as we walked out of the store.  My eldest turned to me and said, "Daddy, that was really nice of you."

"Yes, dear, I know."

Moments later, as we approached our car, a young woman looked directly at me, "Maybe you can help me."

"What do you need?"  I asked.

"I'm trying to get back to San Antonio.  I'm almost out of gas.  I have no money.  Someone gave me this gift card, and it has $3 on it.  I'm pregnant, and I can't wait here all day until someone comes to get me.  People are being rude to me, and I just need help."

Another $20.

"Thank you so much.  This will get me all the way home!  Thank you.  I've never had to do this before."

"You are welcome."

"May you have a blessed New Year!"

"You too."

My eldest: "Daddy, you're just giving money away!"

Me: "Yes, dear.  I am.  We are blessed.  Not everyone is as fortunate.  Whenever we get the opportunity to help, we should."

I needed to get gas for our vehicle as well, so I pulled over to the Wal-Mart gas station.  The young lady was there with her brother, and they had just finished filling up her car.  She saw me once again and filled in some of the blanks.

"I've never had to ask before.  I asked one guy, and he said, 'Get an effing job!'  I thought, 'I have a job.  I'm just out of cash.'  I couldn't believe how rude he was.  I can't believe how mean people can be."

I replied, "There's still some good ones out there.  Have a safe trip.  Is this your first child?"

Beaming, she said, "Yes!"

Small chit chat for just a few moments before she headed for home.

Unbelievable that someone could respond callously to another without getting to know that person's situation.  Unbelievable, but reality. 

In a matter of moments, I was out $40.  But it was a very small price to pay.  A small price to shock a working poor mother with kindness; make a young girl jump for joy; reverse an expectant mother's view of humanity; and, perhaps most importantly, show another young girl the importance of giving.  Maybe my other two children were watching as well--even though they said nothing.

Lead by example.  Others are watching.  Realizing this puts things into perspective.  All it takes is a matter of moments.